#neither of those could be used for cups and stuff

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I have this tea cup I made in highschool (it’s really cute and was designed more like those Japanese ones without a handle than it was those fancy English style with even more elements to them) but I never actually asked if the glaze we used was food safe (we all used the same glaze on those cups specifically because the teacher glazed those ones in particular and I don’t remember checking. I glazed and painted every other project but only one of them was something you would use for food and that thing broke a few years ago and was honestly more decorative) and this has haunted me ever since. It’s a super cute cup and I adore it, but I have no idea if I can use it for its intended purpose and while I could buy a lead testing kit I’m not sure how I would check for anything else that might have been in that glaze. I know the color used but not the brand, so that’s not really a help either. The teacher I had left the district after that year because our school district paid art teachers a shit wage and we rotated through them like elementary school kids needing new shoes every year. I’m not entirely sure how I would contact her, but even if I did track her down (something not entirely impossible from what I know about her life outside of teaching us for a year, I would feel slightly weird about it though, even though she was my favorite art teacher) but I highly doubt she would remember something like the glaze she used on one project her students made at a school she taught at for one year. I’m not sure what other testing kits I would need besides lead to confidently say it’s safe enough for my personal use, and it’s annoyed me for several years now.

[queenendless]

ÞŘỊPŁƏ ẄŒØ

A/n: As much as we all love current Jinwoo, every version of Jinwoo is precious. And SO!

All Jinwoos have romantic feelings for you but not for each other cause they're the same person.

Triple Sung Jinwoo x Fem!Adult!Reader

CW: MANWHA SPOILERS INSIDE! SPOILER ALERT: There will be a PT 2 to this one shot cause this got kinda long. So there's that.

BIG TIME What if AU. Angst, hurt/comfort, depression, chronic problems, sleeping anxiety.

NO PLAGARIZING, REPOSTING, TRANSLATING, USE OF MY FANFIC WORK IN AI STUFF ALLOWED. REBLOG, LIKE AND FOLLOW INSTEAD PLS N THNX.

You never imagined you'd become the light of your angel's life. You still have days when you think that it's all been one long dream and you'd wake up back in that grey lonely life you never want to go back to.

But no, waking up that afternoon in your shared spacious bedroom. Rolling in that King sized bed to detect his side had his scent lingering still. But empty. Meaning he hadn't returned from his guild work from yesterday.

The sound of the front door to your shared home opening got your heart racing with joy at the chance to see your dear Monarch again.

And yet, the ensuing situation that followed suit really did feel like walking into a dream. An unusual one at that, sure. But also quite intriguing.

“Neither a curse nor a status debuff, my ass. You'd think these new Monarch powers could undo this side effect?” The tallest Jinwoo grumbled under his breath, brushing back his hair in frustration, pacing back and forth in the living room.

“How are we supposed to be out in public now? Handle the guild? Seeing our folks? Our secret will be found out at this rate!” Post reawakened Jinwoo griped, pinning you in between him and pre reawakened Jinwoo like a sandwich, to your dopey smiling satisfaction.

“In any case, I'll be the one visiting the guild for those matters. Otherwise, you and I will tackle the dungeons ourselves, alone.”

“H-Hang on! Why should I be left behind?! I'm no male housewife!” Starter Jinwoo whined.

“Yeah, don't kid yourself, squirt.” Monarch Jinwoo ruffled his unruly mop of hair affectionately, his baby faced counterparts pouting and puffed up cheeks proving his point.

“Aw, please don't leave me alone.” You nuzzled his pink dusted face like a needy cat, that got him melting up.

“Uh – I – o – okay~” His bashful smile got you planting a big ol smooch on his lips. He couldn't stop smiling as he swooned over your lap.

Jinwoo #2 glared, a vein popping up on his head. “Hey, it's not fair he gets to hog our sweetheart all to himself all day while we have to work.”

“With no reawakening, he can't level up so he'd be putting himself at Death's door again like before. If even one of us dies, we'll all die and leave our family behind, including our beloved here. And they won't be defenseless.” King Jinwoo explained.

The sight of Beru appearing out of your Shadow got Jinwoo#1 trembling from fear instinctively at the imposing entity when Monarch Jinwoo stood between you two and his General.

“Should any harm come to these two, like getting distracted by your period dramas, you know what will happen, don't you?” The deadly gaze of his King spoke doom for the former Ant King.

Shadow Preservation will let him know the moment Beru fumbles.

“Yes, I do, my liege! I will not let you down! And if I fail, I will gladly accept my punishment! But please give me a chance to prove my usefulness to you all!” Beru weeped before his liege dismissed him, meshing into the shadow of —

“Jinwoo mochi.”

“ … Eh?” All three sweat dropped in sync.

The action of cupping OG Jinwoo's supple cheeks, kneading and pinching and rubbing your thumbs in circles on such pure smoothness had your eyes sparkle in wonder and your hums of content heard behind your smitten grin. The visual of pre Jinwoo's face going from pale to rosey red as his grey blue eyes had spirals of tipsy dazeness, incomprehensible sounds spilling out of his dopey smile.

“You are so fucking cute, I can't stand it!” Your playful growling as you indeed began chewing on his cheeks got his nervous laughs rumbling into your chest next, his heart in overdrive, matching beat for beat with yours.

The steamy blow of air through their noses was one warning signal that the other two Jinwoo were irked — envy molten auras in blue and purple another sign — that baby-faced them was getting your current attention.

“Don't you dare forget about me, beautiful~” Jinwoo the 2nd cockily purred in your ear, plopping behind you on the couch, nipping at your nape, his nose dotingly rubbing your cheek, keeping you struggling between focus on both bois.

“I'll engrave myself in your mind then~” The effortlessly hot deepness of King Jinwoo’s inflection had him gently grip your chin to raise your face to meet him over the couch in quite a devouring kiss.

“Hey, sharing is caring, you sneaky bastards!” Baby Jinwoo shrilled up. Breaking free just to save your deprived lungs, an all out argument between all three ensued, your light headed self slacking against the couch.

The cacophony of range these three voices could go filled in your now lively place.

And so, then began this unexpected arc in the story of you and Jinwoo times three.

Pre-reawakened Jinwoo.

While the other two would do their dungeon raids together, that meant you'd spend most of your time with him.

Stuck at home together meant you teaming up to manage it, whether that be folding laundry to even cook together. If you don't really cook, he's more than happy to teach you. Having his hands layer yours, pressed up against you from behind, is the best feeling. Course he'd melt in a puddle shortly after.

Taking walks together outdoors meant holding hands or intertwined arms as you spent hours chatting about anything, mesmerized in each other's eyes while admiring the flora and fauna of nature.

“Okay, I am the male wife.” He mumbled in surrender, slumping against you, both of you in your casual tees and shorts, binging your favorites together in the living room while sharing your snacks together one lazy day.

“He admits it!” You exclaimed dramatically, ruffling his already unruly shaggy mop to his giggling delight.

“I know I'm not like the other mes… but I will do my best to make you happy. I'll do anything for you. I love you with all my heart, saarang.”

You easily top him over, laying atop him, your bedroom eyes conjuring hearts in his grey blue irises. “Then I'll make sure you're reminded each and every day that you're just as well loved. You're all mine now, baby girl~”

His drawn out squeak was the only sign of him still alive from the embarrassment, slacking in your arms like a limp noodle.

He's the easiest to mess with, all out of love.

Post reawakened Jinwoo, still an E-rank.

You did most of your outings into the city with him. Usually he goes incognito, whether in caps and a face mask or keeping his hoodie on, hoping not to be spotted and mistaken for his S-rank self.

You both did the buying, groceries and window shopping. Your phone gallery was chock full of selfies with you and your bashful grinning hunter.

While Tank became his assigned Shadow in the meantime, he could serve as transport. But only when it was just you two around or unless it's an emergency. Besides, he still has his own speed skills. Hence, giving you piggyback rides before zipping away in a flash, leaving folk wandering nearby nearly falling over from the sudden strong gusts of winds he left in his wake. His cheeky grin looking back at you took your breath away.

Joining him in on his daily quest workouts nearly do you in, your physically ailing limits being the root cause. Your legs turn to jelly as you nearly collapse from fatigue but your dashing hunter lover makes sure to catch you in his arms, holding you tightly while riding on Tank for the trek back home.

While you can openly tease and mess with him, he's on even footing with you, even more so.

“It's a pain to be split in three and not knowing how long it'll last, so having you with me is a blessing. Now tell me, what will it take for you to make me the best Sung Jinwoo in your eyes? Come on, honey, let your angel Woo you over~”

That cheesy pun out of the blue sent you buckling over in bouts of laughter, nearly falling over but his arms enveloping you kept you standing within his grasp. “Wow. Can't believe that actually worked,” He murmured in astonishment, grinning confidently in response. “She has Sung her approval~!”

That got you cackling, clutching your aching tummy, as more puns came your way to leave you a breathless mess that went beyond his expectations, utterly convinced to be more silly from that point on, even after he hopefully becomes whole again.

And Shadow Monarch Jinwoo, the tenth S-rank hunter in Korea and the head of his own guild, is hands down the most possessive over you. The rare moments you get alone with him happen in his own private office when he takes you to work with him.

The selfie of him putting you in an explicit headlock rivaled every single photo you took with his reawakened past self. His vibrant violet eyes on his smug smirking face littered by your lipstick smooches, your blushing squished cheeks, those veins along that flexing bicep smothering your lip smeared shameless face.

Making a group chat with just the Jinwoos proved a bad call when the other two were driven up the wall with envy at their superior version laying claim to you when they weren't around. The stream of emojis from Jinwoo 1 merging with the countless threats from Jinwoo 2 made big boss Jin darkly chuckle in the entertaining response, the mirthful twinkle in his eyes rippling from spotting you red in the face like mush in his big leather desk chair.

Unwinding from the stress of his guild master duties and keeping face with his colleagues and family while also having to wait out however long this three in one problem will last. Taking rides together on Kaisel gave you both a much needed breath of fresh air. Updating you on pupil Jinwoo's progress leveling up although the Gates turn red whenever he joins in said gate all to challenge him. He assures you immensely that he ensures his other self’s safety while sharing the EXP.

“Sharing you with my other selves has been quite the test for my tolerance.” Tugging insistently on his tie, the taut muscle definition of his upper chest peaked out, his neck flexing those veins, flaring his collar out in the process. “However, I am resolved to remind them just who truly is in charge here.” Pinning you literally on top of his desk came just as quick as you did already feeling him brush up against your valley. “Including you~”

Chronic problems plagued your form. Daily migraines, tense knots in your neck, the works. Regardless of which Jinwoo does it, massages always come your way. Whether resting your head on their lap or laying down on the bed, you melted from their shared skill touch.

Of course not every day is sunshine and rainbows. With chronic issues also came depression. Of course, all three dudes come to an agreement on equally giving you space to unwind as well as teaming up to give you all their affection.

Jinwoo #1 gifts you single flowers that grew surrounding your home, placing them behind your ear after presenting you one each day. Home-cooked meals are a given at this point, keeping in mind your allergies and dietary restrictions should you have any. He helps prepare salt baths that you more than invite him to join you to keep your clingy self company. And he lends his hoodie for comfort on those moody grey days.

Jinwoo #2 gifts you during your shopping sprees together, purchasing plushies and apparel to even getting fried chicken that you make sure you have enough to share with all your bois at home. You and him game together when he comes home early from raiding. Although his fatigue relief skill kicked in, he still deflated in your embrace welcoming him back home in the foyer, nuzzling your adorable face like a needy feline himself. Plus, his rambunctious commentary sends you into a wheezing mess, handing him easy wins. The times you did dethrone him resulted in his stubborn self knowing he could do better, challenging you for another round.

Jinwoo #3 is the one most able to give you anything your heart desires. With such influence and connections on top of his limitless abilities as the reincarnated Monarch, he would make anything possible. But considering he was the busiest out of the three, all you really wanted was to spend more time together. He still gifted you the same items as his other selves, but he made sure to include a fancy dinner and a dance among the stars as an inviting bonus.

Sleep anxiety is also a struggle you face. Incidents from your dreary past late at night left their scars. So taking naps now and then throughout the day after sleeping in the morning was your norm.

Even now, comfortably sleeping through the night is difficult, anxiety making you uncomfortable on edge for the unpredictable and unknown.

One step, one night at a time, the secure embrace giving you reassuring squeezes in bed reminding you you weren't alone. Whichever Jinwoo it is, they all are perfect bedmates. Their cooing words became your ASMR.

“Ssh. There there. I'm right here. Listen to my breathing, my heart, my voice. You can rest easy now, sweetheart.”

Kissing your teary face and letting you rest on their cozy warm chests as they rubbed comforting circles along your back, the combined sensations slowly aided in your sleep, however long or short.

So returning the favor only made sense.

All three Jinwoos suffered from nightmares. Mostly Jinwoo #1. Night terrors were his own sleep struggle throughout this story arc. Especially from dreams of the Double Dungeon. Breaking out in a cold sweat, tossing and turning, whimpering and weeping, before screaming out in awakening, heaving haphazardly, desperately reaching his hands out to you, clinging to you like the lifeline you are. Especially on nights when your other Jins’ are still out due to whatever reason.

Singing a lullaby song you heard from a show that really stuck with you helped a great deal in calming him down. Cradling him in your arms, brushing through those sweat matted bangs, your voice was the angel of music gracing his ears. It's too mesmerizing to ignore.

“You're okay. You're alright. I'll never ever leave your side. I will stay and I will fight with you~”

Unbeknownst to you two, Beru's shadow linked to both versions of his master, Jinwoo #3 swoons over your heavenly voice, smiling like a lovesick fool, Jinho silently hoping they finish work early so his big bro can get back to you, his one and only.

“Please don't leave me. Please stay, Y/n.” Your Jin baby's wish gets granted by your doting, utilizing the same exact methods they use to treat your night troubles.

Jinwoo 2 is less vocal when he wakes up from bad dreams. Yet you feel a sturdy heat envelope around you. His endearing gaze grew the more he stared at your peaceful face, his stare blurring from warm wetness, blinking them back before pecking your forehead. “You're my dream come true~” He whispers lovingly in your ear before cuddling up against your precious self, tears actually shed as you return the hug through your slumber, thoughts of you and only you lulling him into good old dream land.

Now Jinwoo 3 is something else. He usually sits up, lost in thought for a bit, before heading to the kitchen for a mug of water and maybe even preparing some food to keep him busy. And every time, he could feel you arising, finding him, and joining him all so he wouldn't be alone. He'd do the same for you. They all would, absolutely.

You can hear the aching vulnerability trembling with each breath he took as his towering frame draped over you, his shoulders shaking as his hands clawed at your back, your very existence grounding him in the here and now.

“Parts of me will never be the same, not after all I've done … yet you still choose me. How did I ever deserve you, huh?” His nose caresses yours, rocking with you side to side, as his submerging look sunk its hold upon your trembling soul. “Y/n, you truly are something else. My safe haven~”

While having three Jinwoos is indeed a handful, seeing every part of him that make up who he is reminds you of his empathy, sympathy, cleverness, tactfulness, and brilliance.

But you too hope that your three darlings become whole again soon.

And soon enough, at last, your shared prayers were finally heard.

The solution to this dilemma?

Well ...

What do you think~?

[utterlyazriel]

this ribbon of blood that ties us together

a/n: i luv ignoring my wips and going feral and emerging from a doc 48 hours with this word count: 6.3k synopsis: Once upon a time, a high-society girl, you were to be wed. Two years on, you live a much different life alongside Arthur Morgan, an outlaw life, despite your squeamishness to blood, killing, and the like. But when the past won't stay buried, you learn just how far you'll go to protect the man you love. hurt/comfort, mutual pining, friends to lovers, period-typical sexism & canon-typical violence

By all accounts, according to Arthur, the two of you should not be friends.

Not that you weren’t lovely company! And nor was it that you couldn’t stand his long, sullen silences, even if he had trouble believing you were enjoying yourself, just sitting by him.

But there was a clear difference between you — one that Arthur felt sorely.

He hadn’t wanted to call you innocent, ‘cos you weren’t the naive type and you weren't stupid neither. But for running with a gang of outlaws? Your hands were remarkably clean.

See, you hadn’t killed a thing, ever: man or beast.

You got squeamish if you were on cooking duty when Pearson was butchering up the latest hunt, eyes hastily averted. You had pouted all day when John tread on a butterfly, even if it was entirely by accident. You passed off darning shirts to Tilly if they were too blood-soaked, nausea evident on your face.

Well, passed off is the wrong wording. More like, tried to sew without looking at your hands til Tilly took pity and offered to switch with you.

You weren't naive, you just didn't like to see things die. Not an awful hill to die on, Arthur had to agree. Neither did he in most cases.

Micah liked to grouse that you were definitely not cut out for gang life—said with a predatory curl of his lip, eyes shining with malicious intent. Probably was dreaming up all those ways to frighten you, or ruin your "innocence", just for the hell of seeing you shriek.

But Micah was a bad man. You knew that.

It’s why Arthur didn’t understand why the hell you tolerated him.

Watching you over the fire, the air bending in the heat, Arthur relents with a sigh. You did much more than tolerate him. If he wasn’t feeling so sour-faced, he probably go as far as to say you liked him, good and proper.

Besides, he could admit he was a better man than Micah; even if only in the faintest of ways.

He killed just as much. He’s beat men to death with his bare hands, blood flying and bones crunching. He doesn’t hesitate to send a bullet into any unlucky bastard getting between him and the next score for the gang.

Arthur knows feeling guilty doesn’t absolve him of nothin’.

At least he helped people too. Stopped when a lonely straggler needed a ride, retrieved stolen bags, and hunted down herbs and flowers. He enjoyed being the good thing riding into town, even if at time it took a hell of a lotta patience.

That was something he had, that Micah did not.

It just wasn’t enough for Arthur to understand why you might care for him.

But Arthur Morgan is not one to look the gift horse in the mouth and so despite how unlikely it should be, the two of you were friends.

It means being greeted in the early morning with a cup of coffee, the cup pressed into his hand before he’s even wiped the sleep from his eyes. You don’t linger, not any longer than you need to make sure he’s not gonna drop the hot mug.

The first time you had offered it, Arthur had been so surprised he had nearly dropped it.

You had laughed, hands darting out to steady the cup, and looked up at him through your lashes. “Hold tight, cowboy. That’s important stuff in there.”

Arthur had wondered then if this was what it was like to be struck by lightning. Each atom of his body fizzed, coming alive with a hum.

He had opened his mouth, then closed it, uncharacteristically flustered by the gesture.

You had laughed again, softer this time. Arthur finally reined himself in and tipped his hat in appreciation—mainly to hide the colour on his cheeks.

“Thank you kindly, miss.”

“You’re very welcome, Mister Morgan.” You had mused, amusement in your smile. Then you departed, other chores calling your name, with nothing more than a smile thrown over your shoulder.

For him, your friendship means finding the little gifts of the world to bring back. He hadn’t thought too much of it before, passing through homesteads and general stores with only fleeting glances.

However, after a week of hand-delivered cups of coffee, Arthur had begun to hunt for something of equal calibre he could give in return.

Several flowers sat in his tent, wilting and drying in the sun, in the grasp of a man too unsure of himself to gift them. He bought sweets, an extra chocolate bar in his satchel, before it was eaten in gnawing worry of what you’d think.

He was a brute. Trying to gift you nice things from his violent hands was downright laughable.

It wasn’t until he found a hair-pin, silver and slender with a delicate flower atop it, did Arthur manage to finally give back. He’d bought it before he could chicken out and once he had it, he thought it would be far stranger to keep it than to gift it.

You liked wearing flowers in your hair. That had been why Arthur picked them for you—but this, you could wear always, without it wilting.

He’d handed it over as you had passed him his morning coffee, pressing it into your palm as nonchalantly as he could manage. Then he hid his smile behind his coffee at your delighted gasp, your joy infectious and unmistakable.

