#I had this one ready to go for a while and forgot about it...

[wordsarelife]

—foolish one

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: it's your birthday, but theo forgot about it.. or did he?

warnings: very very little angst, mostly fluff

note: i absolutely hate this and beg you guys to not let this piece form your opinion about my writing lmaooo

“i told you he was an asshole.” enzo was laying on your bed, facing the ceiling.

you turned around to look at him. “come on,” you muttered, and enzo moved so he could hang his head over the edge and stare at you. you almost had to giggle at how red his face got.

“what am i supposed to say?”

“something that’ll make me feel better,” you suggested. “you’re my best friend, enzo.”

“fine,” he sighed, before he thought for a moment. “maybe theo had a good reason to forget your birthday. maybe someone obliviated him, or he hit his head and forgot all about your six-year friendship—or no, better, maybe he went out to fight voldemort to make sure nothing could come in the way of your special day.”

“enzo,” you sighed dramatically.

even though you hated to admit it, he was right. your hopes had been up all morning, excitement pooling in your chest while enzo and you walked to the great hall together. your excitement had evaporated into thin air when all your friends had been there—except for the one person you had most hoped to see.

your friends had, of course, congratulated you and promised to give their presents to you in the common room later, but theo hadn't shown up all morning, and despite their best tries, you had slipped into a sour mood at his forgetfulness and absence.

"let's just stop moping around, how about that, huh?" enzo suggested, and you rolled your eyes.

"i'm not moping around," you remarked. "i'm getting ready." as if to prove your words, you quickly grabbed the blush, applying it onto your cheeks.

"yeah, you were totally doing that this past hour," enzo nodded sarcastically. "i'm not saying that you shouldn't be disappointed about theo, i'm just saying that you have friends who actually remembered what day it was."

"yeah, i know, and you're right." you smudged the blush with your fingers until it looked even and mostly natural, before you stood up. "let's go back down and join the others."

enzo smiled and nodded, following you out of your room. to your surprise, the common room wasn't looking like it normally did. it was decorated with balloons and streamers, and a happy birthday banner was hanging between two tall columns.

it hadn't looked like that when you had come back from breakfast.

"happy birthday!" your friends and a few housemates chorused as you laughed in surprise.

theo stepped through the crowd of people, a wrapped present in his hand.

you turned around to look at enzo, who just shrugged. "sorry," he smiled, and you shook your head, realizing that theo's absence had been part of a bigger plan.

"you didn't forget?" you asked unnecessarily, your eyes looking up at him with hope.

"of course i didn't," theo shook his head as if he couldn't fathom how you would ever think he could forget. "i was just busy planning this party, so i couldn't congratulate you sooner."

you shook your head, tears brimming at your eyes as you again took in the room around you. "you did all that for me?"

"of course," theo chuckled. he opened his mouth, ready to give you your present, but you interrupted him, opening your arms and throwing them around his body in a hug.

he tried again when you loosened the hug, but was interrupted by your friends, who all walked forward, ready to congratulate you. you looked around one of your friends in front of you, trying to gather a look at theo. he smiled at you, sending a wink in your direction, before he stepped back, letting the small box sink into his pocket, saving it for later.

you didn't see much of him for the rest of the party. someone always demanded your attention, but you saw him look at you a few times, maybe even debating coming over and joining the conversation.

you knew theo hated birthday parties, especially ones that involved a lot of talking. but he had still organized this for you, surprising you with something you loved, because in that departure, theo and you were polar opposites.

the party began to wind down, and though you had tried your best to enjoy it, you couldn’t help but feel the growing distance between you and theo. but you were determined not to let it ruin your night. there would be time later. you'd get your moment, your chance to talk to him.

and then, as if on cue, theo appeared. he was standing in the doorway, watching you, his expression unreadable. you stood up straighter, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as you moved toward him.

"hey," you greeted softly, your voice almost unsure. it had been a long evening, and though the disappointment from earlier still lingered, you didn’t want it to define this moment. you wanted this to be your chance to reconnect.

theo’s eyes softened when he saw you, but there was something else there—a quiet sadness, something he hadn’t allowed to surface all night. he gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. "hey. i, uh... i wanted to find you earlier, but something always got in the middle."

"no, yeah, i get it," you smiled. "it's fine."

"i still need to give you your present." his expression relaxed a bit as he found something he could hold onto. his hand went into his pocket and took out the small black box, holding it out in front of you.

you looked at it for a few seconds before you softly took it, his and your fingers meeting for a fleeting moment.

the box snapped open with a low thud, revealing a dark red cushion and a beautiful golden bracelet laying on top of it. it was decorated with little diamonds, which seemed to be a bit too real.

"theo..." your breath hitched, unable to come up with real words. "this must've cost a fortune."

theo ignored your words. "do you like it?" he asked instead. "you mentioned something about a diamond bracelet your grandma always wore, which got lost when she died. this is the closest i could find that fit your description."

"you remember that?" you wondered, looking up with tears forming in your eyes. "that was years ago."

"i wanted it to be as close as possible to the real one," theo shrugged. "this one came out at the beginning of the year."

"you're joking," you shook your head, still not able to really understand what was happening.

"you said you loved that bracelet," he continued to explain. "and i remember how sad you were when it got lost. i wanted you to have something to remember your grandma by."

"theo..." you said once more. "this is too much."

"no," he shook his head with a soft smile. "it's the least i could do for you."

you looked up again at his words, your eyes crashing into his. the sincerity in them almost made you stumble. you had waited years for him. years in which you had begged that he would finally say the words.

but all this time, he had clearly shown you what he felt, with you being simply too oblivious to realize it.

"do you want me to help you put it on?" theo asked, and you nodded, holding your arm out in front of him.

theo's fingers were soft as they worked around your wrist, the golden bracelet bringing a sudden cold to your heated skin.

"can you do something else for me?" you asked without thinking.

theo didn't even hesitate. "of course, anything."

you took a small breath, the moment feeling like it stretched forever in your chest. "kiss me, theo." your voice was almost a whisper, as if you didn't really want him to hear the words escaping your lips.

the stunned surprise on his face was enough to make your stomach drop—just for a second, you thought you might have ruined everything. that this might be too much, too sudden. but then, just as quickly, the surprise vanished, replaced by something deeper, more certain. his expression softened, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat longer, and in that moment, you knew. he wasn’t pulling away.

your eyes fluttered closed, and before you could take another breath, his lips were on yours. it was gentle at first, as though he was still testing the waters, but then, it deepened—slow and warm, like everything else that had felt uncertain between you two was melting away.

his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, and you couldn't help but press closer, feeling the comfort of his presence, the certainty in his touch.

down there in the dark common room, theodore nott's lips were all you felt and all you wanted to feel for the rest of your life.

[crowsofdarkness]

While in The Void, Bucky was able to handle most of the fear rooms. That was until he stepped foot into an all-familiar prison, those soulless eyes meeting his. A pair of eyes he loved so long ago.

thunderbolts!bucky barnes x femalehydra!reader

18+ cw's below the cut: language, violence, dark thoughts, blood, and mentions of murder.

*spoliers underneath the cut so if you haven't watched thunderbolts, what you read may spoil parts of the movie.

“No, this isn’t real. This can’t be real,” Bucky shook his head, tears springing to his eyes at the sight in front of him. 

He kept repeating the words over and over again like a mantra, trying to eventually believe it. He faced many fear rooms within the last twenty seconds, all showing his biggest fears. 

When he found Steve nearly beaten to death on the school playground. 

When they were in The Howling Commandos together and Bucky nearly missed his sniper target, they almost sliced Steve’s throat. 

When Hydra captured and tortured him for years. 

When Steve left him for Peggy after spending years protecting him. 

Bucky thought that was the last of the fear rooms so he was ready to find Bob and Yelena to save them from The Void but when he walked through a white door,his feet came to a screeching halt when the familiar chill of a prison clung to his bones. 

The metal slab Hydra called a bed, the concrete walls covered in mold and other unknown fluids, the three bars that covered the only small window in the cell allowing a sliver of sunlight to break through. None of that had Bucky’s attention, it was the woman sitting in the middle of the slab, staring at the corner of the cell. 

Her familiar long hair rested against the back of her dirty white shirt and matching pants, her skin a sickly pale color. The metal gloves over her hands that Hydra always forced her to wear when she wasn’t using her powers to kill. 

Bucky closed his eyes on a shaky breath, repeating his mantra over and over again. 

“This isn’t real. She isn’t real.”

“I was real to you all those years ago, Soldat,” her angelic voice broke through Bucky’s mind and he nearly fell to his knees.

It had been so long since he last heard her voice, it kept him up the first few months after he left Hydra. 

Without her. 

Bucky made her a promise before Hydra dragged him from the base in Russia to Washington D.C that he would come back to her. But after everything that happened with Captain America and the falling of SHIELD, Bucky immediately went into hiding as The Winter Soldier so he never went back to Russia. As much as he missed her, as much as he loved her, he couldn’t go back for her. He couldn’t risk Hydra finding him to drag him back to that prison. 

He was a selfish dick, that he knew. But when Hydra fell for the final time, he thought about going back for her but that base in Russia was no more and he didn’t know where she was or if she was even alive anymore. So, instead of looking for her, Bucky decided to focus on getting himself better but promised after the year ended, he would start. 

Then one year turned to two then to three and then, he just forgot. 

“How could you forget me, my love?” 

Her voice brought him back from his thoughts and Bucky’s eyes stared straight at the back of her head. He had yet to see her face since he stepped into this fear room but he didn’t have to know that she was still beautiful. 

She was the love of his life in a time so dark and haunting. Both of them were used as weapons for a war that didn’t concern them. 

“Solnyshka,” he said with more force in his voice than he felt. “I never forgot.” 

Solnyshka, his sunshine in the darkness. 

An evil chuckle echoed in the space around them and it filled Bucky’s viens with fear as he watched her rock back and forth on the metal slab, the sounds of the chains to her handcuffs dragging on the floor. 

“You went off to live your happy fucking life while I sat here, rotting in this god forsaken cage. Used and abused for years! I thought you loved me!” 

Bucky took a step towards her. “I did-.” 

Just then she spun around, finally facing Bucky, which made him let out a gasp before retreating two steps back. Gone were the bright eyes he found himself swimming in, the smile that graced her face even in this hell was long gone, replaced with a fervent frown. In place of her eyes were black orbs, showing not an ounce of light or warmth, just soulless darkness. Blood pooled from them down her face and some on her mouth but she made no move to wipe it away. She couldn’t, not handcuffed anyway. 

“If you loved me, you would have come back for me!” She shrieked, writhing against the metal slab. “You would have come back!” 

“I tried.”

“LIAR!” Her screams now caused Bucky to hold his hands against his ears, ducking away from the sonic blast of her powers. 

“I can still save you,” he said after a beat of silence, and he noticed she was sitting still as a board on the table. Tentatively, he took a step towards her. “I love you, solnyshka. I’ll come find you.” 

Bucky made a promise not only to himself but to her that once he found his way out of The Void that he would do whatever it took to find his solnyshka and bring her home to him. 

Once more, that dark chuckle filled the air before those bloody and soulless eyes cut through him. 

“It’s too late for that, my love. I'm not made to be found,” her words pierced Bucky’s heart before everything faded to black. 

[alexispunkkk]

the giver

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has both the miller brothers wrapped around her finger—and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

- word count: 10.3k 😮‍💨😮‍💨

very roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by chappell roan…. writing that as i forgot about it being the inspo a third of the way through

on ao3

masterlist

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks. 

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night. 

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning. 

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires. 

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature. 

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver. 

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you. 

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once. 

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner. 

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town. 

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close. 

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read. 

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights. 

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big. 

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more. 

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look. 

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’ 

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms. 

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window. 

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working? 

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen. 

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men. 

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome. 

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day. 

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else. 

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique. 

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous. 

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.” 

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it. 

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?” 

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.” 

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews. 

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return. 

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs. 

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container. 

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him. 

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire. 

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another. 

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more. 

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.” 

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.” 

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire. 

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all. 

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin. 

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly. 

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially. 

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms. 

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind. 

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble. 

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men. 

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation. 

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it. 

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable. 

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good. 

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy. 