You had thanked him profusely, for the first time not calling him Mister Morgan, but instead Arthur. His name had never sounded sweeter than falling from your lips

And that there… that was the one other, really good reason that you and him shouldn’t be friends.

Because as sure as the sun rose every morning, Arthur Morgan rose with it, undeniably in love with you.

—

You had been engaged once before.

Not by choice—an important distinction you hold fast to. Even if Karen likes to make passing jokes about you being a woman already spoken for, you’re thankful when Abigail quickly shoots her down with a piercing glare.

There is, after all, only one real reason a woman like you ends up on the run.

Rufus Hugo is your particular reason. A man up to his neck in wealth, pilfering the land for oil, and, as last you knew, looking for a fourth wife.

You’d once thought him unlucky, your poor fiancé.

How is it one man can be followed by such tragedy? Three young wives, in the space of a couple years, each found violated and slaughtered in the back alleys of Saint Denis, red smiles cut into their throats.

You’d once been a fool.

The papers and Sheriff had to be under his thumb, considering the blind eye and frilly stories they turned out. The rumours told a different, darker tale — ones that fell on deaf ears, too twisted up in your own plastic assurances.

Your father wouldn’t have organised this if he knew. And— and he couldn’t know, because it simply couldn’t be true.

Rufus treated you like a jewel, plying you with expensive gifts and decadent clothing, more than you’d ever had before.

When the nag in your gut didn’t leave, he had coaxed it out of you — the fear of some maniacal killer, out for the blood of Mister Hugo’s betrothed — and then he assured you with a feline smile of a wolf.

No one’s going to lay a hand on you, treasure. The only man who gets to touch you is me.

Adoring at the time.

Stomach-churning in hindsight.

You’d overheard entirely by accident, a fact that makes your heart skip stutter if you think about it too long.

Pure luck saved your life. Pure chance that you’d overheard them, wandering the halls at one of the many parties held in the honour of your engagement.

His nasty habit revealed to you in a manner of words, floating out the keyhole.

His sickening tone, lusty and humorous at once, you heard him tell the other men at the party how there was nothing better than how tight their cunts had got when he dragged the blade across their jugular.

Your stomach had plummeted. Bile crawled thickly up your throat.

The version of the world you knew contorted painfully, upside down and suddenly all wrong.

And like the vicious pain of stepping into a bear trap, the hinges of it sweeping up with sharpened blades, you knew if you stayed that you would undoubtedly be next.

You ran.

With nothing but the clothes on your back, frenzied like an animal being cornered, you ran. It was thankful you managed any coherent ideas as you tore down the stairs, pushing through the party, uncaring of the cries that followed you — but stealing a horse was probably the only reason you survived.

Though you sparsely knew how to ride it, you rode for two long, hard days before exhaustion caught up.

No amount of distance felt safe enough to slide off your dead-tired horse but you were given no choice. Your stomach ached with the growl of hunger and delirium had begun to creep in from your lack of sleep.

You were parched beyond relief and still in your god forsaken party dress, when you let your horse slow to a stop in a shallow river.

Then you’d fallen off in one spineless lump.

Caught somewhere between physical exhaustion and sleep, the freezing water had been quite the wake-up. More so when you surfaced, spluttering, and there was a man standing before you — muttering something about a strange damn woman.

It was the very first night you laid your eyes upon Arthur Morgan—soon after which, you promptly fainted from exhaustion.

The same night you disappeared from Saint Denis — becoming a ghost before you were doomed to become one at the hands on your to-be husband — you were reinvented in the warmth of a gang on the run.

—

Two years on, you stop wondering if Rufus Hugo still hunts for his fourth bride.

There would have been search parties for you, you’re sure of it. Even if half the party could attest to you fleeing of your own accord, a rich man doesn’t give up his prizes so easily.

But somewhere along the way, you’re not sure when, you stopped looking over your shoulder. You no longer tensed at every new, unfamiliar figure on the horizon, certain it was your past crawling back.

You’re not sure when—but you sure as hell know why.

Sliding off his horse in one fluid motion, Arthur hitches the reins on the post out front the general store with a grunt.

It’s a blazing day in Rhodes, the desert sun overhead. A mirage pools in the distance, along the main road. There’s little wind to cool you, just the buzz of flies around the horses.

It’s just you and Arthur travelling today.

An unnecessary journey for the sake of enjoying each other’s company; under the guise of camp work, of course.

You two are friends. Arthur kept his distance from most gang members, happier on the outside of the circle, which you knew.

It meant that when you got these moments — Arthur inviting you along for a journey to a town, the myriad of gifts he seemed to find for you — you couldn’t help but… hope.

You steal a glance at the cowboy, drinking in his rugged profile. He’s due for a shave, his beard a little longer than you know he prefers, but you gladly enjoy the sight.

Men in the city were groomed and clean-shaven. There’s something much more real about the ruggedness of Arthur’s appearance, his blue eyes flashing your way from beneath his hat. You catch the hint of his smile too.

Watching him subtly, he takes a moment to coo his praise to his mare, Hypatia. She nickers affectionately, searching for a treat that he dotingly gives. His rough voice whispers lowly of how he spoils her, even as he brushes her neck gently.

Sometimes, you really think Arthur likes horses more than he likes people.

It doesn’t bother you—how could it? How could you feel anything but soft-hearted when you see him dote on his horse, all his corners softened?

Besides, you think it’s a good show of character.

You’ve heard how he talks to himself sometimes, self-deprecating mutterings of how he’s a bad man, unworthy of your kindness.

But you’ve met worse men before.

Arthur may have killed, but never senselessly. Never for pleasure.

“I think,” Arthur says, his southern drawl thick. He tips his hat to the general store ahead of you both. “The spices will be second floor.”

Can’t hunt, can’t kill, can’t thieve — but god, can you cook.

It had been nice to have something to bring to the gang, considering your general squeamishness. Arthur decided long ago it was worth heading further south for the better spices closer to the city.

“I gots to pick up some more ammo, but I’ll meet ya in there.” His gaze finds the gun store across the street before tracking back to yours. He checks, “That alright?”

You nod to him, as your own mare butts your shoulder gently, making you laugh.

“Yeah, that’s alright, Arthur.” You affirm, reaching back to give her a pat. The sweet smile you wear is equal parts for her as it is for the cowboy before you.

“See you in a minute,” you say. Arthur nods, boots kicking up the red dirt as he begins to make his way down the main street.

The worn steps of the general store creek underfoot as you make your way up them, already mentally flicking through what you’d wanted to buy.

Salt, oregano, thyme… maybe some cumin, knowing how much Arthur seems to like it. Nodding politely to the shopkeeper, you head for the second story stairs — missing the flash of someone familiar through the window, peering in.

These wooden stairs are far less worn than those outside, but the traces of countless boots are evident all the same. Hand on the railing, you ascend slow, mind wandering off easily.

It’s venison for dinner, if you aren’t mistaken, from the latest hunt Charles brought in. Maybe tonight you’ll make convince Pearson to make the stew your way—spiced heavily and just the way Arthur likes it. (He hasn’t told you that half the reason is because it’s you making it.)

You approach the lined shelves with a hum, eyes dancing from colourful tin to colourful tin. Spotting your first target, a trusty tin of salt, you miss the creek of the floorboards behind you as you reach for it.

“Treasure.”

Your hand falters, fingers outstretched, halted in the place. There’s the unmistakable heat of a body behind you— but even so, the scrape of a knife leaving its sheathe confirms it.

A shuddering exhale forces from your mouth as the knife is suddenly beneath your chin, hovered above your throat. You lock in place, hand still held out. A hurricane of harrowing dread howls through you.

It couldn’t… it couldn’t be him.

No way could he have found you now, after years of your disappearance — no way was he still fucking looking for you.

The well of horror in your chest caves in, growing like a sinkhole, as your mind repeats the same word over and over: no, no, no, no, no.

The blade moves up, the cool edge of it pressing to your chin. You inhale sharply and feel a tremble start to take your body as your face is forcibly turned, pulling your gaze to a sickeningly familiar face.

“My, my,” Rufus croons. “My little bride to-be. Been lookin' for you a long time.”

Your nose wrinkles at the title, one you’d renounced the minute you'd fled, all those months ago. His dark eyes narrow at the motion and travel to your outstretched left hand, eyeing it with a glint.

“No ring.” He tuts, letting the knife fall back against your throat and resting it there.

You snatch your hand back in, hands flying to his arm and pulling with all your might—a fruitless battle against his strength. All it earns you is the sharp edge of the blade pressing further into your skin and you stop moving quickly, another gutted gasp pulled from you.

"Do you even know," He hisses into your ear. "How much goddamn money I spent on you? On trying to track you down?"

The venom in his voice leaks out, replaced by a charismatic purr you're far more familiar with. Once upon a time, it had voiced believable assurances from a man who would happen to be your husband.

Now, it only widens the sinkhole in your chest.

"You've cost me a fortune, treasure. Now I've come to collect what I'm owed."

A finger draws an idle line on your back, creeping forward along the stroke of your waist. Try as you might to suppress it, a shiver skitters through you and your throat presses ever closer to the knife again.

It's enough to pierce the skin, just a sliver, before the finger on your waist turns is joined by four others, clamping tightly.

Your balance wavers as you're forced back, the hard line of his body pressing flush up against you.

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck are you going to do?

Eyes screwing closed, you force your breath to remain even. You— you have your own revolver but if you move, you don't doubt Rufus has any qualms with painting the shop-floor with your blood.

If he wants you, he'll have to move you- he— he'll have to leave the shop and then, you can try—

A loud clatter sound and your eyes fly open, catching on to what's been dropped — your stomach following suit quickly. Your revolver glints back at you.

"Here's what's going to happen," Rufus begins, as if he's merely discussing the weather. "You and I are gonna—"

His voice drops at the intrusion of noise, a squeak from the stairs behind you. In an instant, you remember the person you're waiting on. Arthur.

A desperate mixture of terror and relief shoves up your throat. It's a warning and a cry for help simultaneously.

When the knife shifts, you have no choice but to shift too, your body and Rufus twisting deftly—his other hand drawing his revolver in an instant, the barrel directed at Arthur. He's already drawn back the hammer.

There's no keeping your breathing even now. Not as you get to watch Arthur's distracted gaze tug upward, seeing the horror seep into his expression. His body becomes deathly still.

You don't come along on jobs for good reason. Even so, you aren't so naive as to think being an outlaw has no risks. You know Arthur has been on the barrel-end of innumerable weapons, that he risks his life on the daily.

You've just never had to see it with your own eyes before.

The scene unfolding before you feels like a honest-to-god nightmare, ripped from the most fearful parts of your mind and thrust into reality.

A slush of hysteria churns within you at the realisation you may very, very well watch Arthur die today. The man who had been the first to hold out his hand, to offer you aid, to pull you from the life you were running to escape.

The one you hold too closely in your heart, in your affections.

The thought triggers something to seize terribly in your heart — and you know suddenly, without doubt, you'll do anything to stop it from happening.

There's a long moment where nobody breathes. You watch as Arthur's sharp eyes dart from the gun, to the knife on your neck, up to your face in rapid succession. You watch his horror bleed into a vengeful fury, one like you've never seen before.

"You don't want to do that."

The words come out so low it's nearly a growl. Arthur's hand moves, drawing back to his holster when Rufus interrupts.

"Uh, uh, uh," He taunts, quickly turning the barrel of the gun to your head. The barrel of it butts against your temple.

Arthur freezes.

"That's right. You're going to drop your revolver."

It's a staggeringly long moment as Arthur wrestles with what to do, his hand still hovering, fingers twitching. Then the knife nudges closer and the single trickle of blood down the column of your neck is enough to have him complying.

It lands with a thud against the floor. It feels like the nail in the coffin.

"Why are you doin' this?"

The revolver in Rufus' hand lolls forward to aim back at Arthur, the motion almost lazy. He smiles.

"She didn't tell you?" His attention switches to you, using his thumb on the knife to stroke along your neck. "Is this who you replaced me with, treasure? He's hardly an upgrade. Hell, he looks—"

The words die off as Rufus' head snaps back to Arthur, his passive grip on his gun changing in an instant.

For one long moment, he studies the outlaw across from you both and then, horribly, you feel the moment he starts to laugh.

"Oh, treasure," He all but coos at you. You see Arthur bristle across the room. "You're precious. Runaway with the outlaws, did you? This day just gets better and better."

He focuses his gaze back on Arthur and lines up his aim, hand steady. "I've seen your wanted posters, Mister Morgan. A fine five thousand to bring you in. My bride and my money all in a day's work."

He grins like the goddamn cat that got the cream, finger adjusting on the trigger.

And even though you know he knows, even though you know you told him, you can't help how your focus snaps to Arthur's reaction. Your stomach swoops in a horrible twist.

Because you can't but wonder if you're worth the trouble. As if you think, that now, as he realises who this man from your past is, he'll relent. He'll hand you over.

Understanding flickers across Arthur's face, the word bride sinking in with a sting. Then, somehow, the lethality rippling from his very being grows, expanding tenfold.

He's downright murderous, looking every bit of the immoral, malevolent man he believes himself to be.

He is never going to hand you over, you realise, the fear dissipating in the air like smoke.

Another one takes its' place. It's a terrible truth; he'll get himself killed trying to save you.

"Best of all?" Rufus hums. "You're wanted dead or alive, Mister Morgan."

He'll kill him.

You act without thinking. Distracted enough, Rufus' strength is beaten as your wrench the arm holding the knife back far enough to bite down into it, hard. Blood springs up beneath your teeth, the hard lines of sinew snapping beneath the force.

Rufus howls in pain. The revolver drops Arthur from its' sights as Rufus shoves against you fiercely, the butt of the gun slamming against your temple in a loud knock. You both hurtle to the ground in a desperate struggle—and all you can think of it the blade in his hand.

It presses forward, aimed for your neck, and you rip your teeth out of his arm, taking a pound of flesh with it. Rufus wails again and the knife surges forward, intended for your heart.

You twist frantically and escape the hold, scampering up and with nothing but pure instinct, your urge the blade into his own chest, pressing with all your weight.

It sinks in with a satisfying, bubbling gurgle. Blood rises quickly to spew from the wound, a river of red spilling out.

He's going to kill him—he's going to kill Arthur. The manic thought has your hands prying the knife out and driving it back in again, over and over, his body making soft squelching as gutted sounds drag from his mouth.

Blood sprays wildly, coating your face and clothes, but you can't stop. You can't stop, he's going to kill Arthur and take you away from him. You can't let it happen— you can't—

Hands pull at your arms and you seize wildly, dropping the knife and thrashing away, but in doing so, Arthur swings into vision.

It's him. He's alive. He's the one touching you. He's speaking, his lips moving, but no words are reaching your ears.

Your chest is heaving, hyperventilation wracking your body. Your ringing ears finally tune back in.

"—alright, you're alright. It's me. He's dead. He's dead. You're okay." Arthur murmurs, almost nonsensically, his hands held out, palms up. He's crouched before you and he barely knows what he's saying, but you're staring at him like a wild animal, drenched in blood.

"It's okay," He says again, desperate to help you in any way he can, blue eyes locked on you. "You're okay."

There's still blood in your mouth from the chunk you've taken out of Rufus' arm and a bright red splatter of it sprayed across your face.

"I—" The word coughs out of you.

Your gaze falls into horror as you take in the body growing cold on the floor next to you. Arthur watches the panic set in as the realisation of what you've done sets in.

"I- I had to, I had to," You begin to babble, terror threaded in your tone. "I had to, he was— he was gonna kill you."

"Hey, hey," Soothing sounds fall from his lips as Arthur shifts forward, reaching for you desperately. You grip his forearms, eyes wide, as if you need to make him understand.

"He was gonna—" Your words are interrupted by your own choking sob, breathing coming too fast. "Arthur, he was gonna kill you, I-I had to."

"I know, I know," Arthur croaks out, his throat thickening as his own realisation dawns. This hadn't been an act of rabid self-defence, as he thought. You had killed Rufus for him.

You, who can't stand the sight of blood, who gets queasy at the butchers, who doesn't like to hunt or kill — but will for him. To protect him. If he wasn't already there, the sheer display of love would send Arthur crumbling to his knees.

But he just moves his hands, his violent hands, to cup your face. The blood smears. "I know, sweetheart."

You’re staring him, your eyes still wide and wild, looking frantically for something in his face. Forgiveness? Absolution?

Arthur will gladly absolve you of this, a crime that was barely a crime at all. Saving his life and your own, at the cost of the life of a killer.

There's blood on your eyelashes and in your hair. Your breathing slows but your bottom lip quivers with a fierceness. In the smallest voice he's ever heard from you, you whisper, "I had to," then crumble.

Arthur's large body cradles yours easily, one hand tucking around your middle and the other shifting to cup the back of your head as you sink into him. Your head tucks away in the crook of his neck, soft sobs spilling out easily now, and something awful aches in Arthur's chest.

"I got you," He repeats, a promise, a goddamn oath he swears to keep. "I got you, you're okay. You didn't do nothin' wrong."

He feels downright evil to move you so soon but his ears prick at some commotion below. Casting his eyes back to dead body, Arthur knows the large pool of blood has made its way through the floorboards. It's only a matter of minutes before the Sheriff will be here.

"Shit." He curses. He strokes a tender hand along your hair, calling gently for your attention.

"We gotta move. People are comin'. Can you walk?"

You dig your face out of his neck, movements sluggish. The exhaustion from the terror has drained you, your eyelids already drooping, limbs heavier.

Arthur makes the call for you.

Hoisting you softly into his hold, he keeps you nestled against his broad chest, arms tucked behind your back and the bend of your knees. He's almost thankful you can't stand, if only so he can feel the puffs of breaths that escape you against his neck, a reminder you're still with him.

Arthur eyes the locked door in the back corner. It'll lead around the back of the general store and out to the street but Hypatia and your own horse were still hitched out the front. Gritting his teeth, he prepares himself for a wild run, hoping the element of surprise is enough.

It will be enough. It has to be enough.

It's with a charging sprint that he makes it down the stairs, his boots slamming against the wooden floorboards. He doesn't pause to take in the shop-keepers aghast reaction, nor the sprinkling shower of red from the ceiling.

He bursts out into the daylight. Eagle eyes scanning the streets, it's clear that, for now, he's ahead of the law.

With less gentleness than he'd prefer, Arthur pushes you up onto Hypatia's saddle, keeping one hand on your waist to keep you upright and on. His other reaches for the reins hitched over the post and he snags them free, quickly doing the same for your horse.

There's a yell down the street, loud and demanding. Arthur doesn't spare a glance, vaulting himself up onto the saddle behind you.

With a hyah! and a loud, practised whistle, Hypatia breaks into a sprint, quickly followed by your own horse.

Two horses tear down main street, hooves thundering, a fearsome and unstoppable silhouette against the western sun.

The townspeople bleat their fear, barely leaping out the way in time as the horses rush by. Dust kicks up a red-dirt storm. Soon, when it settles, gone will be the only proof you were ever there.

Arthur rides.

The weight of you, slumped back in his chest, is less of a comfort than he would like.

He wants to— no, needs to see your eyes, needs to intercept every foul, wicked thought running rabid in your mind. You’re clawing at your soiled conscience, he’s sure of it, trying to tear the new stain on it from you.

Ruined yourself—for him.

A spidering guilt cloys in his chest, darker than ink and sharper than any blade or bullet he’s ever felt before. His chest aches.

Arthur knows he’s a bad man. He just never imagined he might drag you down to his murky depths.

Swallowing heavy, he grips the reins tighter. Leather bites into his palms. He welcomes the punishment.

He feels, more than hears, your sudden shuddering gasp as you come back to yourself. Your exhaustion must have dipped away enough and it’s clear, for a moment, you struggle to place yourself and your surroundings.

The jostle of a horse beneath you is a giveaway but even so, Arthur feels your hand curl across his toned forearm. Your grip is tight, nearly masking the tremble in your fingers. Nearly.

“It’s me,” Arthur assures, raising his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear over the rumble of galloping. “I got you, it’s Arthur.”

The grip on his arm loosens, his works sinking in, and you nod wordlessly. You let him cocoon you in safety, surrounded in his arms.

Unknown to Arthur, the ride is far too reminiscent of the journey you’d taken all those years ago; the long, hard ride with no goal but putting distance between you and where you were running from. Who you were running from.

Except this time, the one you're running from is dead. He’s dead and you killed him.

It’s unclear how far he travels, the sun sitting lower in the sky, a pinkness blooming on the horizon, before Arthur pulls Hypatia into a slower trot.

You hadn't been followed out of Rhodes, he knows, but he’d still taken you as far as he could, likely further than necessary.

But now, out of physical danger, his priority switches on a dime, all of his senses zoned in to you before him. You, still wordless, still vacant, still painted in a glaze of scarlet.

The decision come easy, Arthur using his keen skills to trot towards the sound of water. A thorough check ensures you'll have no company and Arthur wastes no time, tugging the reins to a halt with a quiet click. He dismounts, large hands reaching for you before his boots even hit the dirt.

You’re willing, your hands seeking him, finding his shoulders and allowing him to help you off Hypatia. There’s a dulled look in your eyes and Arthur knows he will do anything—anything— to change that.

Feet on the ground, you’re level with his chest and you blink slowly, staring forward.

For a moment, Arthur waits, his brows drawn together in his concern. He gives you the moment. If you need to cry, to scream, to blame him — he'll take it, weather whatever storm you have brewing within you.

But you only drag yours eyes up to meet his, voice still small, "I got blood on you."

Another fracture in his chest, another ache of misery. Arthur sighs, gaze softening immeasurably, his hand coming up to cup your cheek tenderly. The blood smears beneath his touch.

"That's alrigh', sweetheart." He murmurs, sweet as he can. He tilts his head slightly, towards the lazy, roving river, blue eyes never leaving you. “Will ya let me clean yer up? In the river?”

You seem to just notice the riverbank you’re standing upon, head twisting to peer at the roaming water of the river.

A nod, minuscule and unnoticeable, if he wasn’t tuned into your every movement.

His hand on your face shifts, reaching down to tangle with your own. It's an anchor in unsteady seas, solid and unflinching.

Your eyes take in your hands, intertwined, and trail up to his face — and you know, with a sudden burning intensity, you can't regret what you've done today.

Not if it means having him. Not if it means saving him.

Arthur leads you down to the water, slow and steady. You follow, hand clutching his tightly, like a devoted follower who trails a messiah, your salvation ahead.

Stopping only to remove your boots and his own, along with his hat, Arthur bites back his hiss at the chill of the water as he wades his way in, fully clothed. The water licks up his calves, thighs, rushing around the sudden intrusion. When it reaches above his waist, he pauses, letting you catch up.

The sun kisses the horizon in the distance, a mellow and amber light cast far across the landscape. Strange how much had happened, had changed, in a manner of hours.

Crickets chorus. In the nearby trees, an owl hoots a soft lullaby.

Arthur doesn't let go of your hand. With the other, he brushes it across the surface of the river and then reaches in, letting it pool into his palm. He brings it your face and lets its run across your hairline, loosening the blood that's crusted there.

It's a slow, dedicated process.

Hands, scarred and calloused, pass over your skin the softest of touches. His thumb works gently at your hair, washing the blood away into the river. You close your eyes when he asks you to, in a low murmur, and the cake of sin is cleaned from you in the most tender of motions.

"Will I ever be clean again?"

A whispered question, eyes still closed. The blood may be leaving but you can still feel it spraying across your face, hot and thick. It's sunk in, you're sure of it—evidence of your crime just an inch beneath your flesh.

"You are not unclean." Arthur grunts, his hand still moving as he speaks. His thumb passes over your jaw. "This— what you did, it don't dirty these hands, you hear me? You did what you needed to do. You did nothin' wrong."

The assurances feel heady and heavy and you want to shake them off. You're not yet sure if you deserve them.

"I'm not mad he's dead." You say. He has to know this.

"I'm not mad I—" Your voice wavers terribly, even if your mind is set. "—killed him."

Eyes fluttering open, you gaze up at Arthur, reverent and resolute. "I... I would do it again, Arthur."

The for you is unspoken.

But if he looks, if he peers between the lines, you know Arthur would find it, beside the I love you hidden within your earnest words.

It's barely a secret—not when you want him to see it. You've been torn open today, a festering wound split down your middle, and somehow nothing feels more crucial than him knowing.

Him knowing and loving you still, seeing you unchanged, despite it all.

The water rushes around you, carrying your transgressions away, and his hand in yours, dwarfing it, does not falter. Arthur's eyes graze across your face. He seems to find what he's searching for.

"You won't ever have to, sweetheart." He says, voice nearly a whisper.

His lips find your hairline, scraping a delicate kiss against the clean skin there. Then he presses his forehead against yours, soothing and intimate, a lifeline. An understanding and a reciprocation.

A sudden urge possesses you, the words clawing up your throat in a frenzy.

You need to tell him, need to say the words aloud and make him understand, as you had on that shop floor.

What if he doesn't know?

His forehead shifts against yours, the tips of your noses nudging together, your interwoven hands grasping each other just as tightly as the other. A warmth rises in your chest, glowing and fizzling, and despite the day, your lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

He knows.

[moonstruckme]

poly!marauders x reader helping her move into their shared flat! maybe a little angst cuz she doesn’t wanna impose but also fluffy

Thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Angel, we’ve got it,” James says again, warding you off with a playfully stern look when you get too close to your own dresser. Sirius, clutching the other end for dear life, looks less confident. “Go start putting things the way you like them, we’ll handle the rest of the big stuff.” 

You give Sirius a guilty look as you do what you’re told, going into the kitchen where Remus is opening your taped-up boxes with a butter knife. 

“Best to stay out of their way,” he advises you. “Jamie will fully let go of that dresser before he lets you near it, and we’ve got a busy enough day ahead of us without taking Sirius to A&E.” 

You grin. “Too true.”

Remus makes a funny cooing sound as he pulls your heart-shaped measuring cups out of a box. “Oh, these are precious.” His bottom lip curls softly. “Is it odd that this feels sort of like opening gifts? Do you have a zester? I’ve been pining after a zester for months.” 

“I do,” you say, somewhat giddy at the prospect of having your things amongst theirs. “It’s in the other box, though.” 

“Fuck, it’s like Christmas.” Remus tears into that box, leaving you to the first. 

It helps that you already have a sense of where things go in the boys’ flat, having stayed here many nights over several months before they’d asked you to move in. You grab the next thing out of your box and reach for the cabinet behind Remus, minding his head as you open it, and look for an empty space on the top shelf. 

“Oh.” The word drops limply from your lips.

“Hm?” 

“You already have a blender.” 

“Yeah, Jamie’d never get by without one,” says Remus with a fond eye roll. “He all but lives on those protein smoothies.” 

“Right. Yeah, I forgot.” 

“You can put yours in there next to it, love.” He looks at you over his shoulder, a slight bemusement in his expression at your dispirited tone. “He leaves that thing dirty in the sink all the time, it’ll be nice to have a backup.” 

“Okay.” You slot yours in beside it, but your eyes fall to the neat stacks of plates and bowls on the shelf below them. Somewhere in the bottom of one of these boxes, you have your own plates and bowls, mismatched and collected from different stores over time. These ones are uniform, a matched set. “Do you think my dishes will go okay in here?” 

“What do you mean?” Remus turns around, following your gaze to the cabinet. “We’ve got plenty of room.” 

“I know, but…” But with your dishes added onto theirs, they’ll be stacked nearly to the top of the shelf. More than anyone needs. “You all picked yours out together, and mine don’t match. I don’t want to add things you don’t like.” 

“You won’t be.” Seeming to sense you need it, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, standing with your back to his front. “Darling, we picked out these dishes because when we moved in here, all three of us had only been using paper plates. It wasn’t a big decision, we just needed to feel like adults.” You can hear his smile close to your ear. “Don’t worry about matching, alright?” 

“Alright,” you say, sinking into his hold, but your mind is already cataloging every way you could be intruding. 

Your glasses won’t go with theirs either, and neither will your pots and pans. The cabinets will be full to bursting. By the window, their little kitchen table has three chairs. The couch in the living room is only big enough to fit three, the armchair they’d bought to accommodate you when you started coming over regularly sitting off to the side. Separate. 

“Hey,” says James, popping into the kitchen. You’re partway through unloading your kitchen things, your guilt mounting with every overstocked shelf. “Do you want to come tell us where you’d like your dresser? We’re having some trouble, it’s a bit of a tight fit.” 

“Yeah,” you say weakly, following him down the hall. Remus, the unofficial master of logistics, comes behind you. 

In the bedroom, Sirius is trying to jam your dresser in between a nightstand and the wall, shoving it with his shoulder and threatening to take off the paint in the process. 

“Stop!” you and Remus say in unison, him rushing forward to grab Sirius while you hang back, open-mouthed. 

“You’re scuffing the wall,” Remus tells Sirius, not unkindly. “Don’t try to make it fit if it doesn’t, love.” 

The words ring around in your head, an omen. 

“I don’t need it,” you say. All three boys turn to look at you, various degrees of befuddled. “It doesn’t fit, it’s fine. I can get rid of it.” 

“It’ll fit,” says Sirius. “We’ve hardly tried yet.” 

“Angel, you love that dresser.” James looks like a confused puppy, clearly having caught onto the fact that something’s wrong but unsure what it is.

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant. You do love it, truthfully. It’s been with you since you moved into your first place, collecting tiny scratches and absorbing the coalescent scent of the candles you keep in the top drawer. It’s been the hallmark of every home that’s ever been your own, but this place isn’t just yours. Your boyfriends are already doing a lot by sharing their space with you, and you don’t want to be more trouble than you’re worth. 

“It doesn’t fit,” you say simply. “It’s okay.” 

“We can put it right there,” Remus says. The three of you turn, and there is a wall by the door, entirely blank. You’d completely forgotten about it. 

“Perfect. Genius, Rem.” James beams at Remus, his expression gentling when he looks back at you. “Okay, lovely?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You smile weakly. Sirius makes a tsking sound, regarding you through narrowed eyes. 

“You’re being weird. Spill.” 

You shrug again, arms wrapping around your middle of their own volition. “I just didn’t think about how much stuff I have until now,” you admit. “You guys already have everything perfect in here, I don’t just want to…cram my stuff in when it’s already the way you like it. I don’t know, it…” You study the floorboards, unable to look at any of them. “It feels like I’m butting in a bit.” 

For a thick, dreadful moment, the boys are silent. 

“We want you to have your things here,” Remus says softly,  “because we want you here, dove.” 

“Alright, let’s not act as though that was ever in question.” Sirius shoots you a smile, dimming a bit when you look at him sheepishly. “Sweetheart, obviously we want you here. Why would we have asked you to move in if we didn’t?”

You nibble the inside of your cheek. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your minds. You guys work together so well already.” 

“We work together with you even better.” James comes up behind you, wrapping you up in a hug like he’s unable to help himself. He sets his lips on your shoulder, words buzzing against your skin. “It wouldn’t feel right if you were here and none of your stuff was. There’s plenty of room, but if in some places there’s not then we’ll make room. We want you here, okay?” 

You nod, trying to make yourself believe it. 

“Let’s have a break,” Remus suggests. “There’s lemonade in the fridge.” 

“Yes please.” Sirius is quickly onboard. “I can feel the soreness coming on already; my muscles have never been so terribly abused. I’m going to need a massage tonight, definitely.” 

“I’ll do it,” you offer. James keeps you tucked under his arm as you all start back down the hall. “Seems like the least I can do.” 

“In that case, I think my thighs are taking the brunt of it. Better pay the most attention to those, sweetness.” 

“These are privileges which you shall have from this night onward,” says James, mashing a kiss into your hair. “Welcome home, angel.” 

[celuere]

„Like this….?“

„Just…. Like that, my love….“

cw: transfem!arle, arle has severe baby fever, handjob, tit fuck, milf!reader because I am insane rn, mdni

The sight was killing her.

The Knave had a lot of delightful experiences in her life, most of them included you. From your first meeting to your wedding up until the first child.

But seeing her dick neatly placed between your breasts- squished together by your hands with the already leaking tip dripping with her arousal that already ran down to your neck….

Celestia won’t let her get past the pearly gates. Ever.

It wasn’t the first time you used those pretty things to get your Husband off, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence either. Especially with your current situation. Parenthood exhausted the both of you and neither of you had properly found the time to truly get back to… bed sports…. but Archons know that some Release was desperately needed. Just something to deal with the challenges you face every day with an eight month old baby.

And you wanted to start slowly. Like you always used to.

It first started purely innocent. A few soft kisses to the lips when she joined you in bed after a dreadful day filled with meetings and annoying paperwork. A few whispers about how much she has missed you and the baby throughout the day. It‘s all that’s been occupying her mind for the past months. You. Your baby belly she is missing dearly. Your child. And how she wants more children. Seeing you nurse the bundle of joy in your arms, waking up in the middle of the night to a cranky baby that grows quiet and suspiciously happy to see their Father pick them up from the cruel prison called „crib“ is giving the Harbinger more problems than she would like to admit. Especially to you.

It is usually advised to have at least a one year difference between birth and the next pregnancy and Arlecchino would rather spend a day with Dottore than put you through the process of pregnancy and labour again before you are fully healed. Even if that means exhausting her hand instead of you.

But just something seemed to be in the air when you pushed your tongue past her lips, sneaked your hand underneath her sleepwear to cup the tent thats raging inside her boxers and then soon found your hand underneath it. Grabbing her, squeezing her, jerking her right off as she thrusted her hips into you. She didn’t ask. Didn’t complain. Just savored what you were willing to offer her.

Of course, you noticed it. The way she eyed down at night, when you wore nothing but one of your silken gowns, when you came out of the shower or even when you looked like your worst after a restless night. You always noticed those bloody eyes eating you up. That cursed hand silently adjusting the position of her pants. A sudden shift in her position to cover her crotch.

As her wife, hiding was useless.

So was cleaning up the mess she left inside her underwear. Cock still twitching in your hand as you milked her out for all she was worth, bathing in the breathy moans of your Husband as she towered over you, kneeling on the mattress as her hands grabbed onto the headboard of your bed with all her might until the wood started to splinter beneath her grip.

But despite your hand being coated in the pearly, thick evidence of her climax…. Arlecchino still felt incredibly unsatisfied with her hardness still pushing against the fabric of her pants. She almost felt ashamed about it, having her poor wife take care of her carnal desires like this.

Poor??? You were anything but poor. You knew exactly what you wanted. And that was to fulfill your Husband’s needs just like she did it for you plenty of times throughout your relationship. And you wanted her lean back every once in a while too and maybe you’re not in the perfect state for all types of positions and durations yet… there was still a fair share of stuff you could do for her.

Which is why she found her cock between your tits now.

„You… really do not have to do this for my sake.“, she whispered, eyes fixed on the stretch marks running up the sides of your chest. She was sane. So sane. Totally not going feral in her mind.

„I want to. How often have you done the same for me….? Just see it as… a gift from your wife…. For your hard work…“, your voice was laced with a sweetness and warmth only reserved for her. The one that ring on your finger belongs to.

But all Arlecchino could think off at the thought of of a „gift“ from you was yet another child. Another nine months of taking care of her pregnant wife. Running warm baths for you in the evening. Massaging your bump before bed. Watching your peaceful face as you take yet another pregnancy nap.

She quickly shook those off.

„I… I will let you this on-” she was interrupted by the sudden movement of your makeshift hole. Working your tits around her back and forth and causing her to visibly shiver at the feeling around her. Not as nearly good as your pussy swallowing her whole but it was better than nothing. As long as it comes from you, Peruere will take everything you are willing to give her. And she will not complain.

She couldn’t help this image of you burning itself into her mind again. Pregnant with child. Her child. Goodness, Arlecchino might just pass out at thought of it. Just thinking about beautiful you looked back then (Always did. Still do.). The thought of sharing and creating her own future with you- someone who was never granted true freedom.

So unwell. She is so incredibly unwell. Chest tight with excitement- but no. That has no place here.

Wait. She will have to wait.

But for now she will enjoy this little fantasy of hers.

Until she can make it reality.

[prettyfastcars]

'til I touch, touch, touch you | Mob!Lewis

Summary: Lewis finds out that you have a thing for his hands. 

Themes: explicit language, smut, fluff, praise kink, daddy kink

“Why are you sitting so far?” 

He dared ask, looking at you like he didn’t know what he was doing to you. Manspreading on the other side of the couch, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows revealing his tattoos, all the buttons of his shirt were undone so you could see his muscular, tattooed chest clearly, and his braids tied neatly at the back. 

He looked confused as to why you put all that distance between you and him on the large couch. If you sat any closer, you’d end up getting on his lap and beg him to fuck you till the morning. And he’d been working late these past few days, he looked a little tired. He deserved a little rest, you thought. 

But fuck. Those soft eyes he made at you weren’t helping. And his damn hands. One holding a whiskey glass, and the other extended towards you. You tried your hardest to look away from them. Tattoos all over his fingers, and all his rings… you took a deep breath and said, “It’s comfy here.” 

He frowned at you and tried again, “Babygirl,” He spoke in that irresistible voice of his, “Come sit with daddy, I missed you all day.” 

Ah, screw it. You gave up resisting and crawled to him until you settled right beside him, throwing your legs over his lap and leaned into the warmth of his bare chest. You couldn’t help but lean down and kiss his warm skin, right above the compass tattoo. 

“I missed you too.” You murmured, letting your lips brush over his skin. Then you nearly groaned when he brought his hand over to caress your exposed thigh. As if just looking at them weren’t torture enough, now he was gliding those slightly rough, tattooed fingers all over your skin. 

You nearly stopped breathing altogether when his fingers began getting closer and closer to your inner thighs. Your little satin PJ set wasn’t hiding much of your body anyway. 

“How was your day?” He asked, keeping an eye on what was playing on the TV while his hand mindlessly caressing your thigh. 

You couldn’t look away. Those hands had been your fixation for a while now. “Uh,” You struggled to respond, “It was fine. I did, you know, stuff.” 

Damn him. His hand slowly inched even further up your thigh, stopping you from even thinking coherently. 

“Hmm. What else?” 

You opened your mouth to answer but his fingers teased your upper thigh and you couldn’t help but groan. Leaning more into his touch as you hid your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled delicious and you groaned even louder. 

Lewis chuckled. “You think I haven’t noticed you’ve been staring at my hands?” You refused to look him in the eyes so he continued. “You’ve been doing it a lot lately, haven’t you? What is it? They turn you on?” 

You whined, trying to close your legs but he tightened his grip on your thigh and you couldn’t move. 

“You like my hands?” He teased, placing his glass down and bringing his other hand to cup your face. 

You finally pulled away from his neck so you could look up at him, and nodded shyly. 

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “Where do you want them?” 

You mumbled something but it was neither coherent nor audible. 

Lewis brough his thumb over to your mouth, tracing the shape of your lips as he said, “Louder baby, use your words. Where do you want daddy’s hands?”

“All over me.” 

His pretty brown eyes stared deep into yours as he smirked. “Come here,” He said, pulling you onto his lap. 

You straddled him like you had the habit of doing and waited, and watched how his hands went back to your thighs, inching higher and higher up your leg, caressing your inner thighs. He smirked when you moaned and kept going. Sliding those gorgeous, tattooed hands all over your soft skin. The cold metal of his rings made you shiver. 

His hands had done terrible things given the nature of his job. He had hurt, maimed, pulled so many triggers, ended lives even, but they were so gentle with you. So careful. 