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice. 

Then there's Joel. 

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words. 

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually. 

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it. 

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can. 

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time. 

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother. 

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way. 

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror. 

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out. 

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother. 

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see. 

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you. 

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do. 

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother. 

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties. 

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire. 

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight. 

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand. 

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar. 

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller? 

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother. 

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch. 

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin. 

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his. 

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top. 

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker. 

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod. 

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh. 

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly. 

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak. 

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for. 

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it. 

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted. 

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in. 

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen. 

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless. 

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey. 

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space. 

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor. 

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it. 

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor. 

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder. 

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up. 

And you let yourself be used. 

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss. 

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything. 

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible. 

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment. 

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close. 

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist. 

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips. 

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie. 

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods. 

“Mm–real pretty.” Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother. 

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands. 

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down. 

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men. 

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands. 

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries. 

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs. 

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed. 

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls. 

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail. 

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly. 

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down. 

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.” 

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock. 

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time. 

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break. 

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy. 

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair. 

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down. 

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight. 

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more. 

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet. 

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute. 

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow. 

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head. 

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat. 

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss. 

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now. 

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied. 

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it. 

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling. 

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow. 

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned. 

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get. 

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine. 

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing. 

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began. 

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

@possiblyafangirl @monicasblues @stories-we-read @pattwtf @kimm4710 @darkheartgatita @melmel-fandom @elliesr1fle @aretha170 @luvrgirls @whitewolfstar01 @taytay0403 @valyrianflower @alidiggory92 @love-you-inside-n-out @darknight3904 @cinnamon-slut @caramelic3dlatte @atthediscowithoutpanic @maystyles @justsarahbella @mynameisbaby9 @american-exodus @visenya-targarye @dilflover-3 @mani-pedro @ilovetoomanymen @xplicitz @foggypenguinrunaway @pigeonpinata0xo @majesticalcocoa @wildxxwolf @yoursweetgirl18 @millersbby @alwayswndr @zroberts13 @marzplanetz @lonelygirl56 @godlypresley @emilynersinger @ivyleagueeeee @lowrisemiller @staley83 @junajun4 @bluegardenn @grayandthyme @heavens-whore @nihilophobias @romancherry @catch1ngmoths

[jjwolves]

Need More Webseries ENA! One where the Short! reader is loveatruck in love with her tall polygon woman and constantly is holding onto her like she a big plushie.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────‧₊˚⊹ FUNDAMENTAL MAXIM

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA x Short, Touchy, Completely Lovestruck Reader

Who: ENA from ENA by Joel G

How Much: ~700 Words, ~2 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @aquazero

Warnings: None!

You had known ENA for a while, becoming enamored by her almost immediately upon meeting her. Slowly, over the course of many long travels, you had begun to unconsciously cling to her. When you were scared, you huddled behind her. When you were excited, you jumped up and hung off her. You’d expect her to buckle under the impact of a human body flying at her and suddenly wrapping around her arm, blue and blocky and cool to the touch, but she brushes off the force like a living embodiment of inertia. Steadfast. “Heavens to Betsy!” she chirps, but she’s not surprised. She’s delighted.

You like to jump up and drape yourself over her shoulders, trailing behind her like a cape made of love (as well as blood and bones, but you can’t usually see those). ENA likes to play along like she’s in on a secret joke that only you two know about. “Delightful! I was in the market for a new accessory. A cape suits me nicely!” She dances around and does silly poses while you hang off of her. You’re unable to stifle a giggle at the sight of her performance and ENA turns her head around to you, expression infused with the pride of an entertainer who just received a standing ovation.

Hugging ENA’s body is a very unique sensation. Half of her is warm and soft, like flesh suffused with sunshine. The other half is glassy and cool, like a cup of tea left to sit out overnight. Her sentiments are similarly disparate. Sometimes when you cling to her, her bright side gives an idle comment on it and ultimately… allows it, almost as if she’s simply being polite and humoring you. This leads you to wonder if she really enjoys the loving contact which you find yourself indulging in near constantly. But when she flip-flops into gloom, she picks you up off the ground and hugs you tight, sobbing into your shoulder, and you’re reassured of how much your touch means to her.

ENA likes that you want to be near her because she wants to be near you as well. She returns your clinginess, essentially, but while you like to drape yourself across her or cling to a part of her and never let go, she likes to take charge and carry you to the next adventure to be had. One moment you’re arguing with the tree of recursion and the next ENA has swept you off your feet to bridal-carry you somewhere. “Silly me! I almost forgot my little rhomboid!” It’s not uncommon to run into obstacles that need to be climbed over. ENA is happy to assist, gliding into position to boost you over like she’s getting ready to serve a volleyball (and then using her detached arms to unceremoniously lift you and plop you onto the other side).

One time you picked up a fever after inhaling some ancient dirt from a cursed flowerpot. As much as you wanted to flop onto your cubist partner, her health was more important than your touch-starved impulses. It wasn’t worth getting her sick, too. ENA noticed you approaching, a little worse for wear, and expected a tackle-hug or for you to jump into her arms. For once, you kept your distance. Noticing this, she deflated a little bit. Her head swiveled around and she flipped blue. Hard. The wailing began “Why!? Why aren’t you touch me like normal?!” She swept you up with a lunge and squeezed. “Are you finally tired of me?! Gonna throw me into subspace?! Get it over with!!” Futilely, you tried to pry her off of you, explaining that you were sick and that she shouldn’t be getting so close to you. The rain cleared and her sunshine returned. “Oh my… Apologies. That’s all you had to say!” Her blue side snapped back into place with the vengeance of a wet towel a moment later and started frantically rubbing her head into your chest. “Good! Now we can both be sick! FOREVER!”

A/N: Thanks for requesting, Anon! Once again, I know everyone really enjoys eloquent, cheerful ENA... but hear me out. Drama queen blue ENA is just as good.

The fundamental maxim of free men is to live in love towards our actions, and to let live in the understanding of the other person's will. (Rudolph Steiner)

[halfadiamond]

Finding Out You’re Pregnant with Twins

💎 Part of the !President Price Series

💎 It is so hard to write the dialogue for Soap (like his accent), I tried and I gave up 😭 if you guys know of any writers who write it well/ have tips plz lmk bcuz I’m considering just writing the dialogue as normal for all

You missed your period that was the first sign that something was amiss. At first you chalked it up to stress, you and Price had been visiting different countries for a while now with the men following right behind you.

That could be why. It’s just because we’ve been gone for so long.

You thought to yourself, laughing silently, as you headed off to go see what Price and the guys were up to.

It wasn’t until near the end of your trip that you noticed that your period still hadn’t come. And now you were starting to feel nauseated, especially when waking up in the morning. It’s been three times since the men have been greeted to you, puking into the toilet in the morning, something was definitely going on.

Maybe Gaz knew something that you didn’t as he left one day without telling anyone where he was headed to. Only to come back later in the afternoon with a shopping bag as he gently urged to go to the bathroom, handing you the bag.

When looking into the bag, all that greeted you was two pregnancy test boxes. It couldn’t be that you were pregnant right? Of course, you were ovulating a few weeks before you guys headed off on foreign visits but… all of you guys forgot the basics of baby making… unprotected sex.

You didn’t want to believe it, but you had to know and if it was positive…

No.

You thought as you took the test out and began reading the instructions.

I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Maybe it’s negative. It’s just the stress of being gone for too long.

You were silently fighting in your mind as you took the test.

You waited a while, pacing around the small bathroom until you heard the test beep. You grabbed the test and took a peek at the results.

—

Meanwhile all of the men were sitting at the couch. Price was checking in with his Vice, making sure everything was going smoothly back home while the others chose to watch a movie, opting to try and not worry about the possibility of you being pregnant. They wouldn’t worry until you came back with the results.

The movie was quickly put on pause when you returned from the bathroom with the test in hand. The movie was definitely far from their minds when you showed them the results.

It was positive. You were pregnant. But what was wrong with that? Nothing really all of you guys were excited at the idea of a baby joining the family.

But the main issue that lingered into the air now? Nobody knew who the dad could be.

—

You didn’t head to your first appointment till after Price and you had returned from his foreign affairs trip. And it was a whirlwind, trying to keep a low profile was difficult when you were heading to the doctor’s office with the President and his Secret Service Men. Especially when Price didn’t want anyone to know that the First Lady was pregnant, not until you were ready to announce it.

Price as adamant that everyone should act normal once returning home, to avoid suspicion, but the men were far from acting normal. You hadn’t even began showing and yet the men were treating you like glass.

Soap was following you around almost everywhere now. Gaz didn’t want you over exerting yourself, he wouldn’t even let you walk down the stairs if you weren’t holding his hand. If you had let Ghost do what he wanted, you would’ve been carried around everywhere you went. While for Price, it was more difficult for him to be with you, due to his responsibilities, but you had a stinking suspicion that he was the one who told the men to keep an eye on you. After all, it was their baby regardless of paternity.

At the doctors, as much as you wanted the guys to come into the room to see their baby, they still had a job to do in protecting the President and it could lead to speculation as to why the President needed his men inside the room when it should be a moment between a husband and wife.

But it was fine.

You thought to yourself as you got on the table so that the doctor could begin with the ultrasound. You could show them the ultrasound later, making a note to remember where the doctor points out the bab-

“Oh! There’s definitely two babies in here!”

You and Price looked at each other, confused.

“Come again?”

Price spoke, hoping for it to be a simple misunderstanding.

The doctor, sensing the confusion in room, pointed at the screen, using their wand to show the two sacs.

“See there’s baby A and..”

The doctor moved the wand slightly and pointed once again at the screen.

“Here’s baby B.”

You and Price stared at other as if expecting the other to laugh and admit it was prank, but it never came. You were pregnant. With twins. And no definitive answer as to who the dad could be. All you could do was go home and prepare, but first, you needed to tell your other lovers about the news.

All the men knew something was wrong the moment you and Price had exited the room. But it wasn’t until you guys got back into the car that you finally came clean.

“It’s twins.”

You were expecting them to ask you to clarify or laugh as if it was a joke, what you didn’t expect was for them to ask to see the ultrasound.

Ghost was driving while the Gaz and Soap took the opportunity to view the ultrasound as if they still couldn’t believe it. They both shared the same reaction, amazement, that there was not one but two babies joining the family.

Soap wanting to crack a joke, to lighten up the tension that was shared between you and Price at the unexpected news, grins teasingly as he looks at you.

“Magine, lass, the babies havin' different fathers."

It definitely helped as all of you guys shared a laugh, including Ghost who you could see sport a tiny smile underneath his mask. Gaz shook his head in slight amusement before speaking.

“That’s not possible Soap.”

Right?

[saymonsays]

3 — Solving for X (and Maybe Love)

pairing: kwon jiyong x reader

ep 1 | ep 2

Summary: ‎Rivals Are Bickering, Secrets Are Leaking, Chemistry Is Peaking. Sometimes silence says more than we’re ready to hear. Chemistry still simmering between you and Jiyong… even in silence.

‎Tags: slow burn, highschool romance, opposites attract, art vs math, chaotic friendships, banter, wholesome chemistry, awkward friendship, unspoken feelings, some emotional parts, tension, awkward silences, one-sided glances, and parents unknowingly fanning the flames, just fluff

‎"The Distance Between Our Tables"

‎P‎eople always think they know the full story. That’s the thing about school—the walls talk. But the truth? It’s always quieter than the rumors.

‎

‎She was the kind of girl everyone noticed. Not because she wanted to be. Just… because she couldn’t help it. Pretty, confident, independent—and bad at math. Really bad. The kind of bad that made her avoid eye contact when midterms were returned.

‎

‎What most people didn’t know?

‎

‎Her father was the principal.

‎

‎She never mentioned it. Not once. Not even to Saebom. She hated the way people looked at her differently when they found out—as if she hadn’t earned anything herself. So she kept it quiet. She wore the title like a shadow. Not a flex, not a crown. Just another thing she didn’t ask for.

‎

‎And Jiyong? He was the opposite of everything loud. A quiet boy. A boy people forgot was even in class until test scores came out. He moved like a whisper, spoke like he was apologizing for breathing.

‎

‎But he noticed things.