He leaned in to kiss your jaw and down your neck, his stubbled brushing against your skin gently. His lips warm and soft as they brushed all over your skin. His knuckles brushed against the front of the flimsy PJ shorts you were wearing. 

He whispered, with his lips hovering over the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how wet you are, baby.” He slipped his hand past the waistband, into your thin underwear and touched you gently. His fingers circled around your clit, before he pushed a finger in, then another and started gently moving them in and out of you. “Is this what you wanted? Hmm?” 

He placed his thumb on your throbbing clit and brushed it occasionally while he finger-fucked you, your wetness dripping and smearing all over his hand. You threw your head back and moaned when his fingers touched you in all the right places, curling just right and massaging your sensitive spots perfectly.

His other hand gently wrapped around your neck, not squeezing yet but just holding you firmly. You got just a little louder as he sped up, his fingers slipping in and out of you with ease. 

“Look down,” He said, “Look how well you’re taking daddy’s fingers.” 

You did. And fuck if it didn’t make you whine and moan even louder. 

And seeing you were whining and whimpering already, he decided to torture you more by moving his hand from your throat, “Open up, baby.” He whispered, pushing two fingers past your lips and into your mouth and slowly pumped those two as well. 

Your lips immediately wrapped around his fingers. And he smirked at the sight of you, with two of his fingers buried in your wet core, slipping in and out of you rapidly while his other two fingers were buried into your warm mouth. His rings clinked against your teeth as he did. 

“Do they feel good?” 

You nodded desperately, clenching around his fingers. 

The sounds you made alone were enough to make his pants feel tighter, and make him want to tease you even more. “Yeah? You like being completely stuffed, don’t you? Look at you, look how well you take it. Daddy’s perfect little slut, hmm?” 

Your muffled moans, the way his hands moved against your skin, his fingers in your mouth, in your cunt… it was all too much. Soon you had tears streaming down your face. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth and wrapped his hand around your throat again, squeezing just a little as he brought your face closer to his. His breath was just as ragged as yours, his lips inches away from yours. “Are you gonna come, baby? You’re gonna come for daddy?” 

You nodded, moaning when he sped up again, his fingers stroking your walls perfectly and increasing the sweet, almost agonizing pressure forming in between your hips. 

You rolled your hips against his hand in a haze, chasing your orgasm, moaning and whimpering. “Come for me, babygirl.” He encouraged you and tightened his grip around your throat just a little bit more.

And you couldn’t hold it anymore, you let the familiar waves of pleasure wash over you as you came all over his fingers, crying out loud in pleasure. Gushing out all over his hand as he kept pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting everything he could out of you. He finally pressed his lips to yours and kissed you hard. 

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself then. You hurried to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, lowering the waistband of his underwear to free his erected cock. The mere sight of his perfect cock had you whimpering with need again.

You got off his lap and dropped to kneel in between his legs immediately. You reached out and wrapped your hands around his base and placed your mouth on his cock immediately, your tongue slowly circling his tip. He groaned and spread his legs further apart, inching his hips slightly forward as you took more of him into your mouth.

He sighed as he leaned back and grabbed his glass of whiskey again and sipped on it as he watched you suck his cock, bobbing your head around him just like how he liked it. You took him inch by inch until he filled your mouth completely. 

“Fuck, baby…” He swore under his breath again as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper into your mouth. “You feel so fucking good.” His praise gave you a rush.

You wanted more. You took most of his cock into your mouth and repeated your actions again and again. 

He moaned and growled occasionally. He bucked his hips forward very gently into your mouth, and loved the sight of your spit coating his cock. You looked magnificent on your knees, taking him perfectly. You always did. 

You took him out of your mouth and teased him a little bit, licking his cock from bottom to top while your hands toyed with his balls as you gently stroked him. His taste and scent was all you could focus on. 

He swore under his breath at your teasing, as you dragged your tongue over the slit on this tip lazily. He looked down at you with a warning in his pretty brown eyes, his glass of whiskey just an inch or two from his plump lips. “Don’t tease me, babygirl.” He spoke, his voice carrying nothing but authority and lust. 

So you got back to it while looking him in the eye. You took him back into your mouth and sucked on his cock until he was so close to coming undone all over your tongue, groaning and grunting in pleasure. You sped up your actions because you liked the sounds which left his lips while he was right on the edge.

“Fuck… slow down, babygirl.” He moaned, breathlessly as he came into your mouth. His thigh muscles tensing and his hips thrusting gently up into your mouth.

You swallowed all that he gave you and you licked him clean before climbing onto his lap again. This time after taking your clothes off. 

“You’re such a good girl for daddy, you know that?” He said, after catching his breath for a second or two. Hands reaching up to cup your face. “You want more?” 

You nodded again, licking your lips for any remnant taste of him. Lewis smirked and pushed you back down on the couch before he slid inside of you again, effortlessly. And the two of you moaned in unison as he filled you up again, your walls already gripping him tightly as your back arched off the couch. 

“Fuck…” You whimpered. 

His one hand wrapped around your throat while the other held on to your hip, keeping you in place. You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you. And his hand around your throat… fuck. 

He held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, quickly spitting right on your clit, his thumb spreading the wetness around as he leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moan in the process.

“Please,” You mumbled against his mouth. You couldn’t help your loud moans which followed as he moved his hips the slightest bit. His cock moving in and out of you. 

“Please what, babygirl?” Lewis pulled away and watched you as you whined at the feeling of his cock slowly moving in and out of you.

“Fuck me, please.” You whimpered, then felt your walls clenching around him as he finally sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. 

“You feel so fucking good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “So perfect for daddy.” 

You moaned at how perfect his hard, muscular, tattooed chest felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. His soft lips brushing against your skin as he kissed you everywhere he could. 

Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.

Lewis looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “Look at me, babygirl.” When you did, he whispered, “Daddy loves you. So much. You understand?” 

You nodded. The possessiveness in his voice only made you clench around him again. 

He gave you a lazy smile, “Then be a good girl and come for daddy.” His hand squeezed your throat, making you moan even louder. He leaned in, giving you a messy kiss. “Come all over my cock, baby. Come on.” 

You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core yet again and you whined when his hand let go of your throat and his fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.

Lewis loved that look on your face, that look of utter bliss, pain, pleasure, lust and hunger all at once. “That’s it, babygirl. You’re taking me so well, look at you. Now come, come all over me,” He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. 

Whimpering and back arching off the couch as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him. He kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. 

He growled as he buried his cock deep inside you, coming undone right after you. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, feeling some of his cum drip down your thighs before he dropped carefully on top of you. 

“You okay, baby?” He asked, gently kissing your neck while his hands touched you everywhere they could, rubbing up and down your sides, and thighs. 

“Yeah,” You breathed, placing a hand on top of one of his, toying with his rings. 

“Wanna go to bed?” 

You sighed. “Don’t think I can walk just yet, give me a minute.”

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Every Night, Every Day, Every Second

|| Jinx x fem!reader

|| Warnings; Jinx being clingy with reader, Jinx doubting herself, reader teasing Jinx, Jinx assuring herself reader is real, first I love yous

|| Summary; when reader and Jinx spend the night cuddling, reader can't help but admire her. Chaos and all.

Requests closed!