‎

‎He noticed how she never asked for help. How she pretended to understand just to avoid looking weak. How she furrowed her brow and chewed the cap of her pen during tutoring sessions, pretending to listen while secretly drawing sad little monsters in her notebook margins.

‎

‎He noticed it all.

‎

‎And somewhere along the way, without meaning to…

‎he started caring.

‎

‎Math Class – The Day After Midterms

‎The class was silent.

‎

‎Mr. Lee walked down the row, placing marked exams face-down on desks like funeral pamphlets.

‎

‎You saw yours.

‎37.

‎

‎You didn’t flinch. You just quietly flipped it over and tucked it inside your book.

‎

‎“Y/N,” Mr. Lee called out.

‎You looked up.

‎

‎“This is your second failing grade this semester.”

‎

‎“I know,” you said flatly.

‎

‎He frowned. “Aren’t you being tutored? What’s the problem here?”

‎

‎You stayed quiet.

‎

‎“Who’s tutoring her again?” Mr. Lee turned.

‎

‎From the back of the class, Jiyong’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I am.”

‎

‎Mr. Lee folded his arms. “You’re top of the class. Why is your student failing?”

‎

‎You opened your mouth—but Jiyong stood.

‎

‎“It’s my fault,” he said.

‎

‎The whole room turned.

‎

‎“I didn’t adjust the way I was teaching. I thought she understood more than she did.”

‎

‎Mr. Lee looked stunned. “You’re taking the blame?”

‎

‎“I didn’t explain things properly,” Jiyong said again, eyes on the floor. “She’s not stupid.”

‎

‎Your throat tightened.

‎

‎He wasn’t supposed to do that.

‎He wasn’t supposed to protect you.

‎

‎After Class – Rooftop

‎

‎You pulled him aside, furious.

‎

‎“Why did you say that? That wasn’t your fault, Jiyong!”

‎

‎He looked up. “You were going to get in trouble.”

‎

‎“I don’t care!” you snapped. “You think I want people thinking I got pity help from the smartest kid in class?!”

‎

‎His face shifted—like your words stung more than they should have.

‎

‎“…I wasn’t trying to pity you.”

‎

‎You crossed your arms. “Then what were you trying to do?”

‎

‎Silence.

‎

‎Then he said, very softly

‎‎“I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”

‎

‎That hit like a punch in the chest.

‎

‎Because for a second—you weren’t mad anymore.

‎

‎You were scared.

‎

‎Because when someone like Jiyong cared about you…

‎

‎It was harder to pretend that you didn’t care back.

‎

‎———————

‎

‎You were picking at your dinner, chin resting on your palm. Your mom had tried to lighten the mood with her usual, “Want more kimchi?” but you just shook your head.

‎

‎Your dad glanced over the rim of his glasses. “Midterm results came in.”

‎

‎“Yeah,” you muttered. “Mr. Lee was very vocal about it.”

‎

‎Silence. Then he said, “You know, I don’t care if you’re not good at math.”

‎

‎You looked up.

‎

‎“I care if you give up before trying.”

‎

‎“…I am trying,” you mumbled. “It’s just not working.”

‎

‎He nodded slowly. “That boy… Kwon Jiyong. He’s tutoring you?”

‎

‎You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

‎

‎Your dad leaned back, folding his arms. “He’s a good kid. Respectful. Quiet. A little awkward, but... good.”

‎

‎You raised a brow. “You met him?”

‎

‎He smiled. “His parents own the restaurant near the old bookstore. I eat there sometimes.”

‎

‎You stared. “You eat there?”

‎

‎He gave you a pointed look. “What, you thought the principal just hibernated in the office all day?”

‎

‎You huffed a laugh—but it faded quickly.

‎

‎Your dad sighed, more gently this time. “I know you don’t like people helping you. But maybe that’s not a weakness. Maybe it’s... something you’re allowed to have.”

‎Jiyong at the Restaurant (Evening)

‎———————

‎He was refilling the soy sauce bottles at the counter, eyes a little dull, hands slower than usual. His mom watched him for a second before nudging him gently with a dish towel.

‎

‎“You’ve been sulking for three days.”

‎

‎“I’m not sulking,” he muttered.

‎

‎“You’re sulking,” she said again, smiling. “What happened? Girl trouble?”

‎

‎Jiyong almost choked on air.

‎

‎“I—no—she’s just…” He trailed off.

‎

‎His mom tilted her head. “Just what?”

‎

‎He looked down at the bottle in his hand. “Mad. And I think she’s right to be.”

‎

‎A pause.

‎

‎Then, softly: “She didn’t ask me to speak for her. I just… did.”

‎

‎His mom hummed. “Next time, try asking what she needs, instead of guessing.”

‎

‎School Hallway – You Try Talking to Him

‎You spotted him by the lockers—alone, like always, headphones around his neck but not actually on. His bag was slung over one shoulder, and he was pretending to fix the zipper just to avoid looking around.

‎

‎You walked up slowly.

‎

‎“Hey,” you said.

‎

‎He looked up—then froze.

‎

‎“…Hi.”

‎

‎You scratched the back of your neck. “You’re avoiding me.”

‎

‎“No, I’m not.” He was definitely lying.

‎

‎“You are. You didn’t even come to tutoring yesterday.”

‎

‎Jiyong shifted. “I thought maybe you needed space.”

‎

‎You sighed. “I needed you to not act like I stabbed you in the chest.”

‎

‎He blinked. “I didn’t think you—”

‎

‎“I yelled because I was mad, not because I wanted you to disappear.”

‎

‎He swallowed. “I just… didn’t want to make it worse.”

‎

‎The silence stretched.

‎

‎Then you said, softer this time: “I don’t hate you, Jiyong.”

‎His eyes met yours—finally—and there was that moment.

‎

‎

‎The one where neither of you says what you’re really feeling.

‎But both of you know.

‎Deep down, painfully, you know.

‎

‎———————

‎

‎Saebom was storming down the hallway, papers flying out of her folder, fury radiating off her like steam from ramen.

‎

‎“I cannot believe this!” she growled.

‎

‎You raised a brow. “Let me guess—Daesung?”

‎

‎“Who else?! That slippery, annoying, too-loud-for-his-own-good gremlin!”

‎

‎You stifled a laugh. “What did he do this time?”

‎

‎“He beat me on the science quiz by TWO POINTS. And he taped his score to my locker with glitter tape and wrote ‘Try harder, Queen :3 ’ in pink marker.”

‎

‎You blinked. “...I mean, that’s kind of iconic.”

‎

‎“I HATE HIM.”

‎

‎Cue: Daesung strutting by like he’s in a shampoo commercial.

‎

‎“Oh, hey Saebom!” he chirped. “Saw your score. Brutal. You still want my notes? I can dumb them down if you’d like.”

‎

‎“You’re going to regret speaking to me today,” she snapped.

‎

‎“Already do,” he winked, then disappeared into class.

‎

‎You and Saebom stood in silence.

‎

‎“...He flirts like a clown,” she muttered.

‎

‎You grinned. “But like... a cute clown?”

‎

‎She gave you the death glare.

‎

‎Weekend – Coffee with Dad (Outside School)

‎It was a rare Sunday when both you and your dad had nothing to do. You were seated across from him at a quiet café near the bookstore—just the two of you, warm drinks, and a table too small for awkward silence.

‎

‎He took a sip. “You’ve been quieter lately.”

‎

‎“Midterms,” you said.

‎

‎He raised a brow.

‎

‎“…And maybe the boy tutoring me thinks I hate him.”

‎

‎“Do you?”

‎

‎“No. But I yell like I do.”

‎

‎He gave a quiet laugh. “You’re like your mother.”

‎

‎You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Don’t say that. She cries over animal commercials.”

‎

‎“She’s got a big heart. So do you.”

‎

‎You were about to roll your eyes again—until your dad’s expression shifted. “You know… you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

‎

‎You blinked.

‎

‎“I know you try to be this ‘cool girl who doesn’t need help,’” he said. “But… you’re still my kid. It’s okay to let people in. Even him.”

‎

‎You didn’t answer.

‎

‎Across the street, a student from school stood frozen outside the bakery window—half-hidden, phone in hand, eyes wide.

‎

‎They had just seen you and the principal laughing over coffee.

‎

‎And then, they ran.

‎———————

‎Monday – Whisper Games Begin

‎You knew something was off the second you walked into school.

‎

‎The stares were sharper. The whispers shorter. Even Saebom raised an eyebrow. “Did you get a new bag or something?”

‎

‎You didn’t answer.

‎

‎Then you heard it.

‎

‎“She’s the principal’s daughter?”

‎

‎“Wait—is that how she got into the art contest?”

‎

‎“Is that why Mr. Lee never really punished her?”

‎

‎The worst part wasn’t the rumors. It was the way they looked at you now.

‎

‎Like you didn’t earn anything.

‎

‎At lunch, you sat with Saebom and barely touched your food. Even Daesung didn’t make a single sarcastic comment—which was scarier than when he did.

‎

‎And Jiyong? He hadn’t looked at you once.

‎

‎Until the end of the day.

‎

‎When he passed you in the hallway, paused, and quietly slipped a folded paper into your hand.

‎

‎You opened it after he left.

‎

‎It was a sketch.

‎

‎A very, very bad drawing of… you. Sitting at your desk. With the words underneath:

‎

‎“This is how I see you. Not them.”

‎

‎Your heart stuttered.

‎

‎It was the ugliest, sweetest thing you’d ever seen.

‎—

‎There’s a reason you never told anyone your dad was the principal.

‎

‎Because when you were twelve and transferred schools mid-year, your first “friend” said, “Do we have to be nice to you ‘cause your dad’s, like, the boss?”

‎

‎You didn’t reply. Just smiled like it didn’t matter.

‎After that, you learned: keep it quiet. Let people judge you for the things you can’t control—like being bad at math. That was easier than being seen as the girl who cheated her way through everything.

‎

‎So yeah. It wasn’t shame. It was survival.

‎

‎Jiyong Reacts (Awkwardly, Of Course)

‎He was supposed to just hand you your notebook.

‎

‎Instead, he said

‎“…Your dad’s the principal?”

‎

‎You blinked.

‎

‎Then shrugged. “Yeah.”

‎

‎He nodded… once… twice… then again… and didn’t say anything.

‎

‎The silence stretched.

‎

‎“…You mad?” you asked.

‎

‎“No,” he said quickly. “Just. Processing.”

‎

‎You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You think I got special treatment?”

‎

‎He looked at you—really looked this time—and shook his head.

‎

‎“…I think you probably didn’t tell anyone because you didn’t want to be treated special.”

‎

‎You blinked.

‎

‎Okay, ouch. That hit too close.

‎

‎“…Yeah. That.”

‎

‎Cafeteria – Saebom vs. Daesung, Round 7,421

‎Saebom slammed her tray on the table. “HE STOLE MY HIGH SCORE TITLE IN ENGLISH.”

‎

‎Daesung strolled by and waved like a pageant queen. “Oh? Didn’t see you at the top. Must’ve been a typo.”

‎

‎“You used a comma splice in your essay,” she hissed.

‎

‎“And yet, here we are. Me: Winner. You: Bitter.”

‎

‎You glanced up from your barely-eaten rice. “Can you two stop flirting?”

‎

‎Both: “WE’RE NOT FLIRTING.”

‎

‎You rolled your eyes. “Sure. And Jiyong knows how to draw hands.”

‎

‎At the far end of the table, Jiyong paused mid-sip. “...what?...”

—

‎Art Room – Awkward Chemistry™ Reloaded

‎It was silent again.

‎

‎You were sketching on the edge of your worksheet. Jiyong was trying to explain algebra but kept glancing over.

‎

‎“…Is that me?” he asked.

‎

‎You didn’t look up. “Mmhm.”

‎

‎“Why do I have a pigeon on my head?”

‎

‎You grinned. “It’s metaphorical.”

‎

‎“For what?”

‎

‎“For how you never notice when people like you.”

‎

‎He froze. “Wait—what?”

‎

‎You blinked, feigning innocence. “What?”

‎

‎He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

‎

‎“…Nothing,” he mumbled, going back to his textbook way too quickly.

‎

‎And you?

‎You just kept sketching.

‎With the tiniest smirk tugging at your lips.

‎—

‎It was a normal Tuesday night.

‎

‎Jiyong was wiping tables, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy from leaning over hot food trays all evening. His mom was in the kitchen, shouting orders in rapid Korean. His dad was restocking side dishes with a huge smile.

‎

‎The bell rang as a customer walked out.

‎

‎“Jiyong-ah,” his mom called. “Bring the kimchi upstairs.”

‎

‎He groaned slightly, grabbing the tray. As he walked up the narrow stairs that led to their home above the restaurant, he paused by the window.

‎

‎He saw a couple walking past, laughing. Just normal teenagers, not thinking about grades or gossip or expectations.

‎

‎He stared at them for a second longer than he should’ve.

‎

‎Then turned away.

‎

‎You – Alone in a Mall, Feeling Off

‎You were at a mall on a random afternoon, sipping from a smoothie that tasted like regret and boredom.

‎

‎You’d walked into three stores and bought nothing. Scrolled through your phone more times than you could count. Opened your sketch app, then closed it again.

‎

‎You hated this feeling.

‎

‎It was like something was heavy in your chest, and no amount of new earrings or cold drinks could melt it.

‎

‎You looked around.

‎

‎Everyone was smiling.

‎

‎You weren’t.

‎

‎Home – Parents Noticing

‎That night at dinner, your mom nudged you softly.

‎

‎“You didn’t finish your rice.”

‎

‎You shrugged.

‎

‎“Something happen at school?” your dad asked.

‎

‎You stabbed a piece of tofu with your chopstick, avoiding both of their eyes.

‎

‎“Just school stuff.”

‎

‎Your mom exchanged a look with your dad. He set his chopsticks down.

‎

‎“We heard… about the gossip. That people found out.”

‎

‎You froze.

‎

‎“It’s okay,” your mom said gently. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t affect you.”

‎

‎“I’m fine,” you said quickly, too quickly. “Really.”

‎

‎Your dad stared at you a moment longer.

‎

‎“Even the strongest people crack sometimes,” he said. “Doesn’t make you weak.”

‎

‎You stayed quiet.

‎

‎But later that night, alone in your room…

‎You cried a little. Just a little.

‎—

‎School Library – The Question

‎You and Jiyong sat side by side, books sprawled everywhere, the table buried in loose worksheets and quiet tension.

‎

‎You were doodling on the corner of your math sheet again. He watched, chin resting on his palm.

‎

‎“…Why art?” he asked softly.

‎

‎You blinked. “What?”

‎

‎He sat up straighter. “You could’ve picked anything. Music, dance, even writing. Why drawing?”

‎

‎You stared down at the messy sketch. A cat on a bicycle. It looked like it was about to fall.

‎

‎You spoke slowly.

‎

‎“When I was little, I didn’t talk a lot. Not because I was shy—just… didn’t know how to say what I was feeling. Not to my parents. Not to my friends. Not even to myself.”

‎

‎Jiyong didn’t say anything. Just listened.

‎

‎“So I drew,” you said. “Weird stuff. Scary stuff. Funny stuff. People didn’t always get it. But I did. And that was enough.”

‎

‎Silence.

‎

‎“…You talk a lot now,” he said quietly.

‎

‎You smiled, a little sad. “Yeah. I got tired of no one hearing me.”

‎

‎Another pause.

‎

‎He nodded slowly.

‎

‎“…I get that.”

‎

‎time skipped

‎

‎INT. CAR – EVENING

‎

‎You sat with your arms crossed, face glued to the window.

‎

‎“Why are we even going there?” you mumbled.

‎

‎“Because I’m hungry,” your dad replied, casual. “And the food’s nice.”

‎

‎“…You literally ate lunch at the school canteen.”

‎

‎“Still hungry.”

‎

‎You shot him a glare. “You’re only going there because you want me to make peace with Jiyong.”

‎

‎He didn’t even try to deny it. Just shrugged. “That, and the kimchi jjigae is top tier.”

‎

‎You groaned. “Dad…”

‎

‎“You can’t avoid him forever, you know.”

‎

‎“I can try.”

‎

‎But you still followed him out of the car. Still walked beside him, dragging your feet, as he strolled into the restaurant like it was just any other day.

‎

‎INT. RESTAURANT – EVENING

‎

‎The little bell above the door chimed. The smell of garlic and gochujang hit instantly.

‎

‎You kept your head low, heart thumping stupidly.

‎

‎Jiyong’s mom popped out from the kitchen. “Oh! Mr. Jung!”

‎

‎Your dad grinned. “It’s been a while, right?”

‎

‎“You always say that, but you came last week,” she laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sit wherever you want!”

‎

‎Her eyes landed on you. “Ahh, is this your daughter?”

‎

‎You froze.

‎

‎“…Yes,” your dad said proudly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

‎

‎You smiled awkwardly. “Hello, Miss…”

‎

‎And then—you heard it.

‎

‎Footsteps.

‎Slow. Familiar.

‎

‎You glanced to the side—

‎

‎Jiyong, standing by the counter, holding a tray, equally frozen.

‎

‎Eyes locking with yours.

‎

‎You could practically hear the awkward music swell in your head.

‎

‎“…Hey,” he said.

‎

‎“…Hey,” you muttered back, looking anywhere but his face.

‎

‎His mom raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You two know each other?”

‎

‎You both answered at the same time.

‎

‎“She’s my—”

‎“He’s my—”

‎

‎Silence.

‎

‎“…Tutor,” you said.

‎“…Student,” he added.

‎

‎His mom blinked. “Ooooh.” Then smiled. “That’s nice.”

‎

‎Nice?

‎

‎You wanted to evaporate.

‎LATER – AT THE TABLE

‎

‎

‎Your dad was slurping soup. “Seriously, you have to try this. You can’t sulk when there’s tofu this good.”

‎

‎You were barely touching your rice. Eyes flicking every few seconds to the kitchen door.

‎

‎Jiyong passed by once—twice—clearly avoiding your table. At one point your eyes met and both of you looked away so fast, you nearly gave yourselves whiplash.

‎

‎Your dad leaned closer. “You should say hi.”

‎

‎“I did say hi.”

‎

‎“You should say more hi.”

‎

‎“Dad—”

‎

‎“Okay okay,” he grinned. “But one more thing…”

‎

‎You looked at him suspiciously.

‎

‎“…If I accidentally tell his mom you like drawing him with pigeons on his head—”

‎

‎“DAD.”

‎

‎Jiyong's Perspective

‎

‎He walked past quickly, eyes glued to the tray in his hands. He could feel your gaze brush over him for a second.

‎

‎But it was different.

‎

‎No teasing.

‎

‎No stubborn comebacks.

‎

‎No scribbled cats in math margins.

‎

‎You weren’t you.

‎

‎He slowed down.

‎

‎Just enough to hear your dad say, “You should say hi.”

‎

‎You didn’t.

‎

‎His heart sank a little.

‎

‎She’s avoiding me.

‎

‎IN THE STORAGE ROOM – LATER

‎

‎He sat on a low plastic stool, fiddling with a box of wooden chopsticks.

‎

‎His brain wouldn’t shut up.

‎"She’s embarrassed. She regrets telling you about her dad."

‎

‎‎"She probably doesn’t even like being tutored."

‎‎"You messed it up the moment you got involved."

‎

‎He sighed.

‎

‎He didn’t mean to freeze up at school. He didn’t mean to make things awkward. But he panicked.

‎

‎You were always so hard to read.

‎

‎And now?

‎

‎Now you were even harder to reach.

‎

‎MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE (your POV briefly)

‎

‎You sat in your dad’s car, frowning out the window.

‎

‎“You okay?” your dad asked.

‎

‎You shrugged. “Fine.”

‎

‎Just a little… weird.

‎‎That’s all.

‎‎Totally normal.

‎

‎You weren’t mad at Jiyong. You weren’t disappointed either. You were just—what’s the word?

‎

‎Confused?

‎‎Overthinking?

‎‎Definitely not in denial.

—

Author's note: told u this part's gonna be longer :33 ALSO I SWEAR THE PAIRING ALWAYS REMINDS ME OF GO YOUNJUNG AND LEE JUNGHA IN MOVING >.<

[mikkomacko]

https://www.tumblr.com/mikkomacko/781366328000937984/stopp-jersey-is-so-cute-love-that-shes-got-that

does it ever get really bad that reader has a hard time with jersey and kinda breaks down?

You knew life with Nico wasn’t going to be easy, not with the type of life he lived. But everyone has issues adapting to married life and then adding kids into it so you never cared. You love Nico. You can handle the unsteadiness that comes with his career because he’s worth it.

Sometimes though, you think you were stupid for ever believing that you could manage everything.

You think of the other wives, the ones with two or three kids, how they always seem fine. Put together, perfectly styled and primped every time you see them. Their kids, while rambunctious, never uncontrollable.

Never like this, like Jersey.

Pacing up and down the hall, you bounce her in your arms and pat at her bottom, cooing in what you hope is a soothing matter. Not that it matters because you’re sure she can’t even hear you over her blood curdling screams.

It feels like it’s been hours of this, of you fighting with her to swallow down bites of pasta that she just spit up all over you and the table. Of you wrestling her into the bath as she flailed around, screamed and splashed water and bubbles at you. More fighting and wailing as you dressed her for bed.

You know exactly what it’s about too, but in case you somehow forgot, her raw cries of “papa!” are serving as good reminder, albeit a little heartbreaking.

Jersey doesn’t fight you now, curled into your chest and hugging her arms to her little body. But she won’t calm down either, screeching and hiccuping in your ear.

“My papa,” she wails, pressing into your already damp shirt. You tuck your nose into the top of her head, shushing her as best you can as tears of exhaustion and frustration burn at your eyes too.

“I know baby, I know.” You soothe, your own voice cracking. “Go to sleep my love, daddy will be here in the morning,”

“Want him now!”

You can’t help it. You’re so tired, so lost as to what you can even do to help. Honestly you have no idea how she’s even awake still, the time bleeding into the middle of the night by now. And you know most of this tantrum is coming from that, but some of it is also the fact that the Devils team flight back from Canada had been delayed by a storm and Nico’s arrival time of 6 pm just kept getting pushed back.

To the point that once Nico had told you they were boarding, you’d left your phone somewhere in the kitchen with the mess of her dinner. You’d been delaying forcing Jersey into getting ready for bed, whatever little bug she’s been nursing all week making her congested and grumpy, and combative. You couldn’t put it off any longer now though.

You have no idea when the flight actually took off, if it’s landed yet, if he’s mid-air right now. Calling isn’t an option either way even if he isn’t on the flight. You doubt he’d be able to calm Jersey down enough to be able to get her to hear him.

Still pacing up and down the hall with her, you squeeze her into your chest and cry. From another point of view it might be funny, the two of you wailing at each other, exhausted and hostile but clinging to each other because Nico isn’t here to help yet, to do what he does best.

Make you two happy. Like mother like daughter, you suppose.

You’re sniffling back sobs when a figure appears at the end of the hall, and the fact that you didn’t even hear him unlock the door or drop his things makes you startle.

“Baby what?” Nico asks, almost frantic as he takes in the tears in your eyes, listens to Jersey still screaming.

“Nico,” you whimper, unsure of what to even do. He seems to know though, rushing down the hall and laying a hand on Jersey’s back, cupping your face in the other. His eyes examine you for a moment, quickly turning to Jersey when he realizes the most concerning thing about you right now are the bags under your swollen eyes.

“Hi leibling,” he murmurs, tapping his fingers on Jersey’s back and you see him wince when she lets out another ear ringing cry.

“Papa!”

Happily, you hand Jersey over to him, your clothes feeling damp and sticky without her sobbing into your neck now. Nico holds her up for a moment, strong hands around her middle and he looks her over for any physical signs of distress. Then he’s snuggling her into his chest, her chubby arms wrapping around his neck.

“It’s ok sweet girl,” he murmurs, shooting you a worried look. You want to stay and help, to do something but the heartbreaking sounds of your baby crying, knowing you can’t do anything to help her is going to make you spiral if you stay here any longer.

Wiping at your wet cheeks, you duck around Nico and Jersey, moving into the kitchen to clean up the dirty dishes and dried splatters of food. Faintly, you can hear him pacing with her the way you did, her cries already quieting to little hiccups as he voices unintelligible things to her.