Started; December 8th

Finished; December 8th

HurtCember2024; Day 8, Cuddles

~~~

The night was still young as you laid on the couch. Jinx snuggled right up against you. She was never not cuddling with you. Jinx loved to cuddle. At first, it put her off. It took her a while to get used to it. Then once she did? Well, Jinx was all over you. Every night, every day, every second. You were basically Jinx's favourite chair. She loved you. Which was perfect for you.

Physical touch was one of your biggest love languages, so there were never complaints about it from you. Maybe those around you. Always wondering why Jinx was attached to you. You paid them no mind, hardly caring what they thought. Jinx was all that mattered, anyways. She was your rock, just as you were hers.

Night continued to drag on. Neither you or Jinx made an effort to move; did you have stuff to do? Maybe. But this was much better. Feeling Jinx against you, her warmth, steady breathing... it was everything. She was everything. Your eyes wandered down to her. Admiring the way Jinx looked. How at ease she seemed. Even within her chaos, there were moments like these that felt almost domestic in nature. Where you just spent time with your favourite gal. Your hands played with Jinx's hair.

The action brought her attention to you. Jinx looked up into your eyes, seeing the look you were giving her. It made her blush," what is it? Do I have oil on me again?" She asked, rubbing at her cheek. She wasn't sure why you were staring. She wasn't that interesting. Right?

You couldn't help but chuckle, bringing her in even closer. Kissing the spot on her cheek where she rubbed in her search for nonexistent oil," no. You just... I don't know, you're really pretty," you murmured. Your own cheeks turning the same pink as Jinx's.

Jinx looked to you again. Adjusting herself so the two of you were now chest to chest," ya know.. if ya wanted a kiss you could have just taken one, dummy. Don't gotta butter little ol me up." Her hands cupped your cheeks, just feeling you. Assuring herself you're real.

Your hands came up and rested on her wrists, giving Jinx a gentle smile. You knew she needed the assurance, you really didn't mind. You'd let her do anything if it helped," that's not what I was doing, J. But I wouldn't mind a kiss if you're offering~" you teased.

Jinx laughed and kissed you. Her lips soft against your own, moving slowly. With care you didn't see her have with really much else. When the kiss broke, you gave her another brief one, meeting her eyes again," I love you." You hadn't said those words to each other yet. But you meant them. Every letter.

Jinx's eyes widened, her heart rate speeding up. Did you just say...? She wasn't sure she heard you right," say it again?"

You laughed, playfully nudging her," you know, normally this is the part where you say it back."

"I know- I just- say it again."

"I love you," you humoured her. Knowing Jinx probably needed the assurance again. She seemed to just melt in your hold, cuddling up to you further. As though trying to merge your bodies together with no success.

"I love you, too."

[sweatyracoon]

Kiss Cam

Notes: if anyone has any ideas on things for me to write, feel free to let me know. I need fresh ideas~

Summary: You were at a hockey game, and when the kiss Cam laned on you and the random but cute guy at your side, you didn't know what to do.

Warnings: none? Just cute Seungmin and some fluff. Possible language

You shivered as you felt the chill coming from the ice in front of you.

The game was about to start, and after finding your spot in the audience, you sat for what felt like forever.

You were supposed to be here with your friends,but they cancelled last minute, only allowing you to attend the sports game.

You didn't know much about hockey; it was mostly your friends. You enjoyed the fights that broke out occasionally, but that was about it.

Still, you came anyway, not wanting to waste the ticket.

You put on your sweater as another chill brushed against your skin, feeling the goosebumps rise on your flesh.

A loud buzzer went off before an announcer started to speak, letting us know what teams were playing, and their previous scores.

The lights dimmed lightly, a spotlight shining on the floor of ice, the men slowly skating their way out individually.

You watched, delighted, before hearing a group of boys to your left. They were quiet and respectful of those around them, but you felt a nudge in your shoulder, and then another. You turned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you. Are you alright?"

The voice itself was beautiful. When your eyes met his, the slant in his lids hid most of his iris, but his expression almost made his eyes look larger than they really were. His face was long but puffy, giving him the look of a worried puppy.

"I'm okay, thank you," You respond back, thankful for the dim lighting. You could feel the heat reaching your ears, hinting that you were blushing.

He smiled and then nodded before turning to the game that was beginning. You stared a bit longer.

He was wearing a snapback cap with a logo on it. You were sure it was in support of one of the teams, but it was too dark for you to see.

He wore a baggy jersey with a white sleeve underneath, and baggy pale jeans. When he sat, his pants outlined his thin long, legs. His hands were wrapped around a styrofoam cup, filled with some sort of beverage.

The buzzer went off again, snapping your from your thoughts.

One of the teams scored. As the boys jumped up from their spots to cheer, you did as well, suddenly choosing a side. What side? You had no clue.

It was nice seeing the boy next to you smile. It was contagious. It was also then that you caught a glimpse of his braces.

The light refracted from them, letting you see that he opted for no rubber bands. Just the natural silver.

They looked beautiful on him.

"Want some popcorn? I can't have any," He asked you suddenly when you all sat down.

You looked at him with surprise, looking down to see him holding a half empty bag of orange kernals.

"Oh! No thank you, that's very sweet. I don't eat popcorn," That was a lie, but it felt wrong to enjoy something if he couldn't. Not Infront of him at least.

"Me neither. Braces," He pointed out. He didn't physically show you, but you knew anyway.

"Ah...That must suck," You said, turning your full attention to him.

"It really does. I'm Seungmin by the way,"

"Y/n,"

His eyes sparkle a bit, a smile flooding his face. "That's pretty," He muttered more to himself than you, but you heard it anyway.

Break time came up quicker than you expected, meaning there would be games and raffles going on on the ice.

Most of the guys from his side went off to get more food or go to the restroom, but Seungmin stayed and chatted with you.

"What is your job?" He asked you, bringing the straw to his lips.

"I'm an artist. I do paintings and stuff for people. I also sculpt and do interior design. It just depends on what the customer needs," You say quietly, not wanting judgement.

You parents weren't too happy about your occupation, but it made you happy.

Despite thinking that way, you saw his face brighten.

"That's awesome! Maybe you could do one for me? I have so much empty space!" He exclaimed, pulling out his phone.

"Your just trying to make me feel better," you laugh, fisting the material of your pants.

This guy was making your heart flutter, and it made you anxious.

"No, no! I mean it-" He looks up at you. "Hyunjin would think this is awesome too! One of my friends, who happens to be with me tonight, actually," He says, smiling.

"Oh really? Does he do art?"

After you asked, Seungmin pulled up numerous pictures of Hyunjins art, and all you could do was gape at them.

They were beautiful, and all had meaning and expression. Your stuff came from other people's minds while his was from his own.

"Hey Seungmin, I got you another soda," A man with a deep voice said suddenly, making your conversation partner turn.

"Thanks Felix,"

Most of the guys from his side were back, all chatting amongst themselves. They almost seemed like brothers.

Another loose announcement blared overhead, but you barely payed it any mind.

Your conversation with Seungmin was more important to you.

For another seven minutes, the two of you talked without interruption. You found that his favorite color was purple, that he had only had his braces for a year, and that his friends calls him puppy.

You were shocked since you thought he looked like one. Maybe it wasn't just you imagining things.

Before you could continue, Felix nudged Seungmin, making him nearly bump into you.

"Felix, what the hell? Watch what your doing," Seungmin gasped, glaring at his friend.

Felix didn't even apologize. All he could do was giggle and point towards the four screened monster above everyone's heads.

There was a frame around the exterior of the screen labeled, kiss cam, and on that screen was both Seungmin and you.

Your breath caught in your throat, almost choking you. You could hear Seungmin besides you, his breathing not like it was.

"Wait, what?" He whispered, looking at the moniters with confusion.

"Kiss her, man!" One of the boys said besides Seungmin. Blush rised to your cheeks.

"Just do it," another said.

People around you started cheering, including the announcers. Claps could be heard, occasional whistles, and feet stomping on the steel panels below the chairs.

"Kiss cam? Why me?" You screech, looking to Seungmin slowly.

He did the same, his Adams apple twitching as he swallows...hard.

"Come on you two! Just give us a kiss for luck before the game!" One of the announcers say, causing the surrounding people to agree. They started a chant.

The pressure was on.

"Should we just...do it? I don't know if they'll leave us alone until we do," Seungmin whispered to you, making you nod quickly.

There was nothing you could do except follow his words. Your brain was no longer working because of the noise and sudden attention.

It was too much for you.

But you wouldn't deny this beautiful boy a kiss, even if it were under different circumstances.

"Ready?" He asked, his breath against your face.

You didn't realize how close he got. You nod.

"Words, pup," He says again, not moving until your permission is voiced.

"Yes, Seungmin," The pet name he gave you sent a shiver down your spine.

Leaning in, you both finally met in the middle, both of your lips coming together in a gentle twist.

His lips were insanely soft, and his breathing was mixing with yours as your head tilted to the side.

He did the same, allowing the kiss to deepen.

You didn't even hear the cheers or the mocking of his friends anymore. All you could feel was him. All you could comprehend was him.

He was filling your senses to the brim, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders.

You smiled against him, pulling away even thought you didn't want to.

He didn't either, because when you pulled away, his lips chased your own, trying to find one another again.

"Well done! A kiss like that will make mighty fine luck!" The announcer yelled, bringing you back to reality.

Your eyes widen as your hand moves to your mouth, covering it in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Seungmin. I got a bit carried away..." You look back at the ice, seeing the game has started yet again.

"No it's alright, I don't mind," He giggles lightly, also turning back to the game.

"I've never kissed someone with braces," You say after a while, not liking the silence between the two of you.

He looked at you with a smirk. "Was it bad?"

"No! Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually..."

His smirk turned into a look of relief. "Thank God," His words made you laugh.

"Could I maybe, get your number, or something?" He asks you. You pull out your phone, handing it to him.

"Absolutely,"

Before the game ended, you both named each other in the others contact, and provided each other a profile picture.

He was your Minnie🐶 and you were his_____.

"I'll message you when we get back to the hotel, okay? Maybe we can hang out or something?" He tells you before you all stood, getting ready to leave.

"I would like that,"

"Me too,"

[l4wsrule]

𖥔┆ misfortunate departure .

⤷ oneshot; shanks × reader : failed romance .

t͟a͟g͟s͟: shanks, red hair pirates reader, angst, romance, sfw.

Romance.

Or relationships, as they call it.

Are they really worth it?

Beckman used to say, or rather insist, that it was a bad, bad idea. Written in bold and possibly every existing font, and underlined twice. He said; "We're a pirate crew, not a soap opera."

And while the rest of the crew mostly agreed. Obviously, your red-haired captain stood firm against that. Arguing with Shanks felt like throwing a cup of water at a burning house.

It was pointless.

His love for you knew no bounds, his morals as a fierce pirate and a threat as an emperor to quite literally any naval base, crumbled entirely. With that stupid, corny smile of his that just came naturally. A smile that yelled "I'd have the sea swallow everyone whole and bring the One Piece itself to your hands in the blink of an eye."

It started off strong. It always does. Romantic, cheesy, always sticking to eachother like someone had forcibly handcuffed you together, except you did it willingly.

The quiet stares from the crew when you ate together. The first time you held hands, the feeling of his warm, calloused hand interlocking with yours in an ever so gentle hold. The loud whistles and cheers at the sight of your first kiss, with some in the background talking about losing a bet ;

"Called it! I gave it two more days max." Lucky roux laughed, slapping Yasopp lightheartedly on the back in a comforting gesture at his loss.

And so on.

And from there, it slowly escalates, into more problems, more disagreements. More "I'm too emotionally attached to not risk my life for you." type of stuff. Into, "We shouldn't have done this, we're pirates," and a bit of "This is getting risky."

You didn't want that. Neither of you wanted that. You loved him, he loved you. Certainely.

Not to the point of recklessly letting your emotions win and giving your lives away.

But you. Oh, you sure recalled. All those sweet moments, your mind sending you what seemed like an unlimited amount of very much unwanted flashbacks as you sat in your previously shared cabin. Hands on your temples like you were massaging the anger, the sorrow and the hurt out of your head forcibly. It wasn't working.

Wondering, how did you go from smiling to yourself and giggling into the pillow like a lovestruck teenager as your mind wandered to him, whenever you thought he wasn't looking.

How did you go from watching him, from a comfortable distance. Observing. Admiring. The way he talked about you to the crewmates like no other. When you thought he wasn't watching. But he was. He always was. And perhaps you knew, yet pretended not to, just to listen to him a bit longer. Paid attention to how he spoke of the smallest details about you that even you thought you didn't know, or never seemed to notice. Like you're more valuable than the One Piece itself. Which, to him, you are.

Or you were.

..Or so you thought?

You couldn't tell, at this point. Because what you had, was long over.

How long has it been now?

A few days? A week. Maybe two.

You lost count after a while. The only times you stopped reminiscing what you two had, was to run a few errands for the crew. Maybe a fight here and there. Taking care of some rookie who was brave enough to challenge Shanks himself. Perhaps an occasional mission.

What appeared to be a distant memory of you two now, you felt it. Deep inside, you could still feel it. Even now. Every inch of you felt it. Like a ghost's breath, his touch was still somehow there. Lingering. Soothing. Sometimes cold, sometimes burning hot from your shared intimacy.

Your head spiraled. You could barely focus on missions and whatever else. The clock on your wall ticking over your head like a countdown. A constant warning. The sound seemingly getting louder and louder, ringing in your ears.

A warning for you to get back to yourself, an independant pirate who never depended on anyone's measly feelings to function properly. Well, maybe that's pushing it a bit far. But Shanks definitely changed your perspectives and views of certain things. Some of your resolve completely shattered around him. And the worst part? You liked it. You loved it. You couldn't help but absolutely adore that goddamned red haired imbecile with the sweetest soul, the most heartwarming, calm voice and the kindest smile you'll ever see.

But that was it for you. Snapping out of those thoughts, one cold night at the Red Force. You made your way out of your cabin, carrying a bag over your shoulder as you took quiet, deliberate steps towards the railing. The moon hanging low, casting a spell on the calm tides of the sea, which was glittering like it was trying to mimick the dark, starry night sky underneath your gaze. A calming view, contrasting sharply with the wild storm spiraling inside your mind.

You thought you were quiet and slick. Though, amidst your heavy thinking, you seem to have forgotten one important detail ;

Shanks notices every thing.

Every move, every step, the subtle creaking of the wooden floorboards under your boots. The sound of the bag slouching over your shoulder.

Just as you were about to jump over and disembark. You, so unfortunately, felt a strong, oh so familiar grip on your wrist. It was strong, but not exactly there. Enough to hold you back, never sufficient to inflict any other feeling on you.

Great, just the guy you weren't trying to meet on your way here.

"Hm? Where to?"

He asked, quietly. Adding nothing else. A simple, firm question. Like he's asking you to confess your sins. And there it was. A voice you thought you haven't heard in decades. Deep, smooth, not overly gruff. It almost got on your nerves. How infuriatingly calm he always was, no matter the situation.

"..I'm off to clear my head, maybe a day or two.. maybe more." You sighed out. Brows furrowing ever so slightly as your eyes averted in the opposite direction of his.

And with that, his hand slipped away, freeing your wrist of his grip. He turned around, cape flaring behind him. Waving his hand dismissively.

His steps came to a sudden stop, taking a moment to glance at you over his shoulder, the scar on his eye diminishing under the dim lighting. A small glint in his eyes, a doubtful, regretting one as he spoke again ;

"..Come back safe, Y/N. We always need you here." In the most calm, collected, and gentle tone ever. Emphasis on the "we", like he was afraid to say he was the most worried specifically. But he couldn't hold you back, seeing the state you put yourself in after the break off.

Without another word, he left into the dark shadows of the upper deck, probably to the hammock he'd normally use.

Which was fine by you. Though a tinge of something you couldn't quite pinpoint, stirring in your chest. A familiar warmth, one you promptly ignored as you hopped off the ship, onto your dinghy.

And off it went. The slight frequency of the wind, along with the waves lapping gently against it, sailing it forward. Your mind wandered for a while longer, before drifting off to sleep.

Back where you left Shanks, he laid sleeplessly on the hammock, gazing up at the dimly moon lit sky, hand under his head, propping it like a pillow. His shirt half open, leg crossed over the other as the gentle wind swept through his shiny red hair. Thinking. Ever so deep in thought. Thinking about how you actively avoided his gaze in your earlier interaction. To how you were never like that with him. He's not the type of guy to move on from something like a break up so easily. No, never. He just never spoke of it much. But so did you, really.

His silence was soon to be interrupted, by the sound of a flick.

"You just let her leave like that?" A gruff, low voice spoke out, it was as if he appeared from nowhere, like a threat. It was Beckman.

Flicking the lighter, — click — ,and the flame on the cigarette— resting lazily on his lips as they curled around it— came to life.

"She'll come back. It's not like she's leaving forever." The red hair glanced at his wingman from the side of his eye.

"That's not my point." Benn exhaled, a puff of smoke emitting from his lips as he continued; "You know why she left, and you didn't speak a word."

"Women need time, Beckman, if I tried to talk her out of it, she'd just do it even faster to spite me." Shanks reassured, a small, involuntary smile tucking at the sides of his lips at the thought of you. How fierce and feisty you were. One of the most prominent things about you.

The silver haired individual was quiet. Convinced by the other's argument, but more like, not bothering much with Shanks. After all, he knew you much better.

"..Told you it would be no good." He sighed out, to which the captain quickly responded to, with a full on smile plastered on his complexion now ;

"It was worth the shot though, wasn't it?" Shanks grinned.

"..I guess it was. Couldn't have convinced you out of it back then anyway." Benn replied in surrender.

"I'll make it work again."

"You're not trying that again."

"Oh, I sure am."

Beckman rubbed his temples, rubbing a hand across his face like he was helplessly watching the world crumble right infront of him, like he wasn't just giving up on Shanks, but life itself. Or maybe life was giving up on him. An indistinguishable groan emitting from the back of his throat.

That idiot.

With the break of day, you emerged from sleep, eyes slowly blinking open to the sight of the bright sunlight ahead of you, straining your vision.

You stood upright, rubbing your eyes with a low, groggy groan. Or so you tried. Until you noticed your hands were restrained.

You didn't exactly wake up, it was more like something startled you out of your slumbers' dreams. A quick shake. A loud noise, too loud for such an early time in the morning. When the realization set in, your eyes fully widened in alert, looking at your surroundings in a daze.

Distant sounds could be heard, a few men speaking, waves lapping against the hull of a ship.. a hull.. of a ship?

You were no longer in your dinghy.

Keeping your composure, you analyzed your surroundings, for any sign of an exit, an escape route. It was a navy ship.

"Fuck, how did I not notice." You complained under your breath, looking back at the shackles holding you to the ground. Feeling the slightest bit lightheaded. "Did they drug me?"

"I don't have time to think about that now, I have to —"

"Have to what?" Mid breaking the shackles off, a sword at your throat held you back, one of the marine officers was standing right infront of you, ever so menacingly. "I don't know how one of the red hair pirates was slacking off for us to take so easily, but we sure weren't gonna let the opportunity slip between our fingers."

"You— Opportunity to do what ??" You growled, brows furrowing in a mix of anger, and.. admission? You admitted to yourself that you'd never get caught off guard so easily, never this easily. Things were really taking a toll on you, hm.

"Why, to use you as bait for that absolute menace of a pirate."

"Don't speak of him like that."

He tightened his grip on the sword at a few degrees.

"Aw, hit a weak spot, hm?" The marine chuckled, like he was enjoying getting on your nerves. And guess what, he was.

"You're really brave if you think you'll even stand a chance." You rolled your eyes, ignoring his previous comment.

"I'm sure he'll do what it takes to get you back in one piece." He spoke ominously, sword pressing a little harder against your throat, like a pending warning.

Within the deck of the Red Force, it has been days now. About four days. No sign of you.

"She said a day or two.." Shanks mumbled to himself, a tankard of rum in hand, staring out at the vast, peaceful horizon ahead of him.

"She said maybe more, Shanks." Beckman added reassuringly, like some kind of guardin angel. Always calm, always collected. Never panicked. Never thinking the worst.

The red hair turned around, leaning casually against the railing, his one elbow propping him to it.

"..Yeah." He sighed out, a small smile tucking at the corners of his mouth. "She'll come back anytime."

"Stop thinking about her so much, you lovestruck fool."

"It's true love, Beckman!"

"You're so far gone."

"I'm right where I want to be."

The interaction was soon to be cut off, by a familiar panicked voice;

"Captain, captain — !!" Lucky roux yelled out, running to Shanks like his life would end if he ran any slower. A meat skewer dangling off the side of his mouth, muffling his words, along with a newspaper in hand.

Now standing infront of Shanks, the rotund pirate took a moment to catch his breath, handing the newspaper to his captain with a slightly shaky hand. "It's her — !!"

Shanks raised an eyebrow curiously, head mildly tilted in intrigue, with that same laid back smirk he always wore, a hand raised in surprise.

"Calm down, Roux— who's.." He trailed off, taking the press from his hands, his previous smirk immediately faltering, as though he'd crossed a bridge between life and death itself. You were on the front cover, name written in bold like an alert. "..Captured." He finished.

Beckman, who was still standing beside him, sighed. Crushing his cigarette on the railing nearby, then taking the paper from his hands and reading through it carefully.

"Don't do anything reckless, Shanks. She's fine, we need a strategy."

"It's been days, Beckman, her life is on the line."

From the lower deck, Gab voiced ; "How did she get caught of all people, anyway ?!"

Shanks gathered the crew around, an unyielding expression plastered on his face. A look that could make anyone's knees buckle with just a glare.

"It doesn't matter how she ended up there, we'll find her." The red hair spoke firmly. His voice cold, gruff, leaving no room for argument.

Beckman sighed, though cracking a faint smirk at his captain's never changing determination. He could be an idiot, but Benn would follow him through hell and back.

Shanks raised his hand, where your vivre card was pointing. "Everyone, heading north now !"

The rest, on the other hand, roared fiercly in agreement. Yasopp turning the helm and sailing forward with all the speed the Red Force had to offer.

An adventure, a rollercoaster, certainely awaited.

It seemed like you were aboard that damned navy ship forever. They barely even fed you, purely on purpose. Your means of escaping were all blocked, haki significantly weakened.

Great, just what you needed. Piling up on everything happening, just the thought of everyone finding out you got kidnapped by some measly marine group, made you want to throw yourself overboard and land somewhere hot, and preferably die in a way no one would hear of you again.

But you knew they would hear, and you most certainely knew he'd come to your rescue anytime now. And you hated it, you hated being treated like some damsel in distress, but that smiling ginger idiot would do it anyway.

And so you waited, a sense of impending doom heavy on your chest. You slipped in and out of consciousness, almost forgetting there was this annoying marine guy pestering you all freaking day.

"Listen, if you're gonna be over my head yelling at me for some.. secret information from the crew or whatever, I might aswell start asking you to kill me soon." You sighed out, not even giving him the luxury of facing him.

"You're real cocky for an unarmed weakling in shackles." He teased, holding your chin up towards him with the dull side of his sword.

"And you're pretty full of yourself for threatning an.. unarmed weakling in shackles, as you say. Give me that attitude again once I'm out of here." You snapped back, calmly, firmly, giving him a bored look.

"You —"

He didn't have the chance to finish whatever he was saying, the words catching in his throat as the rest of the marines onboard yelled out, alerting ;

"Raid alert !!!! I repeat ; Raid alert, The red hair pirates are here !!!" One blurted out in panic, watching the others passed out one by one like bug sprayed flies.

There it goes.