Five minutes. It took him five minutes to do what you couldn’t do in three hours.

You’re harshly scrubbing at one of Jersey’s sippy cups, ears ringing with so much failure and embarrassment that you don’t realize you’ve begun crying again until Nico is coming up behind you, his chest warm and strong as he reaches around you to pry the items from your hands.

Gripping the edge of the counter instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to take deep breaths, hoping it’ll curb whatever breakdown you’re having.

“Oh baby,” he murmurs, nudging you back by the hip and that’s all it takes for you to turn around and bury your face in his neck the way Jersey had just minutes ago.

He rubs your spine soothingly, pressing kisses to your temple as he shushes you almost the exact same way he’d done for her. Two minutes. You give yourself two minutes to be pathetic and a baby and just cry in your husband’s arms before pulling back enough to dry your face.

“I tried to call,” he says, lips pulled down in a frown as he runs his fingers through your messy hair, still drying from when Jersey smacked her hand across the surface of the bath and drenched you.

“Phone was in here.” You whisper, voice weak and tired. “Didn’t hear it over her.”

He hums, cupping the back of your head and drawing you in to press his lips to your forehead.

“How long was she crying?”

Self deprecatingly, you laugh. “Hours, I don’t know. She was grumpy all week. Today just seemed to really do it.”

You don’t tell him it was because she missed him, because she’d been hearing that he’d be home by a certain time and when he wasn’t it all snowballed. It doesn’t matter. You should’ve been able to handle it.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” he says, “that you had to do all that by yourself.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you bite back, staring at the wet splotch on his shirt from Jersey’s tears. “I cried Nico. She needed to go to sleep and to eat and to take cold medicine and all I could do was cry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he gasps, thumbing at the sore spot on your jaw from clenching your teeth. “You got her fed, didn’t you? And she was bathed and dressed. That’s enough baby, she may not have been asleep but she wasn’t hurt. And maybe she wasn’t happy about it but she was taken care of. She was just tired. And like her mama, she gets a little watery when she’s tired.”

Barely, your lips quirk into a smile.

Nico ducks down to meet your gaze, eyes so warm and earnest when he murmurs, “you’re a good mother, y/n. The best, I swear. You shouldn’t be expected to do everything and yet you do it with minor casualties,” he lightly winces and you can’t help but giggle. “You pull the slack for me when you shouldn’t have to. I can’t ever tell you how much that means to me, to our girl.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, bumping his nose into yours. “Wouldn’t want to be standing here with anyone else covered in food and baby snot.”

“Oh shut up!” You attempt to pull away from him but he holds you tighter, silencing your grumbling with his lips. He kisses you for a moment, soft and sweet in the middle of your half cleaned kitchen.

“Let me put you to bed baby,” he says after stepping apart, nudging you with a hand on your back. “Take care of this in the morning, yeah?”

His bags get forgotten by the door. The stove light stays on, dirty pans and leftovers reflecting the warm glow. The bathtub stays scattered with toys and the shavings of underwater Crayon that you didn’t wash down.

Nico barely gets you into a change of clothes and wipes down your face and neck with a warm rag before you’re fighting to keep your eyes open. And then, once again like mother like daughter, all he has to do to get you to sleep is hold you tucked into his chest.

[clandestineivory]

hey fleurrrrrr

it's me, the demon (you know who)

can I request smth about Shadow Milk's canonical fragile body? Like- what do you think he'd do and stuff idk

(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ anon btw and you know who I am

okay (my fingers hurt but what the hell it's smc and I'm ready to work)

Shadow Milk Cookie Headcanons: "Fragile."

Summary: I think the crisis of arthritis is affecting me now because oh my lord my hands hurt like hell (it's been happening to my family for so long and I'm next nawww) I had to go do some digging about this and yknow what "(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ anon"? This is gonna be some extra headcanons because I need a redo and I think he's so wet cat coded with that fuck-ass haircut

Warning: Swearing (i fear it was obvious), bad grammar, possible ooc, lazy. So very lazy. a/n: I'm tired after finishing a sewing project and having to deal with 3 google slide presentations (chat I'm COOKED) I don't wanna talk abt 9/11 and then about Frida Kahlo and THEN about Kaumuali'i like how does this even happen to me

He should've been voiced by a vocaloid but nobody's ready to hear my weird opinion (no hate to the va though i love his talent)

I think he'd put on a front about how he's so strong and mighty and smart (and I can admit that he's smart), but c'mon. Look at him. He uses magic more than he uses his legs to walk.

Do you think he wonders why the Witch baked him like that though- just a fleeting thought that comes up from time to time when he's actually siting on a solid surface. His power lies in intellect, illusion, and psychological manipulation, not brawn. Not like Burning Spice Cookie (who definitely has some smarts of his own, I promise you. ruthless and calculating muscular men my beloved)

He might even tell himself it doesn’t matter, really! That he redefined his own purpose, made him a better version of what he used to be! (But the slight doubt lingers. Of course the Master of Deceit can act and pretend so much so that he forgot what was real behind the glamour and theatricals)

I think he'd use magic to cheat his way out of doing most physical stuff. It's as easy as breathing, so why would he want to take the harder, more taxing way? Sounds boring, doesn't it?

Anyways I think he's allergic to bleach

And honestly, look at him. Does he really look like the typa cookie to be strong (physically)?

He'd probably be wobbly on his legs when he actually has to stand and walk around yknow.

Leans against the wall and pretends to act all mysterious but he's probably SLUMPED against that thing oml get this guy some crutches or make him use his staff RIGHT (or steal GingerBrave's cane idk)

He smells atrocious when left in humid weather for a long time (he becomes like spoiled milk and rotten blueberries. He can't visit Burning Spice for long because of that lmao. keep him away from the deserts PLEASE or else he'll turn into YOGURT)

The type to tolerate 4 bottles of berry juice (or 6 1/2 if he's in a pissy mood) and then go on and on about what it was like being the Fount of Knowledge while trying to crawl into a portal and sleep (or die inside, either one)

Probably the Cookie version of anemic and that's why he hates physical work (literally me)

Music tastes range from a whole orchestra or piano (but I feel as though he'd enjoy opera singing quite a bit. He's over a thousand years old stuck in that body. let the old grandpa in him have some joy that isn't immediately about psychological tormenting others lmao /j I know he has other hobbies I swear)

Calls most of the Ancients 'youngsters' jokingly or 'old' depending on the time of day (peepaw shadow milk go back to bed please and stop calling these guys old)

This headcanon is probably ooc and y'all can beat my ass:

I think he judges whoever he meets and categorizes them as specific chess pieces.

For example -> Black Sapphire and Candy Apple? Rooks. Helpful, ready to serve. Maybe Bishops, but they're being quite genuine when it comes to helping the Master of Deceit. Queens? -> Shadow Milk Cookie himself! (moves in all directions, can easily change the tide of the game when released, quite popular), Burning Spice (same thing but way more destructive...goes off-script sometimes, and the improv is not that good!)...honestly? All of the Beast Cookies. Maybe Mystic Flour is an exception, maybe not.

Pawns? -> Everyone who doesn't seem like a real threat. NPC's, regular Cookies, ect... but they can certainly become something else with enough patience and perseverance. That's the fun part.

and I lowk gave up on this headcanon rn because i typed a whole thing out but my computer got sassy with me and deleted it all (fuck you, man. I ordered you in rose-gold because I thought it would be pretty, not a bitch)

Can I go on to say that milk, ice cream, orange juice, and blue raspberry soda tastes so fucking good like oh my heavens it's like a fizzy ice cream

or milk with frozen blueberries

[turtleations]

Interview with Nikaido Hayato (MASQUERADE / Vo)

Published in the hide BIBLE (by Akemi Oshima) 2008

Q1: When did you first learn about hide?

A: My older brother bought the “ROCKET DIVE” CD, I got to know hide-san when he let me listen to it.

Q2: Please tell us what kind of impression you had at the time.

A: At that time I didn’t think about music, just listening to is was enough. Even so, it was different from the music of other musicians I had listened to so far, it certainly had a sense of “thrill”. I said something like “Next time, let me buy your CD,” to my brother. (laughs)

Q3: Please tell us of a way in which hide influenced you.

A: Me, regarding certain people, I like the real live tales, legends, and insider stories that others talked about. (In this case, the heroic tale of hide-san’s image as held by SUGIZO-san that you can read on the internet, among others.)* The hide-san I get from his music and from interviews gives the impression of being “intense, unusual, and powerful… yet very kind.” I really like that he did rock with such consistency, I think I want to be like that even though I do things differently.

Q4: What did hide mean to you?

A: In terms of fashion, his sense of image, and of course music, his charisma was outstanding. It feels strange, but to me, hide-san was thrilling in a way that still shines on a different level than the image of his activities or the imitations of his music. His magazine photos were artistic and extraordinary, which really surprised me.

Q5: How did you collect information?

A: Through magazines and internet and by exchanging information with friends who liked him.

Q6: Out of hide’s songs, which is your favorite and why?

A: “ever free” was the first song since I started listening to music that made me become aware of the world view within the lyrics.

[*) I have no idea what this is referring to. If you know, please tell me. I would love to add a link and maybe rewrite that line to make a little more sense.]

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[keypostos]

caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.

caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.

when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.

he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.

[militaryapple]

I'LL GIVE IT ALL TO YOU.

synopsis. caleb finds out you’re sleeping with other men. other men who look like him. if you wanted him so badly why didn’t you say so? it’s fine, he’ll just fuck the sense back into you.

cw. fem!reader, praise, edging, overstimulating, calebs a big meanie, reader fucks around and finds out, breeding, idk I need him so bad.

add ons. guys I'm so tired OH DONT GAG ME I FORGOT TO FIX THE SYNOPSIS THIS WAS MADE AT LIKE 11 AM BABES

wc. 2.2k

caleb has always had tabs on you. whether you liked it or not. he needed to know what you were doing, who you were with. it was just.. a safety precaution - well that's what he told himself anyways. he knew your friends , the people you worked with , even going as far as learning who your neighbors were. he could only thank his position as the fleet's colonel for letting him get this information. he was originally going to plant a chip in your phone and learn about both your social and personal life but this just made his little watch-sessions a little easier than what they had to be.

and so caleb thought he had nothing to worry about, truly. he knew where you were at all times and have been in your life for a decent amount of time there should be no one new. well - anyone that poses a threat to him anyways. it's not like you could hide anyone from him anyways.

is what he thought, so so foolishly.

it wasn't until you started spending your time at different places. unknown places at that. caleb took note of each and every house you were in. he took note of the people who lived there. man after man after fucking man. he didn't want to think the unthinkable, how you could be so stupidly whoring yourself out for perverts? one night fucking stands? this wasn't like you, far from you. it wasn't until he looked closer at the men you were fucking, and jesus.

they looked somewhat similar to caleb. it only engulfed him with rage. his heart hurting and pounding. if you wanted him so badly why haven't you spoken to him? talked to him? why were you going around trying to find scraps of him while he was already here for you? with you? arms open and ready for you whenever you were ready for him? that's when caleb decided he needed a bit of time off from work.

caleb made his way home. door opening as he scanned the living room for you. he sat down on the couch, still. he was going to talk to you about this little issue you had. it was gonna be fine, right? he talks to you, you tell him and this could all be swept under the rug. it wasn't until hours later, he heard the twist of the door and the creak of it opening.

just like when you both were in high school, every time you snuck out you would try to slip in silently. though you were never really silent, and caleb was the first to catch you back home before gran. what made you think this time would be any different?

he hands clenched as he stood. caleb didn't think about changing out of his uniform, hell he couldn't think about anything. all that filled his mind was anger. pure. fucking. rage.

"welcome home." he said, it was almost bittersweet. you looked at him, with a sheepish smile. waving. "hi caleb, didn't expect you home." was all you were able to muster out, and that was before caleb took a step closer to you. he watched as you twist and turn, looking for an escape. anything to help you leave, but that wasn't happening. not with him. not now.

"where were you?" he asked, his gaze shifting from you to your body. the clothes you wore tolling him more than enough.

"out." you said softly, you gaze averting his. "with a friend."

caleb scoffed, grabbing your arm and pushing you on the couch as he leaned down. you felt like you were being interrogated, which in theory, you were. "bullshit." he snarled. "you wouldn't be out for hours at some 'friend's' house. nonetheless a friend named fucking jacob. do you think I'm dense, pip-squeak?" caleb was angry, his hands balled up. his body shaking. every movement made him want to die, he could smell the foreign musk, the way you attempted to fix your hair. it was the only time he couldn't bear to be near you.

"he looks just like me." he scoffed. "just. like. me." he moved away from you. in a situation like this, you would've blown up at another guy. yelling at him on how he was able to even find out what house you were in, but it was caleb. of course you couldn't hide anything from him. how stupid could you be trying to anyways?

you couldn't say anything, you wouldn't dare. you lowered your head, but caleb wasn't taking that. he grabbed your chin tilting your head upwards to face you. "don't do that pip-squeak. if you wanted me - craved me, fucking needed me , why didn't you say anything? I'm here. in the flesh." his words piercing through you. oh how he hated being mean towards you, your wavering lips was all that he needed to see before he eventually got down. your head lowering so you could make comfortable eye contact with him.

calebs hands moved from your chin to your cheek. "come on pips," he huffed softly. "you're being reckless for no reason. instead, I'll show you how much I want you, how much I missed you, yeah? you don't need those other guys. after all, they can't beat the real thing." he snickered softly, and you could only nod your head in approval.

"ah-ah, say it. I need a verbal answer." caleb wanted to make sure what he was doing was okay, was right. he wanted to make it known that after tonight, there were no more caleb 2.0's. no more 'casual friendship'. that there would be more than what the two of you already had.

"please show me caleb."

he tugged on your skirt, pulling it down your leg as he rubbed small circles on your panties making you groan. he was being mean. really mean. you grabbed his arm, "caleb, don't tease me. your hands are cold - ah, your gloves." you whined. caleb could only chuckle. "you think you can tell me what to do right now baby? really? just shh and enjoy what I'm giving you."

you groaned, he was slow, too slow. your heat dripped as you twitched and squirmed. caleb used his evol to keep you down, leaning in and placing small kisses around you neck. "do you know how long I've had to restrain myself?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"how many times -" kiss. "I've had to get off thinking about you?" kiss. "I've held myself back until you were ready." kiss. "and you've made it so so difficult baby." kiss.

each word sent a shiver down your spine, teasing you and handling you. caleb looked over at you smiling. "i think you're ready, don't you?" he said softly.

caleb leaned in towards your aching cunt. staring at it like he was starving. he grabbed his hat before placing it down on the side of the couch. "grab on my hair if its too much 'kay baby?" he rubbed your thigh. you nodded in agreement as a smirk laid on his face. Caleb dug in. he licked your cunt making you mewl. your hands searched for something, anything to do.

caleb sucked on your pretty clit, groaning as he tasted your sweetness. he used his free hand, making his way up your body. finding your hand and making sure he intertwined both of your fingers.

he was starved. he placed sloppy kissing on your lips. his tongue finding any to go deeper in you. you felt hot, fuzzy. he made you feel so fucking good, other men were useless compared to him. he was right, nothing - nobody compared to how he made you feel.

and right now he was making you feel fucking divine.

the feeling of calebs tongue on your click made you shiver in ecstasy, it wasn't until moments later you used the hand on his head to pull him back. oh did he look absolutely pussy drunk off you.

your juices flowed off his chin while he licked his lips. the way he looked up at you in pure bliss. oh god did you love this man. "you look so cute, and you taste perfect." he said softly, going back and licking the juices he neglected. you shook and grabbed more of his hair.

"caleb 'm gonna -" you whined, bucking your hips up as he used his hand to hold you down. the other still holding your free hand. caleb hummed in approval, giving you the signal that you could finally let out the release you were holding in. caleb suckled for a moment before moving back, admiring the mess he just made of you.

he got up, his evol lifting you as he sat down in the spot you were once in. his legs spread before placing you in between them. his fingers pushing your panties over before they made their way inside your cunt. your hips buckled at the feeling, caleb grabbed your waist with his arm bringing you back down.

"its okay baby, you can take it." he coos "I know you can, 'gotta make sure you can take me , hm?" you moaned as his fingers stretched you. the sensation of his gloves curving as he hit every spot of your gummy walls. you clenched and twitched between him, making him plant soft kisses on your face down to your neck. "cmon you can take it. stay still, if you don't get through this you wont be able to take me." he reassured you. how big was he?

caleb pushed another finger in. hushing you and kissing you while tears strained down your face. oh he was being mean. "caleb - please 'm gonna cum again" you cried. in response he moved his arm that was holding you down. now using one hand to pump his fingers in you and another to move in little swirls on your clit. you throw your head back in pleasure.

"aren't i the best? making you cum twice? jacob couldn't do that, could he now?" he hummed in your ear, you whined in approval. caleb moved his hands out of you. "since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you ride my cock. but in return.." his voice trailing off as he moved his finger to your belly.

"I'm gonna make you into a mother." he coo'd in your ear, nibbling it. "so I can show everyone who you belong to. to show that you don't need other men. I'm here." caleb planted a kiss on the back of your neck.

it didn't take caleb any time before he was unzipping his pants, pulling on the fabrics waist line and pulling out his cock. "I need you to relax for me, you're ready." he said, pulling you up by your hips and straddling you down on his hard on. oh god, did he feel good.

your cunt dripped all over his base. he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "look at you, messy girl. we haven't even started yet you're already dripping all over me." he grunted adjusting himself a little more.

caleb rocked your hips. he whined for you "mhm that's it, work those hips for me." he moaned. he loved the feeling of pumping his inches in and out of you. the 'pop' noise your cunt and his cock made as he slid out and back in.

your cunt was brimmed to the top with cock. so full it made you think of only him and you. fuck, you were lewd. you couldn't even form a sentence, the only sound coming out of your mouth being moans and pants that were increasingly getting faster and faster.

"gonna come again? come on come with me its - ah okay." his voice was raw and rasp. his gloves dug into your skin as you made a mess on both his cock and his uniform. he didn't care, he was going to clean his uniform this week anyways. it was a sign to let people know that he was yours, and you were his.

caleb still fucked you deep. he caused your toes to curl up and your legs to lift to help him massage every part of you. clit and all. he grunted as he slammed into you, his rhythm leaving and now becoming messy thrusts. "I'm gonna come inside baby, okay? yeah? I'm gonna make you a mommy. oh fuck" he groaned.

"gonna make you bear all my children. fuck fuck" his hips stammered. "just me 'n you 'kay?" you clenched down on him. your back arched as your hands made their way to his thighs gripping tightly.

caleb bit down on his lip, not wanting to hurt you. both of your breaths steadying before caleb moved his head in your neck. he didn't dare pull out, all of his sweet cum would leak out, and you wouldn't want that right?

"I told you," he heaved "I'm better then some lousy rip-offs pip-squeak." he panted heavily. you nodded in approval. he knew that you wouldn't go to any more one night stands. still, there was a long way to go. he still hasn't made you a mom.

and he was going to make sure you bore his children.

[windownextdoor]

THE NEIGHBOR NEXT DOOR

plot + sfw + nsfw + slightly!insecure!reader wc: 931 reader has never had a reliable man in her life, so she's learned to do stuff on her own, until simon. pt.1

dull.

that's probably how you'd describe your life. such a mundane routine, such a fucking bore.

but, what could you do? people judged off of your looks, not if you were a serial killer or had commited arson in seven different countries. they judged you off of the size on your jeans. the size on your t-shirt. you'd call yourself easy if it wasn't for the nagging self-awareness that said, 'no, no one would want you.'

as you stood in front of your new apartment door, you looked at the door directly across from yours, a small '1011' over it. your landlord said your neighbor was a 'piece of work'- but, you just shrugged at his comment. you looked back to your door and put the keys in the keyhole and turned.

fresh paint and wood assaulting your nostrils as you stepped in, closing the door behind you as you inhaled once more.

yes.

this was going to be the change you were looking for.

────୨ৎ────

a full week had passed, and you hadn't seen your neighbor once. was he a hermit? did he have medical problems that prevented him from leaving the house? was he-

you are looking into it too much.

that was exactly what you told yourself when you stepped outside of your apartment, getting ready to leave for work when you collided with someone's humongous back.

"oh shit, i'm so sorry, i wasn't looking where i was going-" you stopped yourself as he turned around, finally getting a good look at the man.

line-backer shoulders. muscles. big thighs. dowdy blonde hair. tattoos for days.

way out of your league.

"'s alright." was all you got back in a deep, scratchy voice. he then proceeded to turn back around and walk into the apartment directly across from yours.

'awh shit.' was all you could think as your jaw was slightly open. hot neighbor. good god.

────୨ৎ────

after work that day, you went to the supermarket. you needed to put food in your fridge at some point. you went in and out of isles, looking at your phone for your list, making sure to get everything you need.

maybe you'd make your neighbor something. some cookies or a pie. typical neighborly shit to let him know, 'hey, i'm not an asshole and you can ask for help anytime you need!'.

were you getting ahead of yourself? probably.

but as soon as you got home, you didn't realize just how many groceries you'd bought. you were a 'one trip bitch', or whatever your friend said when you had managed to bring all of her groceries into her house in one go.

you loaded all of your groceries onto your arms, burning as you stretch to close your trunk before-

"y'need help?" that same smoky voice from in the morning.

you laughed sheepishly, looking past your car to see him standing on the sidewalk by both of your apartments, "ah, no, just closing my trunk-"

"gonna knock y'self over the fuckin' head with your groceries while y'do it, hold on," the man spoke, walking over in a few strides, closing your trunk for you.

your arms burned, but you forgot about it temporarily, "thank you so much, uh..."

"simon."

"simon! yes. thank you so much, simon." you smiled, finally knowing your neighbors name, but your arms were screaming at you, "well, i'll let you get back to whatever you were doing-"

"aren't y'going to need help opening the door?" simon spoke, his eyes staring straight into yours, drifting down to the bags that weighed your arms down by the second.

your voice was feathery, feeling slightly bad for taking the mans time. "you're good, i can open the door myself-"

"jesus christ, c'mon, give me your keys. standin' here ain't helping you." he held his hand out and-

you gave them to him. without thinking. he could be a robber. you could've just gave your keys to a serial killer.

but, he walked right up to your door and unlocked it, looking back to you, "you comin' or not? 's your apartment, right?" and you finally started walking towards the collosus of a man.

you gave him another quick thanks as you stepped into your apartment, the cold air hitting you. you placed your bags down, thinking he'd, y'know, leave and just go back to his apartment, but he closed the door behind him, muttering something about, 'not lettin' the cold air get out'. he looked at you expectantly, like he was waiting for a question.

"are you trying to be a good neighbor and help me put up my groceries too?" you asked with a soft laugh, wondering if that was the question he was waiting on.

"got nothin' else better t'do." he replied gruffly, walking into your open layout kitchen, making your apartment seem so small. you just stared at him as he opened your fridge, no hesitance, "jesus, woman, you livin' on crumbs and water?"

that made you laugh. you saw the smallest twitch of his lips. "no, i moved in a week ago, that's why my fridge looks so...bare."

he shakes his head like a disappointed dad.

"alright, start givin' me some groceries to put away. can't promise i'm the best at organization, but you'll have food." he has to physically bend down some to actually put food in your fridge.

'god, he's attractive.' you think as you start handing him food to put in the fridge.

and he's already being such a nice neighbor.

and he's going to stay being a nice neighbor.

right?

────୨ৎ────

pt.2

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you“ back to the Squid game men.

How will they react if you don‘t say it back? In what scenario would they not say it back to you?

Pairing: The Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: Them not saying “I love you“, their reaction to you not saying “I love you“

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top

If you’re interested, here’s more fluff! Calling the Squid Game men some weird petnames and their reaction to it!

(Pre-Squid game)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It barely ever happens, really. He adores everything about you, from your face, voice, body and the ground you walk on; that man is ready to worship you like a devoted follower would to the most merciful goddess. Therefor he would always be aware of how to make your day a little better, even if it‘s just a small “I love you” or a gentle kiss here and there.

The first thing you hear from him in the morning is a groggy voice mumbling a small “Good morning love...” into your ear while warm kisses were trailed down your back.