The sentence you'd been anticipating. It was.. very much predictable. And that unmistakable haki of his.

Looking ahead, you saw him. Jumping from the deck of the Red Force into marines' vessel. That same grin plastered on his face like someone drew it on with permanent marker. He looked like he was walking into a birthday party, not invading a navy ship.

"What happened to coming back in a day or two?" Shanks chuckled, now kneeled beside you, breaking the shackles and freeing you.

"..I said I would be back, I didn't need you to interfere again." You avoided his gaze, again.

He lended you a supporting hand to stand up.

You didn't even look at it, standing up by yourself, but you quickly stumbled, holding onto the nearest thing beside you. Him.

"Hey, careful now, wouldn't want you hurting yourself." The red hair cooed, draping his arm over your side and pulling you against him, supporting your weight. You didn't protest, holding onto him aswell, barely conscious.

"I'm.. perfectly.. fine." You muttered out, almost to yourself than to him, before you allowed yourself to sleep it off, now that you knew you were safe. In his arms. In a way you absolutely despised. Yet loved at the same time.

And you woke up.

Again.

But this time, in a familiar place. The scent of your beloved cabin filling your nostrils, eyes squinted. A candle hung on your wall, spilling a dim, warm light onto the room. You didn't pay attention to how your previously dirty clothes were changed into a clean, fresh set.

And there he was. Because of course he was.

Sitting beside your bed, laid back on a chair ever so nonchalantly, like it was completely normal to watch your ex sleeping. Just another normal tuesday night.

You sat up abruptly, your bed-hair tousled from sleep, your calm, tired expression soon sharpening.

"What are you doing here ?!"

"..Uh, watching over you?" Shanks admitted sheepishly.

"Do I look like a dying victorian child?"

He held back a small laugh. "I wouldn't say that. Just thought you'd want company when you woke up, after what happened."

"Well, thanks, I'm perfectly fine by myself. You can go now."

"I think I'm good, I'll stay."

Silence.

..And more silence.

If you waited a bit longer, you'd hear crickets chirping in your ear.

He didn't leave, didn't even budge. Didn't even think or consider leaving.

And then a sigh came out of him. You were still actively avoiding his gaze like the plague.

"Listen.. Y/N. We can't keep running from this."

"From what?"

"From this conversation. From this.. whole thing going on."

"There's nothing going on, I thought it was clear that we're over."

"We're not —"

You suddenly interrupted him, raising your voice by just an octave.

"We are, Shanks. You know, I.. we both know it's just not gonna work, and you just proved my point."

He raised his hand in a surrendering gesture ; "I don't recall proving anything." He smirked.

You rubbed a hand over your face. You hated how aloof and casual he was, even now.

"You came to save me, that's also a risk."

"Come on, that doesn't count. They were just rookies."

"Well, what if they weren't ?! What if it was another emperor crew, or, or— an admiral, hell, I don't know, any high ranking figure." You stuttered, stumbling over your own words, still looking around everywhere but him.

You were scared, even if you wouldn't admit it, you were scared that just looking at him would break your entire resolve again; the one you spent weeks rebuilding. Because it would absolutely break again. It was still fragile as glass.

And when you didn't expect it, Shanks reached out comfortably, his warm hand resting under your chin, tilting your head ever so gently, not wanting to rattle you.

His earlier sheepish, cheeky grin, had disappeared. His expression softened into a warm smile. One you were too acquianted with.

"I'd fight them, too. Without hesitation. I'd fight the gods themselves for you, Y/N. Whether you like it or not." The red hair spoke, his hair falling over his face just right, the dim light highlighting his sharp features and sun-tanned skin. Eyes lighting up and glinting lovingly at the sight of you.

It was unmistakable.

That look of love.

You knew he still loved you.

He knew you still loved him.

But that was exactly the problem.

Your lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but for a moment, nothing came out, until you gathered your thoughts, not wanting to say something stupid.

"That's.. that's exactly it, Shanks.. I don't want that. I don't want you to risk your life for me. I don't want you to get attached. I want you to live freely, as my captain." You muttered out, voice slightly shaky with unspoken feelings. You said what you had to. Not what you wanted to.

His hand trailed from your chin, to the side of your jaw, your cheek, then to the bangs on your face, gently pushing them behind your ear, soothing your hair back.

You didn't protest, at all. You didn't want to. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you did. You haven't felt his touch in what seemed like decades. Sending a warm, loving feeling to your chest.

And then, unexpectedly, he leaned in and whispered an ever so tender against your lips. Feather light, like he was afraid to scare you away. Yet passionate.

Silence reigned over the moment, until he reluctantly pulled away, looking at you with heavy lidded, loving eyes, his fingers never leaving your hair in the moment.

"If you think that'll get me to stop loving you, you ought to try harder, my dear." Shanks murmured in a deep, smooth voice. Barely above a whisper.

All you could do was stare at him, eyes wide in surprise, your ears warming up. A faint blush dusting your cheeks. Heart fluttering in your chest. You couldn't even think of anything to say.

"I'm not getting scared off. As a pirate, my life is always on the line. It's what we sign up for, isn't it." He trailed off, then continued;

"And as your captain, I order you to let me love you, hm?" Shanks cooed, the most soft spoken command. And possibly the best one you'd ever gotten to hear from him.

Maybe your resolve wasn't that important now. All you wanted right now, in this moment, was to pull him back in for a kiss you've been holding back for ever so long.

And that's exactly what you did.

Even he was slightly thrown off guard, but quickly melted into it. Fingers wandering to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and deepening the kiss, your arms hooked onto his neck like an anchor.

You leaned away, again. Letting your lips linger for a moment longer. You weren't avoiding his gaze anymore. You couldn't afford to. Like you were scared he'd disappear the moment you looked away.

"Guess we could've avoided all the hassle if we had this talk from the beginning, eh?" He chuckled in a low, lighthearted tone.

"..I wish you'd stop speaking sometimes."

"Ouch. Hurts my feelings." Shanks joked dramatically, putting a hand over his chest in mock pain.

"Stay that way."

From behind the door, you heard a loud crash, like someone fell. A specific someone, big enough to cause such a noise.

Then his voice blurted out ; "Move, I can't hear anything !!"

"Not my fault you're blocking the whole doorway!!" Yasopp's voice echoed right after his, before the door swung open from the weight of both of them leaning against it.

Beckman sighed, from a distance. But you could definitely hear it. If there was a bounty up for the most disappointed, and done man ever. He'd long have surpassed Roger, the king of the pirates himself.

"I told you that wouldn't end well." He sppke firmly.

Shanks only chuckled at the sight of them, while you just facepalmed, groaning into your hands like you'd wanted the earth to swallow you whole. Seeing that, Shanks shot them a singular glare, without another word. Didn't need words.

With that, they closed the door behind and left the room, running.

"..So I guess this makes us—"

"I love you too." You cut him off.

"..What am I supposed to say to that?" Shanks chuckled.

"I hate when you say it first because you keep repeating that you love me more even when I give up."

"Fair."

You stayed quiet for a moment, before reaching your hand towards his, locking your fingers together.. for the first time in weeks, aswell.

"You could.. always say it back."

The red hair gave you a cheeky smile, one that quickly warmed up as he squeezed your hand gently, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

"Always love you more, Y/N."

Thus, the endless conflict ended. It wasn't such a failed romance after all. All you needed was a thorough talk, and maybe a bit of reassurance. Shanks would've gotten his way either way, because of course he would. He's Shanks. Unbeatable, undebatable, always got a solution for everything. But it's one of the things you liked most about that imbecile. A very loving imbecile.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

[oldsoul007]

blended

joel miller x reader

summary: y/n and Joel, best friends for years, fall in love but keep their relationship a secret from their kids. Until…

joel miller masterlist

Joel Miller and I had been neighbors for as long as either of us could remember. Our backyards were separated by a tall wooden fence, but that was more of a formality than anything. In reality, our houses were an extension of each other, and over the years, the boundaries between our lives had blurred. We were both single parents—Joel raising his spirited daughter, Sarah, and me looking after my young son, Dean. Life hadn’t been easy for either of us.

Joel’s wife had left when Sarah was just a baby, leaving him with a little girl to raise on his own. Me, on the other hand, had found myself a single mother after an unexpected divorce. Both of us had been thrust into the daunting world of parenting without the safety net of a partner, but somehow, we made it work.

Our bond started small, over shared cups of coffee on early mornings when both kids were at school or daycare. We’d watch each other struggle with the chaos of work and parenting, the endless juggling act, and laugh about how nothing was ever as easy as it seemed in the movies. Over time, we became more than just neighbors; we became best friends.

Joel would pick up Dean from soccer practice when I had to work late, and I would help Sarah with school projects when Joel was caught in work. There was a kind of quiet understanding between us, a bond that didn’t need words. We helped each other out without asking, our friendship built on mutual respect and the recognition that, in this crazy world of single parenthood, we were in it together.

It wasn’t just the practical stuff that kept us close. It was the late-night talks, the way we’d vent about the frustrations of being a single parent and life. Joel would talk about how hard it was to balance everything and still try to be the dad Sarah needed, and I would nod along, sharing how sometimes, I just needed a moment to breathe.

But lately, things had started to feel different. There was an underlying tension between us that neither had quite acknowledged. Maybe it was the way I laughed at Joel’s jokes a little too long, or how Joel caught himself lingering in the kitchen when I was making dinner, offering to chop vegetables for me when he didn’t really need to. It was subtle at first—a lingering look, a hand brushing against the other’s arm—but neither of us could deny it.

One evening, after our kids had gone to bed, Joel found himself sitting on my porch with a beer in hand, the air cool and quiet around us. Sarah had spent the night at a friend’s house, and Noah had fallen asleep on the couch watching cartoons. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments when the house was still, and the noise of parenthood seemed far away.

I sat beside him, my legs stretched out in front of me as I looked up at the stars. “You ever think about dating again?” I asked casually, my voice low, as if I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

Joel glanced over at me, surprised. He had thought about it, of course, but it felt like a distant idea. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s hard. Sarah’s still so young, and I don’t know how to balance that with someone else. You?”

I smiled softly, the kind of smile that made my eyes crinkle at the corners. “Same. But sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you know?”

He nodded, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between us. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence comfortable but charged.

Then, almost without thinking, Joel leaned in, closing the space between us. He hadn’t meant for it to happen—it just did. But when our lips met, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. His hand found its way to my cheek, and I leaned into him, the kiss deepening, soft but full of meaning.

For a long moment, there was only the quiet sound of our breathing and the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. It was like the world outside had disappeared, leaving just the two of us—two people who had been through so much and had somehow found a way to comfort each other.

Me and Joel had been seeing each other for a few months, our relationship blossoming quietly under the radar.

But me and Joel had decided early on to keep things under wraps. Our kids, Dean and Sarah, were at that precarious age where any major shift in our lives could feel monumental. Dean, my 8-year-old son, had a sharp eye and a habit of piecing together puzzles he wasn’t meant to. Sarah, Joel’s 7-year-old daughter, was a little more reserved, but she had a knack for overhearing conversations at precisely the wrong moments. We weren’t ready for questions, pushback, or the inevitable emotional fallout—not yet.

So, we snuck around.

On Wednesday evenings, when Sarah and Dean were at soccer practice, me and Joel would meet for dinner at an out-of-the-way restaurant. We’d laugh over shared stories of parenting mishaps and steal kisses in the parking lot, always mindful of the time. Weekends required even more creativity. Sometimes, Joel would claim he needed to “work late” while I pretended I was out for a “girls’ night,” and we’d catch a movie or go for a drive. Our favorite escape was a small café on the edge of town that neither of our kids would ever frequent.

The sneaking added a layer of excitement, but it also made things complicated. The guilt of hiding weighed on us both, but it also pushed us to make sure this was something real before introducing it to our kids.

“We can’t keep this up forever,” I said one evening as we sat in Joel’s car, parked on a quiet street after dinner.

“I know,” Joel replied, reaching for my hand. “But I just… I want to be sure. I want them to see how much this means to me before we bring them into it.”

I nodded, my heart warm but conflicted. We both knew the risk. If Dean or Sarah found out before we were ready, the fallout could be messy. But for now, we were content to live in our little secret bubble, savoring stolen moments and the thrill of something new.

We promised each other that when the time was right—when we were both certain this relationship had a future—we’d tell our kids together. Until then, we’d keep sneaking around, juggling the demands of our lives while holding onto this spark that made all the secrecy feel worth it.

Me and Joel stood in the kitchen, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the quiet house. Joel had just finished fixing the leaky faucet and was leaning against the counter, his warm gaze locked on me.

“You know,” he said with a small, teasing smile, “this house really keeps me busy. I might have to start charging you for all the repairs.”

I laughed softly, my cheeks tinged pink. “Oh, please. You love it here.”

“I do,” Joel murmured, his voice turning softer. Then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed me. It was tender, unhurried—a moment just for us.

Or so we thought.

“Mom?! Dad?!”

We pulled apart abruptly to see Dean and Sarah standing in the doorway, our eyes wide. Dean looked utterly baffled, while Sarah wore an expression that practically screamed, Finally.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, his voice rising in confusion.

I froze, a guilty smile tugging at my lips. “Uh… well…”

“They were kissing, Dean,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean blinked, looking between us. “Wait. Why?!”

Joel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Alright, let’s all sit down and talk, okay?”

The kids followed us into the living room, where me and Joel sat on the couch, with Dean and Sarah plopping down across from us.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Joel and I have been spending a lot of time together, as you know. And we’ve realized that we care about each other in a different way than just being friends.”

Dean tilted his head. “Like… boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Joel nodded. “Exactly. But we didn’t want to say anything until we were sure, because you two are the most important people to us, and we wanted to make sure this wouldn’t upset you.”

Dean stared at us for a moment, then asked, “So… is Joel and Sarah gonna live here now?”

I chuckled softly. “No, not right now. Joel and Sarah will still live next door. We’re just taking things one step at a time.”

Sarah, who had been unusually quiet, finally grinned. “I knew it. You guys were so obvious.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Obvious?”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah. My dad’s over here all the time, you’re always laughing at his dumb jokes, and you look at each other like those people in the movies. I told Dean this was going to happen.”

Dean looked Sarah, frowning. “Wait, you knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t get it,” Sarah said with a dramatic sigh.

Dean looked back at Joel and I, squinting. “So… does this mean Joel can take us to the arcade more? ‘Cause that’d be cool.”

Joel laughed, relieved. “Sure, buddy. I’d be happy to take you guys to the arcade.”

Sarah smirked. “And you owe us ice cream for keeping this a secret.”

Joel grinned. “Deal.”

I smiled at the kids, my heart swelling with relief. “So… you guys are okay with this?”

Sarah shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, it’s kind of weird, but it’s also cool. We’re basically a family anyway.”

Dean nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, it’s like we already knew, kinda.”

I reached out, pulling them both into a hug. “You two are amazing. Thank you for being so understanding.”

As the kids scampered off, Sarah turned back at the doorway. “Just no more kissing in front of us, okay? It’s gross.”

Joel chuckled. “Deal.”

When we were alone, Joel looked at me and smiled. “That went a lot better than I thought it would.”

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “It did. They’re happy, and so am I.”

Joel kissed my temple, his voice low and warm. “Then I’d say we’re off to a pretty great start.”

[ishestillapunk]

i need part 3 of the jackson joel and nurse reader starting a relationship and having a happy ending or else i will kms (no pressure <3)

The right side of my neck pt.3

masterlist

pairing: jackson!joel x nurse f!reader

summary: Joel and you thought you would be in the same page when you two got into this, now, two months into a relationship, things aren't what you expected.

tags: age gap (30s-50s), angst, fools in love, mentions of death, ER, mentions of medication, hospital, vomit, fools in love again god damnit, kissing, masturbation (f! receiving)

w/c: 3.1k

a/n: hey so I think this is not exactly what you asked anon but I do see them going through this stage in their relationship. thanks for your request and i apologize for taking so long!

edit: part 4 is coming 17/07!!!!

"He's a complete asshole"

"Oh, c'mon, he's not"

María set a coffee cup in front of you on the round table and takes a seat across you. Her hands curve around her red mug. "He's jus'... not used, y'know?” She says and the purse her lips to blow softly on the tea.

It sometimes irks you how much everyone seem to normalize Joel's behavior. His sudden distance, his silence, his emotional immaturity. Is not as if you had a psychology degree or as if you were the queen of affective responsibility, but he was the one to approach and ask you to be in a relationship with him. Why is he running away now?

"I get it that he's not used, I'm not neither but I'm not hiding or ignoring him in the street" You frown not even caring on touching your mug.

"Is he ignoring you?"

"Yes! He just appears in the middle of the night at my place and leaves before the first patrol run around the block. He's not only hiding from me but also hiding me from being seen with him." Your hands tremble lightly over your lap. Questions with no answer begin to overflow your brain.

"Did I do something wrong?" You ask quietly. Maybe there's something about this new stage, of being in a relationship that you don't really decode yet. Maybe you were supposed to do something and he got tired of expecting it. But what could that be? More sex? More acts of service? Maybe more submission?

"Wait" María raise her hand lightly between you and her and lowers it over your lap, on your trembling hands. "I know what's running through that mind of yours and no. No, you did nothing wrong" The woman gets her chair closer to yours.

"Look. Joel is not an easy man to read. Its easier for him to walk away for a while and think in silence than to talk stuff out. It's just his old fashioned way of being as normal as he can after so many things he lived in the past. I know is hard to understand but you just have to give him time"

"But I don't like how he... Sort of hides. It feels like I'm his worst decision" You lift your head and lock eyes with María. She has that motherly gaze on her eyes that makes you feel a cocoon of safety, like a space for you to say what has been clogging your throat.

María looks to the side for a moment. Thinking. You can see her calculating the reactions you could probably have to what she's about to say.

"Tommy told me he feels weird going out with you or being seen with you because you're too young" She finally drops the bomb and you frown profusely.

"Young? I'm thirt-"

"I know. I know. I didn't said he was right" María stands up and walks to the living room while gesturing you to follow. She points the small memorial over the hearth you noticed when you walked in the first time but never asked.

"Sarah was born in the 89'" She says looking at the small black board. The name beside it says Kevin. You look at María, lightly confused.

"Who's Sarah?"

María looks at you and squint her eyes a bit.

"Oh. So that's the name" You finally realize.

“I tried following those eyes,” he whispers. “But I couldn’t. She was fourteen that night… she died in my arms.”

You and María take a seat on the couch while looking at the memorial. You feel her now looking at your profile.

"You're the age she would be now."

You close your eyes and sigh heavily. Feeling, maybe, the odd feeling he might feel when he's near you.

"I'm not her" You shift uncomfortably on your spot. What is she intending? You look back at Maria and she nods, closing her eyes.

"I know. And I don't think he consciously sees it that way"

“Sir, please, don’t throw up in that” You quickly snatch the plastic bag from the man’s hands and change it for a plastic bucket.

“Thanks, ma'am…” The old man nods with an almost toothless smile and hunches to throw up. You rub his back while searching in the pocket of your scrub for the next room you need to check.

The scent is heavy with that kind of plastic mixed with iron and some antiseptic flying around. The infirmary is packed today, and you’re supposed to be home in an hour, but it doesn’t sit right with you leaving your coworkers with the amount of patients that are waiting around.

You walk out once the man is back on his bed and walk down the hallway passing the patient rooms that are currently having their visits. The hubble is low, quiet, hushed. Some scent of flowers comes your way, some sniffles are heard from somewhere else.

“Are you busy?”

You whirl around with that light urgency of being useful, and then notice that it’s him. Your shoulders tense a bit but also feel a warmness run up your spine. Weird mix of anxiety and love.

“Hi. I’m good, thanks for asking” You articulated. He stands near but doesn’t touch you, instead, he grabs his wrist, massaging it while he looks to the sides of the hallway. “Oh, no. You’re fine. No one is gonna kill you for being around me”

“I didn’t said anything”

“You don’t need to. You look awfully embarrassed of being near me”

Joel lets out a light sigh through his teeth while looking at you, then he looks down at his own hands, untangling them.

“I jus’ wanted to tell you that I won’t be going to your place tonight. I have perimeter with Tommy and I can’t switch spots with anyone, I tried” His eyes roam your face while he speaks. You notice he doesn’t have that melted gaze he gives you indoors, even seems as if he’s holding himself.

He’s keeping distance. That knee popping out stance with his thumbs hooked on his belt. Chin lifted. Jaw tight.

“Ok, Joel.” You just answer, dry. He notices and arches a brow.

“What happened?” He crosses his arms. Some nurses walk through the hallway and glance at you two.

Silence.

“I don’t know, you tell me” Again. Dry. You mock him by crossing your arms too.

You’re getting a bit exhausted by this attitude of his. Being a vulnerable gentleman with you behind the door, caressing you every time he has the chance, placing his hand on your lower back, caressing your hair, hugging you from behind.

And absolutely nothing in public.

“I’m trying, dar–” He cuts himself when he hears some steps coming. Lower his head and scratch his beard. A male doctor passes by and he looks at you again. “I’m trying.”

“Yes, hard enough. Thought we had this behind us but it seems like we've been running in circles for two fucking months.” You let out lightly, tilting your head and receiving a stammer of his mouth trying to say something but you cut him off. “Look. I have work to do. Just…” You stare at him almost with pity. And it breaks him.

“This is not about you” Joel raises his hand between you and him, not reaching you but trying to ease the situation.

“I don't even know what this is about, Joel.”

You walk past him. He stands there, looking down.

Later in the night, the feeling of the bed dipping under someone's weight behind you makes you open your eyes. You see his back while he's sat on the edge of your bed, taking off his boots and jeans.

By lifting your head a bit, you notice he brought the space heater upstairs and placed it near the door. The warm orange weakly illuminates the furniture nearby and the soft electric hum fills the silence that mixes with his exhausted breathing.

“I thought you said you wouldn't be coming tonight…” You murmur, your hand stretches across the mattress and caresses his back, sliding your hand below his flannel.

“Tommy said I look like a zombie with insomnia” Joel answers with barely enough volume, but you get to understand. He finally lays down and takes your hand, holding it over your stomach while spooning you.

Silence. He sighs, his hand slides up to caress your cheek, thumb brushing over your lips. “You're all I see when I close my eyes..."

You frown softly. Is that good? You should feel flattered? You're his problem when he tries to sleep?

“You want to talk about it?” You ask tilting your head.

Joel doesn't explain further. He turns you around, grabs the back of your thigh softly and brings it over his hip, above the elastic of his briefs. His hand caresses the longitude of your back and you, even if you force yourself not to, you lean to nuzzle your nose with his, breathing near his mouth.

His fingers slide through your folds like he’s mapping familiar territory. One thick finger finds your clit and rubs firm, slow circles, while the other pushes two fingers inside without warning. You moan grasping his biceps, bucking your hips, and he grit his teeth while nuzzling his nose on your cheek.

“You feel how wild you have me lately?"