While standing in the kitchen and searching the fridge for any signs of a tasty breakfast, a small “I love you, I‘ll be back later!“ would echo slightly through the apartment as the front door closed.

Once, he did forget to say his usual I love you on the way out. He thought about how he possibly could forget? You‘re probably overthinking everything now and think what you might‘ve done wrong or do to offend him. You didn‘t, though! He was just too caught up in perfecting his appearance because his damn hair refused to obey and submit to his meticulous styling.

The poor man was almost scared to come home. As some sort of peace offering, he bought some of your favorite take-out food alongside some dessert, flowers and a new bracelet he thought you might like. Anything to try and make you know that he does really love you.

“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind. It will never happen again my sunshine. I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

His face may be neutral and his expressions calculated but his features soften up immensely when you show even an ounce of affection. His smirk shifts into a dreamy smile, the crinkles around his mouth shifting and becoming bigger, his eyes twinkling just a little. He just can’t suppress when you even look at him.

Your kisses and words energise him, gift him life, so whenever you don’t give him that little boost of dopamine, he gets visibly more tense in a way.

The silence that followed after his usual “I love you my darling, I’ll be back later!” was almost eerie to him. He stuck his head back into the kitchen to check if you even heard him. You glanced back at him for a moment and gave your husband a dismissive head nod. So you did hear him?

Silently, he left the apartment and went on with his usual day during that time of the year. For some reason, today he is especially looking forward to slap his elders for loosing a damn children’s game. His face remained neutral and had his usual smirk on his face, but deep inside, he’s offended, confused, worried, stressed; all the negative emotions someone can feel after their spouse doesn’t reincorporate ones affection.

Do you want a divorce? Because hell no, he’d never let you go no matter how hard you

But once he got a little text message on his phone that read a simple: “Need cuddles in bed later pls. Got some snacks too. Love you.”, all of his worries washed away in an instant. You probably were still too sleepy to answer this morning.

A smile spread over his face as he thought about slipping into your arms tonight. Isn’t it ridiculous how he melt like putty in your hands?

“You forgot something this morning and it did worry me a lot. But it doesn’t matter, it’s silly anyway.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s actually quite rare to hear Thanos say “I love you” word for word. He still feels awkward committing himself to the relationship you have and those three magic words feel so heavy on his tongue, so he’ll rephrase them to suit his level of comfort. “Love ya”, “Thanos loves you” and “Me too” are his ways to dodge the action to reincorporate those sweets words you shower him with.

Thanos only really says “I love you” if you two are alone, sober and you holding him in your arms. To be cradled by someone he admires, cares and loves so much makes him want to cry for some reason, but he suppresses those emotions and instead buries his face in your shoulder as your hand soothingly runs up and down his back.

Those are the times you hear a small “I love you…” being mumbled against your warm skin.

So quiet it’s almost unnoticeable, yet it was there. You know Su-bong needs time to get used to everything, so you’ll settle with a small audio message-rap in reply to your usual “I love you” text message.

“Back to the kitty ‘cause she kinda pretty, I can’t stop looking at her ti- ti- ti-face.. Anyways, thinking of you babygirl. Iloveyatoo.” (You barely caught him saying this the way how quietly he mumbled it into the mic)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

It’s fine. It’s cool. You don’t have to reassure him every day that you love him, it’s totally fine. You still love him like you did the day before.

It causes a deep panic inside of Thanos when you don’t give him his usual “I love you” text in the morning after he had woken up. He kept checking his phone like a madman, while he was brushing his teeth, peeking his arm and head out of the shower in the middle of shampooing, staring at his text messages while microwaving himself an convenience store meal. Nothing.

Not wanting to reach out first and appear clingy, he decided to write you like he is not having a full blown eternal panic attack. A small voice message here, a picture of his food there, a selfie from the bottom to show off his double chin, anything really.

You replied like normal but still, his eyes searched for the three key words. I. Love. You.

Thanos doesn’t want to admit to himself or to anyone for that matter that your calls, texts, hell, you coming over is like the most addictive drug to him. And he had his share of all kinds of colourful drugs.

His foot was nervously tapping the ground while his finger kept ringing your poor doorbell until you were forced to answer. He gave you a close look up and down, his lips formed into a pout of sorts.

“You okay? You didn’t text me you love me this morning. It’s totally cool and all but like… do you want to break up with me or something?”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Similar to Thanos, at first, Nam-gyu barely ever told you how much he loved you, liked you even. He just assumed you already knew and his actions were enough. A small side hug there and ruffling your hair here had to be enough for the rest of the week anyway.

He is guarded, afraid of commitment and to be frank in belief that you’re using him for the longest of time. Maybe you’re just “dating” him to get access to high-end drugs, all kinds of clubs or whatever else reason there is there to date him but for love.

You had to say those three magic words first for him to get comfortable with the thought that you are actually just want to date and love him. It came to him in the middle of a night shift at a random club he was supposed to promote. A moment of enlightenment.

Nam-gyu hid in a bathroom stall with his phone and ignored whatever the couple was doing next door, writing you a whole paragraph about what he was thinking, feeling, before deleting everything again because he thought he’d come off as some kind of pussy if he’d sent that.

His first time telling you how much he loved you was at your place. A casual evening watching some random movie you picked out while being arms deep in a bag of chips and dressed like a homeless person, Nam-gyu was staring up at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the universe even during this ungraceful moment of yours, admiring you in silence until finally…

“I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Did he fuck up again? Do or say something wrong? Don’t you love him anymore? Was there someone else?? His thoughts go ballistic as he stared at the screen of his phone with a deadpan-expression, trying to shake the crippling fear and nervousness off while looking nonchalant.

Nam-gyu’s finger kept hovering over the call button to check on you in case something happened because there could be a whole other person talking to him by how there were no affirmations at all.

He doesn’t want to appear clingy or too attached to you as that may scare you off or even disgust you, so Nam-gyu’s casually mention that one time you didn’t say “I love you” while fidgeting with his ring, trying to appear indifferent about it while intensely watching your facial expression shift to try and detect if you’re lying about your reasoning or not.

Your boyfriend is afraid to not be good enough, too much, too little. Your little affirmations give him reassurance, every day a little more until he’s full convinced that you do really, really love him.

“Hey, uhhh. Did you forget anything today?… No? You sure? Mkay.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Never happens. Either he is dead and not able to reply to you or already said it multiple times throughout the day. Dae-ho has separation anxiety and gets nervous when he doesn’t have you in line of his sight or not around him in general, that’s why he always tells you how much he loves you whenever he can.

Off to the bathroom? I love you. Bringing the trash out? I love you. Getting dressed? You’re gorgeous and I love you. You could be simply existing and Dae-ho would bury his face in your neck and mumble a soft I love you into your warm skin, his lips planting a soft kiss here and there.

Dae-ho is just a little scared about saying his usual affirmation in front of his family, mostly his father. He’s a very affectionate and physical man but he still wants to look like the tough-marine-son his dad wants to see.

His sisters know better though, they see how their brother’s eyes twinkle in delight when you help his mom out in the kitchen with the dinner.

He does make it up to you after coming home though. Your boyfriend will stuff the leftovers his mom gave him into the microwave and usher to you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he makes some preparations to completely pamper you for the rest of the evening.

Sometimes Dae-ho’ll even try to flirt a little but he’s still a little awkward in that department.

“Hey, do you want some snacks with that? A drink? O-Or am I enough of a snack…?”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Every time Dae-ho tells you that he loves you, you always reply with equal enthusiasm. How could you not? That golden retriever of a man gets that almost childish smile of his whenever you kiss his cheek or just tell him that he looks handsome today.

Once, you tested how he’d react when you don’t give him his hourly dose of dopamine by deflecting or ignoring his touches.

As his arms securely snaked around your waist and gently pulled you against his torso, you paid him no mind and continued to stir the ramen in the food container. He watched the noodles move in circles and gave your waist a gentle poke, trying to pull your attention to him. Dae-ho’s eyes slowly dimmed and the edges of his smile turned downwards.

The silence made him seriously nervous. You could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat drum against your back.

“Hey… is everything okay? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Can you talk to me?…”

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Gi-hun always reassures you of his love, even during arguments. He wants you to know that he cherishes and loves you for the rest of his life and that you are his everything. Whenever he doesn’t say I love you, something must’ve happened.

He has been missing for a whole week and you had no idea where your boyfriend went. Gi-hun didn’t leave a note, a voice mail, no nothing!

And after he returned and suddenly began giving you expensive gifts, the same boyfriend that used to ask you for money to get himself an convenience store dinner, now began buying you new headphones, bracelet and whatever else you even eyed.

It was nice, sure, but you were more worried about his mental state. He was paranoid and quiet, kept checking his whole body for some kind of tracker and barely ever spoke what was on his mind. Gi-hun began having panic attacks and you were barely able to leave his side because of how terrified he was to leave you alone.

He barely touched you, gave you kisses or affection. He changed after whatever happened during that week he went missing.

While running your fingers through his hair, trying to make him fall asleep after being awake for two days straight, he sleepily stared up at you through his dyed-red hair. His voice was quiet, broken almost.

“I’m sorry. Please… know that I love you. I love you so much.. Don’t leave me, please… please...”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

Your boyfriend called out to you but you didn’t quite hear what he said, so you replied with an “yeah!” and just hoped that that’s an appropriate response to whatever he tried to tell or ask you. It wasn’t.

Gi-hun stood there for a couple of moments, waiting on your reply to yelling “I love you!” across the whole apartment. When nothing came, he didn’t call out to you again. You were probably busy with something or don’t want him with your right now, he gets that.

Later though, thoughts of self-doubt began to cook up inside his mind. As he bit all his nails to shreds he overthought about how you had enough of him now. Maybe you are falling out of love now after how the death games fucked up his mind and body. You’re surely fed up with his paranoia and secretive behaviour, how much he has been obsession over finding a weird salesman. Surely.

The metallic taste that spread inside his mouth after biting the skin surrounding his nails began to open and bleed finally pulled Gi-hun out of his self-destructive thoughts that continued to circle like a toy train. Picking up his throwaway phone and choosing the one contact he saved on every single burner phone he had as “Reason to smile ❤️” and pressing the call button.

“Gi-hun? What’s wrong?” Your voice forced a small smile to form on his face. He hesitated

“Hey. Just wanted to ask if I should bring some take out home tonight. That’s all.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s purely just to tease you. When bored, In-ho will make you his greatest entertainment.

He likes making you annoyed and flustered, so he’ll intentionally ignore you just to make you react and pout at him adorably while he was trying so hard to keep his stone cold face and not break into a shit-eating grin and maybe even pull on your cheek to make you whine even more.

In-ho adores your whole being and cherishes all of your affections, so he’ll let himself get showered in them any tome he can.

Expect you to he cuddled up on his lap while he was leaning back in the leather chair, mumbling a complaint about how you covered his whole face in kisses but managed to miss the bridge of his nose. He will not allow you to move off his lap until you covered his whole face in kisses again as compensation for that mistake of yours.

So, In-ho’ll intentionally not give you affection so you pay even more attention to him. He is like a cat in that way weirdly enough.

Once you finally break his facade, the flood gates will open and you will be showered, bathed, drowned in his affection, physical and verbal.

“Fine. I’ll say it just because you’ve been so good to me today. I love you, my dearest, lovely darling.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

In-ho has a dedicated frequency on his walkie-talkie for you, so he can call in and ask you to come to his office for a kiss that cannot wait, to inform you that he is in the bedroom and retiring for the day or just to tell you that he loves you randomly throughout the day.

Of course, you’d always reply back with your own gadget, but to pay back his infinite teasing he has done to you, you decided to ignore him the way he sometimes does to you. Payback.

Your husband called into your frequency. “Dove, are you free right now? Come to my office, I miss you.” and so your game begins. You simply ignored his request and continued getting comfortable in your bed and all the sheets surrounding you, grinning to yourself as you awaited the next time In-ho calls in again, for which you don’t have to wait long for.

“Darling, I am waiting. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?” Your grin widened as you heard how impatient he was slowly getting with the lack of your response. “I can see you in the bedroom.” That one caught you off guard. Did he install cameras in your shared bedroom??