Your hands grip over his shirt. His fingers work you open, scissoring gently before curling just right. You feel the snap building fast. He watches your face with a hunger that borders on feral.

“Come for me” he growls. “Let me feel you. I jus' want t'feel you..."

Your body obeys before your mind does. You cum with a shattered gasp, thighs trembling, cunt clenching around nothing once he pulls his fingers out. Your mouth opens against his, a sharp gasp that is cut by him biting your lower lip gently, sliding into a kiss.

Your hand goes to hold his wrist but his other hand takes your wrist and holds it over his cheek while he kisses you. You try to pull his briefs down but he just moves your hands away, guiding them somewhere else. Joel sucks on your neck, your chest and nipples. Covers you with kisses and slick smooches.

“Joel, let me touch you…” You whisper husky looking down at his hand holding yours against his chest while he is kissing your neck.

He pulls back, suddenly. Gets up and leaves the room, probably going to sleep on the couch.

The days go by and it feels like everything has gone back to square one. Joel hardly shows up at your place, and you don’t chase after him either. You don’t even think about visiting him in the middle of the night or looking for him in the corners like he used to do with you.

It feels like nothing really happened at all. María doesn’t ask. Tommy doesn’t even say hello when you pass him on the street. You feel a slight bitterness because not long ago you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d found something close to family.

But everything vanished into thin air almost in the blink of an eye.

The sheets are losing his scent.

His toothbrush lies forgotten in the bathroom drawer.

His shirt covers you when you sleep.

You think maybe you were a bit egoistic, quick to anger, but you can't do much with silence and distance, you can't do anything more than to feel like you're being forgotten or worse, used. You cling to the little he left behind. To what he left inside you.

You dream he comes back, that he slips into bed and holds you. That he apologizes. That he loves you a little more before dawn. But you wake up alone, like you always have, only now—it hurts.

Only two weeks have passed since this strange distance formed between you two, but it aches like a silent dagger deep in your ribs. You keep living your life, don’t cry, don’t talk about it to anyone. Talk about what? If the whole thing happened as fast as lightning.

“Heads up, we’ve got a 14-year-old female, anxiety attack, arriving now!” One of the nurses coming from patrol was pushing the stretcher with Joel.

You both locked eyes briefly. But you saw it.

Fear.

The bright fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you hurried through the ER hallway to reach them. Your heart tightened at the sight of the pale girl, no more than fourteen, seated on the stretcher. Shoulders hunched, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps, bluish lips. The faint wheezing was unmistakable.

Respiratory distress.

You moved closer, voice fast but gentle.

“Hi, I’m one of the nurses here. You’re doing great, okay? I’m going to help you breathe a little easier.”

The girl’s wide eyes flicked to you and then to the little name tag of your scrub. Anxiety mingled with exhaustion. You crouched beside her to meet her gaze. “Can you try to take some slow, deep breaths with me?”

The girl nodded faintly, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy with fear. With your hands gently handling her weak and trembling ones, you placed the pulse oximeter on her finger, watching the small digital screen blink a reading of 89%. Too low.

You could see Joel standing on the side. Hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly, his body lightly rocking, eyes following whatever you're doing with the girl. You glance at him and give a small nod, calming him.

He gulps heavily but you can notice how he began to take slow breaths to calm himself.

“Alright” You murmured, reaching for the oxygen mask. “This will help a lot.” Carefully, you fitted the mask over the girl’s face, making sure it was snug but comfortable. The steady hiss of oxygen filled the small space, and after a few seconds, the saturation climbed to 94%.

Nearby, another nurse was prepping a nebulizer. You glanced over and prepared the albuterol medication, her hands steady despite the urgency.

“Here comes the medicine that’ll open up your lungs” You said softly. “You might feel a little funny, but it’s going to help.”

Then you hear a light gasp and turn around again. Joel took the small nebulizer from the nurse's hands, almost knocking the woman away and quickly approached you and the girl. You almost gasp a “Joel!” but the girl was scared enough and the nurse just shook her head and walked away.

“Okay. Okay. Thank you” You look at him sharply but you can't help the small twitch of your mouth. It's adorable but also painful to see how scared he looks right now while looking at the girl.

As the nebulizer mask was placed on the girl’s face, Joel kept a reassuring hand lightly resting on her shoulder. The girl’s breathing gradually slowed, less ragged now, but her eyes still held a glimmer of worry.

You turned toward the door where the girl’s mother stood, gripping the frame anxiously. “She’s stable for now, and we’re giving her medicine to help her breathe easier” You explained, voice warm but professional. “We’re going to keep a close eye on her.”

“Yes. She's a strong kiddo, she'll be alright, ma'am” Joel says, flicking his eyes between the mother and the girl with a gruffness softened by the vulnerable moment.

The mother’s eyes welled up, gratitude and fear mixing in her trembling smile.

For almost an hour, Joel stayed in the room with the girl and the mother, watching the kid sleep while he would ask about her history. You could see through the glass how he attentively listens to the mother while keeping his eyes on the sleeping kid.

His eyes have an old pain he never showed, but you can imagine where it comes from.

After some more minutes, he finally walked out.

“Hey” You greet him quietly, resting your shoulder against the wall and locking eyes with him. “You can be a nurse now. Stole that nebulizer like a wild monkey”

“Hey… Yeah… I was scared” He approaches with a small smirk, hands in his pockets, eyes on you but not for long. Joel finds it very hard at this moment to hold your gaze. “This is odd…”

“I know” You murmur, also looking down at the floor. “It's been long”

“I'm sorry…” He looks at you again, stepping even closer. It surprises you the lack of distance he's keeping right now.

You look up and meet his gaze. His frown is melted in that apologetic way, his brown eyes looking at your every feature since he missed them so much. Your lips, your cheeks, your lashes.

“I know there is no excuse for the distance I had set between us” He begins “I… All this scares me too much. Since those nights in the cabin, then after Christmas… I know I want you but its so hard to let myself have something”

Silence.

“I'm not exactly prepared for another heartbreak, you know?”

“You think I'll break your heart?” You frown lightly.

“No. Never.” He shakes his head and his hand interlocks with yours, placing your hand on his chest over his sweater. He takes a breath and speaks with his eyes closed, as if it was the only way he can say the thoughts in his mind.

“Every death I witness takes me back to her.” Joel murmur, his lower lip quivering lightly. “And every sensation of love I feel brings back the moment I've lost her” Joel gulps. Open his eyes and look at you.

Tears.

“I don't want to doom every person I love to death.” He says low and shakily. His hands slide around your torso and hug you tightly. His hands grasp over your bluish scrub softly. Your hands move automatically, one caresses his hair with tenderness and empathy, the other hand goes to his arm, squeezing softly to reassure he's fine.

Scent of wood. Of dirt. Of burnt coffee and insomnia.

Some people passing by give apologetic stares, curious ones or even tender smiles. You just close your eyes feeling his presence holding yours. The soft sterile hubble of the hospital like a background beat echoing in the large white hallway. Beeps and hums, coughing somewhere near, a lightly covered chuckle somewhere else.

A world of situations in one building, in this is yours with him.

“Joel. We can't keep doing this ‘I-appear-and then- I-disappear’ thing” You pull back lightly while his hand cups your cheek and caresses your ear softly between his fingertips.

He nods, licking his lips.

“I know. You're allowed to kick my ass if I do that again” He says near your lips. “I'm sorry… I really hope you can forg—”

You close the distance with a smooch on his lips he retorts immediately. Joel cradles the back of your neck and his other hand holds you steady by the arch of your back to then dip you backwards.

You both hear a tender ‘Aww’. When you look to the side, you see it. A nurse that was passing by while pushing a lady in a wheelchair.

“You gave them a show, casanova” You straighten your scrub and giggle softly, then nudge his chest. He grabs your wrist.

“Let them see” Joel says with a soft smirk. “I want them to see” He pulls you back to him again and kisses you again. Without a care.

Only caring about you and him,

being together.

I'm so sorry for the short and almost inexistent smut. I'm so bad at writing it.

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

rewatching Saddle Row Review and loving the little things

Twilight, a magical princess of Equestria, first hinting, then stating, then BEGGING to be the one who organizes Rarity's merchandize

actually this whole contrast of

Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie & Rainbow Dash: stressed sweating on the edge of tears going against their nature trying to guess what Rarity would want

Twilight Sparkle: happily organized all Rarity’s stock “There!… hmm, but what would Rarity want? Maybe she wouldn't want them done by color?” delighted “Guess I’ll just have to start all over!” grins and dives back into the dress sorting sauce

Twilight was so blissed out re-reorganizing Rarity’s boutique she didn’t even notice everything going to horse apples around her until the very last second.

She was also the only one who DIDN’T have to go out of character while asking herself “what would rarity want” instead just using it as a blatant excuse to do what SHE wants- keep on organizing stuff.

This is my Raritwi side talking. Skip if desired. It says this is one of my fav raritwi ship episodes.

It says look at how comfortably Twilight falls into Rarity’s career choice in her own personal way and look how (because Twilight is speaking for the group) Rarity is mainly touching and addressing Twilight throughout the episode. They even get their own separate non-group hug while Rarity says “I knew I could count on you!”. Look at how we go from Twilight being so pleased on how she sorted Rarity’s merchandise to a portrait of Rarity that someone decided to decorate the boutique with. It says princess Twilight Sparkle multiple time savior of Equestria called sorting out things so Rarity can easily find stuff some of her finest work, and Rarity, who is trying to make it among the social elite, is friends with a princess who was mentored by a princess and is inlaws with a princess and all the help Rarity accepts from her is in sorting out a jumble of dresses. It says Twilight respects Rarity the fashionista and Rarity values Twilight as a nerd.

I will now tell the raritwi in me to be quiet again but you get the picture.

anyway, also looove everyone’s different orders at the diner interviews!

Rarity & Twilight both get tea, same kind with it’s own little teabag- Twilight the current princess past librarian / student of a tea drinking princess and Rarity, a fashion minded mare who loves the vibes of said princesses castle crowned home town and all things she thinks of a fancy.    

sporty Rainbow Dash obviously has a drink in a to-go cup

Applejack has a nice slice of pie, good simple food after all the work at the boutique

Pinkie Pie and her parade of endless party foods and deserts, the bill of which she sheepishly passes on the interviewer

and Fluttershy, at first awkwardly playing with silverware and presumably felt too shy to order anything, but when the raccoon family joins her they’re either snacking on her order of hay fries and a drink OR she managed to make an order specifically for them. She DOES specifically slide a whole pie over to them later. Either way, aww

Twilight’s quiet confidence and initiative during the whole thing. She’s the voice of reassurance and reason keeping the whole situation from disintegrating. She's come such a long way. No hint of anxious, snarky, micro managing Twilight here, all those friendship mistakes and lessons really shine through.

(reminding the others that Rarity is their friend and will be understanding)

(wanting to own up to the near disaster of opening night before Rarity reads about it)

(complimenting Rarity on her new boutique while gently asking if the dusty falling down space really can be ready by that night)

(helping AJ and RD have fun even while sweeping up with a silly but catchy little chant neither will ever admit to getting caught up in “sweep sweep sweep~”)

(bringing up postponing the opening when she sees how stressed Rarity is)

(immediately suggesting Rarity rely on her friends for help getting things ready)

(being the one to notice Rarity about to walk in on the ensuing chaos and doing a flying leap across the boutique to stop her and buy time)

(realizing the problem everyone is having and steering them all and herself back on track)

Even in her interview Twilight is so reflective and supportive. Yes, Rarity was a bit stressed because no things weren’t going well, but Twilight thinks she handled it pretty well- and when you remember how TWILIGHT has reacted to things not going well in the past, yeah, she’s right. Rarity did really great.

The cut to Rarity wailing in despair right afterwards XD

Rarity managing to wait until her friends arrived before reading the review of her new boutique!

It’s only her third ever opening, only the second boutique that doesn’t double as her home, and she still waited!

Her disbelief, shock, and apologetic tone when the review calls her friends 'ne'er-do-ells' after all that hard work they did do. "Ooh! Heavens I think he means you-"

Fluttershy completely covered in dust and clearly not happy about it, but also not shaking herself off like the other mane 6. Just. Daintily flicking her forehoof.

Remember when she had to be physically puppeteered into moving inelegantly?

Remember when she preformed extreme take-down wrestling moves on a bear to help with its back pain?

I love Fluttershy.

Applejack the farmer liking the idea of wearable spoons not just bc spoons are useful for eating, they also are great tools for making small holes. Such as ones you’d plant seeds in, perhaps.

the wiggly hoof digging sound effect heheh

Rainbow too busy being paid attention to and retelling her POV as awesomely as possible she fails at understanding the concept of being interviewed or that if you tell a reporter something they might write it down and publish it.

Same background pony in both AJ and RD’s interview foreshadowing theirs happening at around the same time, and then there they are, being interviewed together.

Rarity complaining about ponies these day playing the stuff they call music too loud, and then admitting that makes her sound like an old mare, and then doubling down on it anyway because she has a business to run. That stage in life when you can hear yourself turning into the adults who used to annoy you and you don’t want to but it’s happening anyway.

DJ Pon-3 casually shrugging at Pinkie’s apology for making her play lame music even though the dance floor is now empty and she’s clearly sad about it. Then you see Pinkie is getting casually dragged away by the security guy while still talking

And at least one Pinkie Pie clone escaped zapping. They’ve made it to Manehatten. Good for them.   

The cut from AJ and RD dissing on Twilight’s “sweep sweep sweep~” cleaning chant, complete with hoof-bump over how lame it was, only to flashback to them happily chanting and cleaning along with Twi. The power of the nerd is too strong. Not even the two resident jocks are immune to it- even if they’ll never admit to it

Rarity and Twilight’s hug right before opening the boutique. I love when these ponies hug.

The boutique catching so much interest thanks to it’s quirkiness and charm, rather than being perfect the way someone might expect. The personal touch of Rarity’s friends breathes life into her store in a way Rarity herself might never have done on her own.

And- after Rarity complaining about the younger generation, look who turns out to be right about spoon clothes after all? Her young new non-negotiable hire in plaid!

Twilight Sparkle, who became and alicorn princess and currently lives in a giant magical crystal tree castle, being So Proud of organizing Rarity’s boutique with indexing and reverse indexing so Rarity can find whatever she wants in just 3 seconds flat!

Princess Twilight Sparkle calling THAT some of her best work!

She never really changed.

Same pony who loved running around with a clipboard during winter wrap up and used to live in a library.

Just the fact that this is Rarity’s THIRD boutique she’s opening! All those seasons watching her slowly build up her career in fashion bit by bit with the help and support of her friends, and here they are in Manehatten with her, doing their absolute best to make sure her dream keeps coming true!

Which only works because THEY are part of her dream! She’s woven each of them into her life and wants them all to stay there, as themselves, leaving their mark on the mark SHE is leaving on the world.

That's just. So good. Ugh.

and Rarity getting all teared up about it <3

Also these two background ponies gave me mild gender envy. Or maybe I'm just vibing with their exhausted silence and eyebags

I'll call this one.... Jumbleboxer, because the boxes they delivered were jumbled. Or maybe Doozy Delivery? Daisy Dropoff??

And...

... Sir Trois Serene

(who is most certain-THREE calm) (and maybe a bit acerbic) (and was originally named Citrus Serene by their mom Dreamy Tangerine before realizing that's a really common fruit name combo and not very marketable in the fashion world)

[andriiorrr]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘽𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙡𝙮 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨 .

JORDAN LI X READER .

⤑ warnings ; fluff,angst,makeout session,slight suggestive,no use of y/n,reader & jordan being stubborn af,friends to lovers,reader has a lip & nail biting problem cs on anxiety,underage drinking,mention of drugs (yk Gen v shi)

❞ Summary ; in which, you and Jordan are good really close friends, but is that really what y’all are? or in better words is that what y’all really wanna both be? just friends?

YOU and Jordan have a…complex, complicated friendship, it is a series of barbed wire and thorns. you are either the closest of friends, or enemies that kiss when you're too drunk to care—neither of you ever truly defining what you are in your day-to-day life out loud.

so why is it when they’re kissing another girl in the club hurt so much? why the fuck should you care. As you sit next to cate & marie you don’t know where luke & andre are with the drugs but at this point you don’t care, you can’t help but gulp down the rest of your drink, and cate can’t help but look at you. “hey, you okay babes? You look like you’re about to flip this whole club upside down” she softly murmurs. you look up and tilt you head at cate and sigh “yeah I’m fine, I think I’m gonna call it a night my head hurts and I feel like if I stay in this club any longer I’m gonna explode.” You left out a half ass chuckle at the end and marie gets up and wanders off to who knows where.

“noo, stay a little longer?” cate says with a slight frown on her face. You can’t help but sigh “I will, but only if you get me another drink.” cate stands up “you’re wish is my command” cate says as she dramatically bows and going to the bar to get you another drink and you let out a light giggle as she walks away.

you doze off, as you bite your nails anxiously, you don’t know how much you can take seeing jordan shove their tongue down that girls throat. You’re so out of focus you don’t even notice cate handing you the drink until she snaps her fingers in your face, you look up at her and murmur “thank you” as you take the drink from her hand. you take a sip from the drink then place it infront of you, with your head resting on the palm of your hand, you trace the top of the cup and for a second you look up making eye contact with jordan.

jordan looked at you with those same eyes that made you melt. but now they had another girl on their lap who was clearly enjoying the attention you've always wanted from them. the more they looked your way, the more you felt your blood boil. they could sense that something was wrong with you, but they are so drunk that they had no idea what it was.

You can’t help but bite your lip, anxiously and you turn your head to cate. “Look cate, I’d love to stay here but I think I should just go home okay? Tell the others I went home early okay?” Cate looked at you and saw that something was wrong with you, “yeah uhm? Do you need a ride or something?” you shake your head no, “I’ll call an Uber” you softly murmur and get up grabbing all your stuff, you gulped down your 4th or somewhat 6th drink of the night? Honestly you didn’t care. You call an Uber and patiently wait outside till it pulls up, you hop in. What you didn’t know was a pair of eyes that followed your figure as you walked out the club.

you lean your head against the car window, looking at the city lights & sigh as you fidget with the necklace jordan gave you for your birthday, gosh if only they knew. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you sniffled, tonight sucked. Jordan watched silently from one of the club windows. they saw you disappear into the night and felt a tugging sensation in their gut. the more drunk they got, the more they thought about how badly they wanted to hold you in their arms. they whispered to the girl on their lap that they needed to go to the bathroom, then made their way out of the packed club, their mind fixated on you.

it was morning time, you wake up from your bed rubbing eyes and stretch as you sit up leaning against your headboard, maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much. this hangover is so shitty, all you wanna do is curl up into a ball and cry. Suddenly, a knock echoed through your room maybe it was your roommate, "just a second!” You slightly yell, and unlock the door opening it to see jordan. Your facial expression turns blank, “what do you want?” you say your arms crossed over each other and you lean your head against your door

Jordan leaned against the door frame with a nervous grin, obviously hungover just like you. their hair was tousled, and their eyes were bloodshot from a night of partying, “Well, good morning to you too,” they say with a playful nervous tone. "Can I come in?” you sigh, nodding opening the door a little wider for jordan to come in. you close the door and lock it, “someone had fun last night” you murmur and sit down on your bed. Jordan chuckled softly as they entered the room, plopping down onto your bed next to you. “Someone's feisty this morning,” they teased, gently nudging your shoulder with theirs. Their eyes swept over your face, noticing the tension in your expression. "You still upset about last night?"

you were slightly taken aback “you knew? And continued to make out with that girl right in front of my face?” you looked at jordan in disbelief. Jordan let out a sigh, their gaze drifting away from you. "I was drunk, alright? I wasn’t thinking straight last night." They ran a hand through their messy hair, their body feeling heavier than usual. "I didn't think you'd care, honestly."

You let out of scoff, “you know what jordan fuck you. Gosh I’m so fucking stupid for liking an idiot like you.”Jordan's eyes widened slightly at your words. The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of your heavy breathing. Jordan stared at you with a mix of surprise and shame, taking in what you had just said.

“Wait… what the hell?” Jordan managed, their voice soft. “You… like me?” Fuck— you slipped up but honestly you were just so fed up, at this point what matters anymore. “Yes jordan! You think i would go out here just fucking you just to fuck! Yeah we were both drunk that night but it meant something to me! I should’ve knew it was a bad idea considering you only fuck and don’t do relationships, but you know what fuck this shit. I’m done I’m so fucking done, you’re so stuck up you know that? Maybe I should’ve thought twice that night” You pace around your room and bite you nails anxiously.

Jordan sat in stunned silence, watching you pace the room and unload all your pent up emotions. Their eyes never left your figure, their heart sinking from the weight of your words.

"Look... I’m..." Jordan’s voice trailed off, not knowing what to say. A mix of guilt and regret washed over their face as they realized the consequences of their actions. They hated seeing you so hurt, but they also hated the fact that you had feelings for them in the first place. “Forget about it” you say, as the room falls silent. “Maybe you should just leave jordan” you murmur not looking at jordan. “I have to get ready for class and the last thing I want Is being late to class cause of you.”

Jordan opened their mouth to say something again, but after a few seconds of silence, they decided against it. They stood up slowly, taking one last glance at you before turning towards the door."Yeah... I should probably go," Jordan mumbled, their heart sinking into their stomach. As they took a step forward, they couldn’t help but turn around one last time.

"Hey... uh" Your front is turned away, as your back faces them “what” you murmur biting your lip anxiously and squeeze your eyes shut. Jordan steps closer, until they’re right behind you. They hesitate for a moment, their hand raising as if they want to reach out and touch you, but they think otherwise and let it fall back down to their side.

"I'm sorry..." they whisper, their voice tinged with remorse. "I never meant to hurt you like this." you sigh, “just go jordan.”Jordan stands there for a moment longer, their eyes glued to your back. They want to say something more, but the words get stuck in their throat. With a deep breath, they turn around and slowly walk to the door.

"I'll see you around," Jordan murmurs, their voice barely audible. They open the door and step outside, closing it slowly behind them.

as they left you couldn’t help the tears that brimmed in the corner of your eyes, you have class you need to go. you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and get ready for the day. You walked to class and sit down in next to cate. “You see Jordan on the other side of class but choose to ignore their stare, cate looks at you worriedly “you okay? You left so sudden last night” she whispered softly. You force a smile and nod your head at Cate's question, not wanting her to see how upset you truly were.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just needed to get home early, that's all." Your eyes flicker towards where Jordan is sitting, but you quickly look away before they can meet your gaze. You listen to the teacher attentively, and write your notes down, Throughout the entire class, you could feel Jordan's eyes on you. Every now and then, you would steal a glance at them, only to find them already looking your way. However, each time you caught them in the act, they would quickly look away, pretending not to have been staring in the first place.

During one particularly boring section of the lecture, Jordan leaned over to Andre and whispered something, their eyes darting back in your direction.