Almost on cue, your bedroom door opened, revealing the masked Frontman. His shoulders were tense and you could feel his intense state through the mask. You stared back, not expecting how quickly your husband would cave in and visit you himself. Innocently, you batted your lashes at him.

In-ho slipped his mask off and carelessly tossed it on the nightstand. “Why are you ignoring me? Are you upset or just moody?” Unimpressed, you silently glared at him. He gave you an equally uninterested look and leaned down to your face to give you a small peck on your cheek. “Not enough. More.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as his lips cracked into a smile.

“Demanding, aren’t we? Fine. As you wish.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Watch me announce that I’m going to post In-ho’s yandere profile and proceed to get hit with the most ungodly group-assignment in Chemistry. Anyways, take this as an apology! Had to write a little fluff for them since the only thing I’m finding is smut 🙏😭 I’m not complaining but this fluff prompt came to me like a truck during a class of mine. It was originally inspired by this post and I made a similar one before for the Demon Slayer hashira. Check it out if you’re interested!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[classyrbf]

YOU'RE PREGNANT! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...how the jjk men(toji, gojo, geto, nanami, choso) act when you’re 9 months pregnant and ready to pop

INFO...jjk men x fem!reader, fluff, comfort, reader is pregnant (obvi), mention of mood swings, cravings, emotional reader, jjk men being great dads

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

TOJI

toji has already dealt with this kind of thing before when it came to megumi, but it’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten what it was like. You’re waddling around the house, a stank look on your face as you stare at him. “Yes?” He questions, eyebrows raised. “I want food,” you simply answer. “Okay, what do you want?” He asks. And when you tell him you’re not sure, he lets out a long sigh because he knows this is gonna end in you getting emotional. You’ll complain your back hurts, your feet hurt, and then you’ll end up cursing him out for putting a baby in you. So all he does is walks over to you, and hugs you because he’d rather do that than get into a stupid argument about food. “Toji!” You cry into his arms. “I’m just so hungry and I don’t know what to eat!” You sniffle. To help with your problem, he starts listing off every fast food restaurant and food he could think of in hopes you’d find one appealing enough. “Chinese food?” He shrugs. You gasp with excitement. “Ugh, yes! Me and the baby could go for some orange chicken!” You smile. Toji just chuckles, “making the call right now, sweetheart.” He watches as you waddle over to the couch, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

GOJO

ever since he found out you were pregnant, he was at the stores buying whatever supplies he saw, doesn’t matter if you needed it or not. And till this day, when you’re about a few weeks from popping, he’s still buying the baby things. “What do you think of this, eh?” He smirks, holding up a onesie that says “my dad is the best”. “You’re gonna spoil her rotten, is what I think,” you groan as you reach into the bag to see what else he bought for your daughter. “More toys?” You hold up a fake set of plastic keys. Gojo snatched them from you. “I’ll have you know that she will be learning life skills at a very young age, thank you very much,” he scoffed. All you did was laugh, shaking your head at him in disbelief. Your daughter’s room was filled to the brim with clothes, toys, blankets, you were starting to wonder if you had any more room. “I can already tell she’s going to be a daddy’s girl,” you said with a sigh, rubbing your belly. “Yes she is,” Gojo leaned in towards your very plump belly, “isn’t that right?” He placed a kiss on your stomach.

NANAMI

nanami is the type that doesn’t let you do a damn thing by yourself. You’re reach for something to high on the shelf, he’s sprinting towards you, ready to be at your service. “Be careful,” he says, rubbing your back. “Kento, I got it,” you chuckle. His eyes are always on you, watching your every move. Especially when you’re in public, he hates when people get too close to you. He knows others don’t watch their surroundings and could easily bump into you. “Ken!” You shout from the bedroom. “Yes?” He peeks his head around the corner. “Can you help me get my shoes on, I can’t even reach,” you pout. Within seconds he’s on his knees, slipping on your sandals, and tying them around your ankle. He will even go as far as to paint your toes if you forgot because he knows how much you hate not having them done. Like I said, he won’t let you do a thing by yourself. “Thank you, Ken,” you kiss his lips.

GETO

geto literally pampers you. I’m not saying he acts like nanami, but I’m saying that he makes your pregnancy as comfortable as possible. “Sugu, baby, can you rub my feet? They’re swollen.” You frown. “Of course.” He grabs the lotion and casually massages your feet while you’re both watching a movie, and literally over the course of your pregnancy he’s become the best masseuse ever. He’ll also randomly creep up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist before lifting your belly, feeling the weight off of your back. “Feel better, mama?” He kisses your cheek. “So much better.” You nod, closing your eyes as you embrace the moment. You’ve even found it hard to shower while being pregnant and geto takes it upon himself to help you, albeit jumping in the shower with you or sitting on the edge of the tub while you’re in the bath. “Is the water too hot?” He rubs the soapy water over your shoulders. “It’s perfect.”

CHOSO

I’m sorry but choso is clueless. Not in a bad way, but in like a panicky way. You’re an emotional wreck through your pregnancy, moods swings like crazy. “Can you just get out please?!” You’re annoyed with him, bothered about the littlest thing ever and then in the next two minutes you’re walking out the room just crying and apologizing to him, kissing his cheek. He has no idea what the hell is going on, and you’d think he’d learn after nine months, but no. All he can is just sit there and comfort you. “It’s fine,” he assures. He gets your favorite food that you’ve been craving for the past two weeks, eating it non stop and then within a split second you’re gagging, pushing the food away. “Oh my gosh, Choso! Please throw it away, it tastes so bad.” You gag again. “But…I…you were just eating this yesterday…?” He’s says, confused before throwing the bowl of food in the garbage. Quite literally doesn’t understand anything, just confused to all hell, but he’s trying his best.

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader (2)

contents: tooth-rotting fluff. arranged marriage au. sylus as your sweet and doting husband who's simply in love with you and anything that you do. 1.5k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ thank you for everyone's patience who requested a part two!! I truly hope this meets your expectations <3

part one here. ꒱

⭒ You’re an early bird married to a night owl. After gradually moving your belongings into Sylus’ master bedroom, your different sleeping schedules were made acutely aware. His day is just beginning when you’re heading to bed and he’s more or less mentally retired after a long night of business dealings and meetings when your body decidedly rises with the first rays of light at dawn. Because of this, you both compromise to meet somewhere in the middle—Sylus sweetly tucks you in later than your usual bedtime and leaves only when you’d fallen asleep, and you snuggle with him in the mornings until the very last minute and you’re forced to get ready for the working day. However, his sleeping patterns are more on the irregular side and he’ll check in on you when he’s supposed to be resting.

⭒ When Luke and Kieran witness you and Sylus bid each other with a goodbye kiss—an affectionate and wholesome display between lovers as your husband sees you off to work at the front door, they are stunned and lose it from the sidelines at the budding romance. “Wait, what just happened?” “Was there a development while we were gone?” The crow twins would share glances and decipher the scene before them together. They both have been rooting for you and their boss since day one, and they marvel at the way you both are completely smitten with each other. As though you two are like newlyweds who can't get enough of your shared love, unwilling to separate just yet even as you slowly step away from Sylus.

⭒ His touch linger with purpose to hold onto every last part of you and his hands move from your waist and slide down your arms to hold your hands until his fingers curl slightly and mourn the loss of your warmth when he eventually has to let you go. When Sylus watches your figure disappear and return back inside his home he receives a thumbs up and pending double high fives respectively from his two henchmen. He walks past them and ignores their antics by giving them orders, but Luke doesn’t leave his brother hanging and celebrates that their boss is officially and undeniably in love.

⭒ Anniversaries were an unexpected thing to celebrate with Sylus—along with holidays and birthdays. You were caught by surprise when you received a gorgeous dress and pearls inside a pretty wrapped box adorned with ribbons after being married to Sylus for three months. You weren’t quite romantically involved with him at that point and went along with what he planned for the evening, and you had a feeling it wasn’t just a performance for the public at an upscale restaurant but he genuinely wanted to make this night special for you. Then something in the air shifted and became sweeter and you suppose you wanted to start making the smaller things in life count. Even if there wasn’t a particular milestone coming up, you decide to make one up yourself. After all, there’s a true saying that the secret to marriage is keeping it fresh and interesting.

⭒ With the help of the cute twins, they set up a cozy tent in the verdant space of the garden meanwhile you decorate fairy lights all around in swooping arcs and tight lines, arrange pillows and blankets inside, and place a deck of kitty cards in the center. After everything is where you need it to be, you show the boys your gratitude and send them away as you work on the finishing touches. You gather the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and two glasses for the red wine when suddenly your husband sneaks up from behind you and wrap himself around you, inquiring about how the twins wanted him to come find you… Oh those cheeky little things. Well, never mind them. “Don’t tell me that you forgot what today is. Happy 300 days since our first kiss, baby.” You admit that it may come off as a little silly and no one’s truly keeping count, but you simply wanted to do something nice for him.

⭒ Sylus never passes up an opportunity to take care of his darling wife. Even if that means going along with your unusual ideas like you suggesting to borrow his dress shoes after the auction show was over. He throws you a puzzled look followed by a bemuse chuckle, and he supposes he could oblige if that’s what you really wanted. You explain to him that being well dressed from head to toe to match his outfit came at the price of your painfully, aching feet. And he can’t resist giving into your demands when you ask with such adorable little pouts. There are more practical methods to go about the situation, but he certainly loves humoring you even if things don't work out the way you thought they would.

⭒ Sylus leads you to a nearby bench and gestures for you to have a seat while he removes his shoes and bends down on one knee before you, unworried about dirtying his expensive trousers. He works diligently to undo the straps around your ankles and place your heels aside to focus on slipping his shoes onto your feet. “Well, you look quite fetching in my shoes. Now shall we continue our walk or do you have any more requests to make?” He helps you straighten yourself as he returns to his normal height. You huff and make a discontent noise when you almost trip over your own two feet trying to take a step forward in your (his) much too large and too spacious shoes. “Actually, these won’t do. I changed my mind, I want my heels back.”

⭒ Sylus chuckles at your hopeless attempt, his hand going on your hip to keep you from toppling over and accidentally hurting yourself. “Ah, it appears my shoes are too big for you, kitten. You say you want your heels back, hm?” He kneels before you once more as he retrieves your pair of heels, his fingers brushing along the underside of your leg and he carefully tugs them back on your feet. He gives your ankle a gentle squeeze as he finishes securing the straps, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. "There, I hope you're satisfied now, my sweet wife." His arm then goes around your waist and he effortlessly lifts you off the ground without so much as a warning. He smirks at your precious reaction, your body flushed against his meanwhile your arms encircle his neck for balance. “Why don’t I just carry you the rest of the way instead?”

⭒ You’re snuggled up against Sylus’ chest as you bring a concern to his attention one night. “What happens when our arrangement comes to an end?” The main reason you agreed to marry him in the first place is because it was a contract marriage with a specific time frame of five years that you’d have to spend with him. And you realize that with everything he does, he’s always been considerate of you as a whole even with how he drafted this contract knowing that it could end at his own expense. He provided you with a means of freeing yourself from him if you for whatever reason wished to no longer continue your marriage with him after the term ends. The choice is left entirely up to you because he never wanted you to feel trapped but he won’t make it easy for you. “If I decided to leave, you’d really let me go?”

⭒ Sylus hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on you and he seems to be thinking about something as his expression grows serious. “You always know how to ask the tough questions, don’t you sweetie?” After a moment, he lets out a small sigh and nods. “…Yes. Technically, you’ll be free to go. I won’t stop you if you truly want to leave.” Another sigh escapes him, yet his voice remains soft and sincere and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his palm cradles your cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. What do you want to happen when the contract ends, darling?”

⭒ You mull over your thoughts, teasing him with a pensive look as you purposely drag on the seconds. “Since you’re leaving it up to me, I think… I want to renew our vows at the five-year mark. How’s that sound?” A surprise and slight disbelief flit across his face at the same moment his countenance softens at your affirmation. “You want to renew our vows?” You offer him a demure nod with your sweet smile and he gently takes your hand in his, bringing it to his face and laying a kiss against your knuckles. “Then it’s settled. I would be honored to renew our vows when the time comes. There will be no more contracts or strings attached. We’ll be bound by our love and our love only.”