suddenly you’re attention takes off them by cate. “hey, do u wanna go get vought a burger after class?” Cate whispered and you softly nodded smiling. “yeah I’m pretty fuckin’ hungry” you softly giggle, 15 minutes later the bell ringed and class was over, Jordan and Andre go on their business not that you really care. as you and cate go get vought a burger. You both order and cate suddenly asks “what’s up with you and Jordan? And don’t lie something’s up with you two, they we’re staring at you all class babes”

You take a bite of your burger and try to play it cool, but you can't hide the truth from Cate. She knows you too well.

"It's nothing, really," you say, avoiding eye contact. "We just had a bit of a disagreement, that's all."

Cate gives you a skeptical look, not buying your excuse. "Come on, you can't fool me. What happened between you two?"

you suddenly go quiet and sigh, maybe you should tell cate.

You take another bite of your burger, contemplating whether or not to share the truth with Cate. On one hand, you feel like you need to get it off your chest, but on the other hand, you're scared of how she might react.

Finally, you decide to take the plunge.

"Alright, I'll tell you, but promise me you'll keep it to yourself," you say, looking at cate anxiously.

Cate listens intently as you recount the events of the previous night, leaving out no details. You tell her about how Jordan got drunk at the club and started making out with another girl while being right in front of you. You also tell her about how you and Jordan had hooked up before as well as you finally snapped and confessed your feelings to them this morning.

When you finish, you wait for Cate's reaction, feeling vulnerable and exposed. You bite your lip anxiously and clear your throat.

Cate takes a moment to process everything you've just shared, her expression unreadable at first. Finally, she speaks up, her voice softer than usual.

"Damn, I had no idea all that was going on between you two," she says, shaking her head. "Jordan's such a dumbass, you know that right? How could they do that knowing how you feel?"

You sigh, “yeah but it’s whatever, I should get back to my dorm. Thank you cate” you softly smile “I appreciate it.” You reach in for a hug. Cate hugs you tightly, her arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. "Anytime, you know I've always got your back," she says, pulling back to look at you.

"Take care of yourself, yeah? You deserve better than that." You softly smile and walk to your dorm. Your heart skips a beat when you see Jordan in their female form sitting in front of your dorm room. They stand up as you approach, their expression unreadable.

"Hey," Jordan says softly, their voice raspy. "Can we talk?"

“We did and that went nowhere, so what’s the problem now” you murmur opening your door and standing in the middle of your door way and purse your lips, you let out a sigh “5 minutes Jordan.” You say sternly and set your bag down on your bed as they walk in.

Jordan nods silently and walks into your dorm, shutting the door behind them. They stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, their hands fidgeting nervously.

“Look,” they begin, their gaze lowered. “I know I messed up last night. I got too drunk and I acted like a idiot.”

They look up at you, their eyes sincere. “But I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear.”

Jordan sighs and runs a hand through their messy hair, their gaze fixed on the floor.

"Hey..." they begin, their voice soft. "I know this is going to sound cliche, but... I really do care about you."

They pause for a moment, gathering their thoughts.

"I care about you more than I've cared about anyone in a long time," they continue, their eyes finally lifting to meet yours. "And I know I messed up last night. I was drunk and stupid, and I hurt you."

Jordan's gaze never wavers as they continue to speak.

"I've been so stuck in my own head for so long, trying to avoid the idea of being in a relationship," they say, shaking their head. "But when I'm with you... I just feel different. Like... like I don't want to be anywhere else but with you."

They step closer to you, their eyes locked on yours.

"I know I've been an idiot, and I don't deserve you, but... I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone."

your breathing gets caught in your throat, “you’re not fucking with me right?” Your voice cracks and you back up. “Please tell me your not fucking with me right now”

Jordan's expression softens as they see the uncertainty in your eyes. They take a step forward, closing in the distance between you two.

"No, I'm not fucking with you," they say softly. "I mean every word."

They reach out and gently cup your face in their hands, their eyes locked on yours.

"I love you," they whisper again, their voice filled with emotion. "And I'm telling the truth."

“I love you too” you sniffle, your head hazy and fuzzy, Jordan fucking Li, liked you back? Gosh someone slap you.

Jordan's eyes widen at your words, their heart swelling in their chest. They can't believe what they're hearing.

"You... you love me too?" they say, their voice shaky. "Even after everything I've put you through?"

They pull you closer, their arms wrapping around your waist.

“I’d never stop loving you, no matter how I try.” You murmur and Jordan’s eyes softened so much as you cup your face and lean in to kiss you. Gosh their lips were so soft you could melt into them.

Jordan's lips move against yours, their kiss gentle yet filled with unspoken emotions. They cradle your face in their hands, their fingers tracing your cheek.

"I don't deserve you," they murmur against your lips. "But I'm never letting you go again.”

“Don’t ever.” You lean in to kiss jordan again, falling back on the bed as they straddle your hips without breaking the kiss, their hand slips into your shirt as they kiss down your neck. “you know ever since that night we hooked up I’ve been craving you, can I taste you?” They softly whisper kissing your ear.

“please..” was all you could say as they leaned in to kiss you again.

safe to say, you had fun & Jordan was finally yours with those sweet butterfly kisses.

[puck-luck]

play house with me | alex lyon

warnings: breeding kink HEAVYYYYY, use of mommy/mama/daddy but it’s very brief and not always related to the sex, obvious creampie???, childhood best friends to lovers &&& co-parents LOVE, mentions of breastmilk during the fucking (alex will totally want to try said breastmilk when it comes in), dirty talk pairing: alex lyon x fem!reader request: yes (alex lyon gets reader pregnant woohoooooo) wc: 2940

Everyone has made a deal like this before– especially those with guy best friends, like you. It didn’t help that you had had an on-again, off-again crush on Alex since you both were teenagers and he had grown into his looks. You had known him for practically your whole life and Alex was the picture-perfect boy next door with his dark curls and goofy personality, so it was a no-brainer when Alex proposed a pact. 

You were both eighteen at the time, ready to go your separate ways for college. It was late, a warm and humid summer night, and you and Alex has just gone for ice cream. You were picking at your cup of ice cream with your spoon, watching it melt in the rapid summer heat. It was then that Alex said, “You know, if we’re thirty and neither of us are with someone else, we should have a kid.”

It was no secret that you wanted to have kids, nor a secret that Alex wanted to have kids, so the deal was a no-brainer. You said yes, not thinking much of it because… why wouldn’t you be with someone by age thirty?

Well, it’s funny. Yesterday was your thirtieth birthday, and here you are: single. Frustrated and annoyed can also describe your current state. 

Alex had texted you the day before to wish you a happy birthday, promising to see you when he came back into town today. He should be on the way to your apartment right now and all you can think about is the deal you made twelve years prior. 

You had no doubt about it– you wanted to have a baby and you wanted to do it with Alex. You just had to broach the subject, but you were torn about how to bring up the deal without sounding desperate or weird. There was a chance Alex wouldn’t even remember your deal, even though he was the one who thought of it in the first place. 

When he arrives and knocks on your front door, you let him in with an awkward hug hello. It’s only awkward because you know that you’re about to ask him something that will change your friendship and relationship forever. Alex, always able to read you like an open book, notices that you’re acting weird immediately and calls you out on it.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Alex asks, quirking an eyebrow at you with a bemused smile. “Are you alright?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “How do you always know?”

Alex’s smile turns into a proud smirk. “Because I know you. What are you thinking about?”

“Just some stuff about you and turning thirty,” you reply, ready to explain yourself further.

Alex interrupts. “Thinking about our baby pact?”

You balk at him, shocked. “How did you know?”

“Again– because I know you.” Alex repeats. His gaze takes in your features, admiring you. He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. “Plus, it’s part of the reason why I wanted to see you today.”

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, a little laugh tinging your words. “You wanted to come over so we could discuss babies?”

“Isn’t that why you agreed to have me over?” Alex answers with his own question, smug because he knows he’s right. “So that we could even go a little further, since you’re thirty now, and our pact has to come to fruition?”

You blush, biting your lower lip and rolling your eyes. You’re pretending to be annoyed, but you’re really just fond. Alex does know you best, can practically read your mind and provide you with anything you want before you realize you want it. Before now, that mostly related to when you could go and get food together– he always knew exactly what you were craving, always taking you to the right restaurant that would hit the spot and satisfy you indefinitely. 

Now, it’s a much bigger decision, one that will change your lives forever, but Alex is completely on board. So are you.

Once again, it’s a no-brainer.

“I wouldn’t complain,” you tease, purposefully coy. 

“Good.” Alex sweeps you off your feet, carrying you over one shoulder. “We can talk about everything later. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for years.”

He says it casually, like that’s not the most Earth-shattering revelation you’ve ever heard. You and Alex had always toed the line of flirtation and all of your friends swore that you were meant to be, but things had never gone this far. You and Alex had never kissed, save for one accidental peck when you turned your cheek in surprise and caught his lips, the ones intending to meet your skin in a sweet greeting. It had caused a laugh, but it was the closest to romance that you and Alex had ever physically experienced. 

Now, he’s tossing you on your bed and climbing above you like this is an everyday occurrence. 

“Alex,” you say, putting a hand on his chest to stop his movements. “Are you really, really sure about this? It’s a big decision.”

“I’ve wanted to have a baby with you since I was five years old and you made me be the daddy when we played house,” Alex replies, leaning down to capture your earlobe between his teeth. “You were the mommy to our little baby doll and the idea never left my mind. Now we’re thirty, single, and I think we should make my dream a reality. I’m all in, Y/N.”

A breath of relief leaves your lungs at his reassurance. He mouths along your jaw, coming to hover with his lips just out of reach of your own. You look up at him, waiting for him to make a move. 

Alex looks up from your lips, finding your eyes. “Are you really, really sure about this?” He parrots back, lips twisting up at the edges. “You’re the one who’s going to be tasked with carrying our baby.”

You make a soft noise of assent, the breathy moan pulled from your stomach like a gut-punch. 

Alex chuckles. “You like that, huh?” He brushes a kiss against the left corner of your mouth, then the right. “You’re going to look so pretty all swollen and full of me. I want it so bad, Y/N. I’ll give you as many babies as you want. I might have to keep you pregnant all the time– you’re going to glow, darling.”

Moaning again, you bring your hands up to his face and pull him into you, crashing your lips against his. Eager and desperate, you kiss him until you’re breathless and your cheeks have gone hot. As far as first kisses go, this is your favorite one you’ve ever had. Alex is confident and just as eager as you are, his tongue filling your mouth and tasting you like he could devour you. Inadvertently, you find yourself wondering how his tongue would feel against your clit and your entrance, but that can wait for another time.

Another time, because this will certainly be happening again. It’s the easiest decision you could ever make, seeking out Alex again. You’re comfortable with him, you’re happy when he’s around, and you love him deeply. You know him and he knows you. Your friends were right all along– you two are meant to be.

“Do you want it? I need you to tell me,” Alex implores between kisses, allowing his hands to roam over your body. 

It’s distracting and it takes a moment for his words to click, especially when his hands find their way under your shirt and start to pet over the skin under which your ribs reside. 

“I want it,” you cry when Alex’s fingertips graze your underboob. You whine when his fingers withdraw from your middle, but Alex soothes you with a whispered coo and a soft kiss to your lips.

He lifts your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra underneath him. He grabs his own shirt by the back collar, pulling it over his head and revealing his bare chest to your wandering eyes. You drink him in, running your hands all over his warm body and feeling the ridges of the muscles he’s worked so hard to build and maintain over the years. 

He brings a hand to your chest, cupping the swell of your breast and fishing your boob out of the article of clothing, pinching your nipple. After one final kiss, Alex brings his lips down and replaces his fingers with his teeth, nibbling at the peak of your breast before sucking. 

You arch your back, your hand fisting his curls again. You moan out a wanton sound and you can feel Alex’s lips curve into a smile against your skin. He releases your nipple with a wet pop, kissing over your sternum and up your neck. 

“So pretty, mama,” Alex mumbles against your skin, lips warm and scarring. You wish you could tattoo the path he takes along your chest, physically marking your body permanently so you never forget this. “Let’s make a baby, hm? Give me a real reason to use that name?”

“Give me a baby,” you agree, tousling his curls. “I wanna make you a daddy, Alex.”

Alex groans against your skin, popping the button on your jeans and drawing the zipper down. His mouth doesn’t leave your body, not even for a second as he struggles to work the tight denim down your body. 

You adjust yourself on the bed, helping him push the fabric down. You take to his own bottoms, tugging eagerly at his waistband until he gets the hint and removes his shorts. You push him down, making him sit back against the headboard. You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him. Still separated by the barrier of both of your underwears between you, you sink down on his bulge in a satisfying grind. 

Alex’s hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him and rolling his own hips. He reconnects your lips, swallowing every sound you make and vice versa. He’s straining against his boxers, pulsing against you with each grind.

“I want to ride you,” you tell Alex. “Just like this.”

Alex moans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, knocking it against the headboard in the process. “Fuck,” he breathes out. “Want me to prep you?”

“No, I want to feel everything,” you say. “I want to feel your big cock stretch me all on its own before it fucks a baby into me.”

Your words only spur him on and he jostles you on his lap as he tries to remove his underwear without feeling your absence. You take matters into your own hands and remove yourself from his lap to take off your own underwear, tossing it onto the floor without another thought, the thin scrap of fabric joining the rest of your scattered clothes. 

Both bare and dripping, you climb back on top of Alex, fitting his cock between your folds to grind against him before allowing him to breach your entrance. You spread your slick all over his member, using his precum and your wetness as lube. 

Alex whines at the contact, clutching at your skin desperately after he removes your bra with both hands. Your boobs sit prettily on your chest, drawing Alex’s eyes and causing his pupils to swell. He cups one and licks over the nipple he hadn’t previously sucked, needing something to occupy his mouth and muffle his sounds. He’s far gone– the idea of filling you up has him channeling something primal, overtaken by his instinct to stuff you with his cock and thoroughly breed you.

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d been thinking about it for years– one of the images that caused him to spill over his fist countless of times in his twenties was just this: fucking you bare and starting a family with you, forever entertwining your souls and destinies in an irreversible way. You would be his, in this way, forever. He could shoot off now thinking about it, but the promise of the real thing stops him.

And the real thing comes sooner than he thinks, with you rising up onto your knees and lining him up with your entrance. You lower yourself down slowly, achingly slow. It takes everything out of Alex to not buck up into your heat as the head of his cock enters you with a jolt.

The sigh that leaves your mouth and the roll of your eyes chips away his restraint even more than your heat. All of your pretty noises are like a watering hole in the middle of the desert to Alex– and he’s lapping them up. 

“Y/N,” Alex moans as you work your way down his shaft. Your walls hug him tightly, squeezing him as you take his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good. You’re made for me.”

“Alex,” you sigh, pressing his forehead against yours. You’re unable to form many words other than that– melting into a puddle of moans and whines as you find yourself sinking fully onto his length, enveloping him entirely. He reaches the deepest part of you, his tip nudging your back wall. 

“Can’t wait to see these tits all full of milk,” Alex tells you, filling in the gaps of silence. He reaches up, cupping the weight in his palms and kissing over the smooth skin in his hands. “You’re going to be so great to our baby.”

You start to bounce on his cock, tossing your head back as the ecstasy of fulfillment washes over you. His words just spur you on.

“You’ll take care of them so well, won’t you?” Alex asks, his question rhetorical.

Your response is a moan and a stutter in your rhythm, which causes Alex to take over. He flips you over without pulling out, your back hitting the mattress and knocking the breath out of you.

Alex practically breathes life back into you when he kisses you, insistent but charged with the sweet love that you share for each other. It’s the love that you’ve shared since you were kids– and now, it’s the love that you’ll pass along to your child. 

“Fuck, Alex,” you whine at the thought, unable to keep it to yourself. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Alex says, kissing you again. His thrusts are harder in this position, hitting you deeper. 

It feels impossible, being in this position with Alex. Yes, your friends had always said that you and Alex were meant to be, but there was a line you’d never crossed. You never expected to cross it. Now, with Alex inside of you and filling you so well, ready to start the next chapter of your lives with each other, you can’t imagine it any other way. 

Alex continues, pushing you further towards your peak. “This pussy was made to take my babies, huh? Made just for me?”

“Yeah,” you agree, breathless, pulling Alex down to connect your lips. You can barely handle the words, much less the little noises and grunts that fill your mouth during the kiss. 

It’s like you’re becoming one being. Everything is perfect, and you’re feeling so good that your orgasm approaches quicker than expected. 

“Alex, ‘m gonna come,” you let out, holding him tight.

“Let it go, lovebug,” Alex coos, tracing the line of your cheek with a light touch. “I’m right there with you.”

Your eyes roll back and your mouth opens in a silent scream. Alex continues to fuck into you, prolonging the waves of pleasure that overtake you with each bump of his cockhead against your g-spot. You’re moaning unintelligibly, jumbled words falling from your mouth and barely reaching Alex’s ears. 

He shoots off when you keen into his mouth, teeth clashing in a messy union that has you on the verge of laughter. You’ve never laughed during sex before, but it just seems right. Everything with Alex seems right.

His seed fills you and warms you from the inside out, settling deep in your core and coating your walls in the weirdest, most unique feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can feel the come dripping down from your ridges, letting gravity take control as it starts to leak out of you when Alex pulls out. 

You pout, closing your legs as much as you can with Alex still between them in order to keep his release from leaving you, desperate for it to take. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Alex soothes, brushing your hair away from your face and thumbing over the sweat on your brow. 

You don’t reply, enamored by the way his own curls have gone sweaty and his cheeks and dusted with a blush from the exertion of your union. You bite your lip as Alex opens his mouth to speak again, admiring his straight white teeth in a moment that should be weird, but isn’t. You hope your baby has his teeth– no need to pay for braces, not that that’s something you’d have to worry about with Alex’s salary.

“We’re going to go again in a bit, I think,” Alex muses, his words a proposition rather than a command, despite his definitive tone. He kisses over your face, little pecks that make you giggle again. His lips find yours, sweet and chaste. When he pulls away, he whispers conspiratorially in your ear. “Gonna fuck you all night to make sure this takes.” He winks, a smile crossing his face. “Join me in the shower, mama? I want to wash your hair for you.”

note: this is for my lyon girlie who was all up in my asks, ily <3 i hope i captured your man well and you enjoyed this <3

[teapartyprincess4two]

Could you write about a random morning with Matt as his girlfriend? Sorry if I not making any sense.

Your writing is amazing!!! Have a wonderful day!!!

A Cold Sunday- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Girlfriend!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, established relationship, a lot of dialogue, very short

inspiration: request^^, A Cold Sunday by Lil Yachty, just the title mostly

summary: You and Matt spend a cold Sunday morning together, snuggling up and keeping warm.

—

Every day of the week was chock full of activities for both you and Matt. Whether it be work, appointments, events, or daily chores; you two rarely had time together during the week. Even Saturdays were hectic for you both, you’d usually only get a few hours together before bed before one of you dozed off.

That’s why you loved Sundays, they were the only day neither you worked and you always made sure never to schedule anything on those days.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Matt croaks from beside you, a lazy arm wrapped around your waist from under the comforter. “Good morning, baby,” you reply, pushing his hair back and kissing his forehead.

“How did you sleep?” you ask, his eyes closing once again as the drowsiness settles back in. “Mmm good,” he hums, nuzzling into your chest slightly.

“That’s good, baby.”

You’re playing with his hair, your mind filling with ideas of what to do throughout the day. The possibilities were endless, especially because your only responsibility was to have fun with Matt.

“What do you wanna do today? We can go to the flea market, go eat some breakfast, or maybe we can try that new coffee shop,” you say in excitement, your cheery tone being too much for Matt this early in the morning.

“What about the mall? The mall could be fun. Ooo what if we have a picnic? We haven’t done that in so long,” you continue, subconsciously braiding strands of his hair as you compile a list of possible activities.

“It’s cold,” he murmurs, the statement being followed by a soft yawn.

Yawns are infectious, causing you to yawn shortly after. “Yeah, you’re right,” you reply, the yawn making it sound more like a roar.

“We can still do stuff…” he trails off, pulling away from you slightly to look at your face. You smile at him, you’re just happy to be spending time with him. “But we can stay in?” Matt suggests, loving the idea of a cozy day in.

You hum in response, already anticipating the cozy day ahead.

—

“Hurry, Matt! I’m cold!” you exclaim, lifting the comforter up so he can hop back into bed. “I can’t! The hot chocolate is gonna spill!” he shouts back, panicking as he tries balancing both mugs so none of the liquid spills over.

You groan playfully, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for a mug, “here let me help you, you goof.” He chuckles at the nickname, carefully handing you a mug, “be careful, it’s hot.”

“I know, I’m smart.”

You sip the hot chocolate, trying to prevent it from spilling, but the scorching liquid has you pulling away immediately, “Fuck! That’s hot!”

“I just said that,” Matt chuckles, getting comfortable under the covers and pressing play on the movie you two were previously watching. “Shush, it’s good,” you murmur, going back for a second sip.

You settle back against the headboard, sipping occasionally as you watch the movie. Matt blows on his hot chocolate, afraid to burn himself like you did.

He blows on it hard enough for the liquid to spill over the cup. “Oh fuck. I spilled it,” Matt says blankly, looking at you as he tries not to laugh.

—

“Why was that movie so sad?” Matt sniffles, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. You’ve seen the movie a million times before and each time Matt has the same reaction.

“Babe, you know how it ends. How does it still make you cry?” you ask, chuckling slightly at his dramatic behavior.

“Y/n, don’t be so heartless,” he replies, looking at you as if you’re some type of monster. “How does it still not make you cry?”

You take a sip from your hot chocolate, fighting the laughter. “It’s really not that sad,” you say, taking a hold of the remote to find your next watch of the day.

“YES IT IS!”

“Matt, it’s Toy Story.”

“AND? HE WAS JUST A FORK!”

—

You’ve laid in bed with Matt all day, and although you haven’t waisted any energy, you’re really hungry.

“Just order pizza,” you suggest, resting your head on Matt’s shoulder as he orders the food on his phone. “I don’t want pizza though,” he replies, scrolling through DoorDash in search of the next best option.

“Chinese food?” you ask, your stomach grumbling at the suggestion. “Neh, too greasy.”

“Okay, what about Cane’s?”

“Not in the mood for chicken,” he replies, exhausting all his options.

“In N Out?”

“We had burgers last Sunday,” Matt finds an excuse to turn down all of your suggestions. “Just get whatever you want,” you mumble, becoming hangrier by the second.

He stays silent for a while, searching relentlessly for something appetizing, but he can’t find anything.

“I’m just gonna order pizza,” he finally comments.

“Bruh.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Just a short story about a goofy morning with Matt. Enjoy, luv u. Longer stories coming soon, they are COOKING!

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