#Okay that’s all from me thank you for reading my tag ramble. If you hear nothing else from me

[gubsbuubs]

Friendly Cupid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 5K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, slow burn? smut, creampie.

Summary: Despite their closeness, Y/N and Spencer's relationship always stayed within the bounds of friendship. That's until a very fateful Valentine's Day, when a friend decided to play cupid.

A/N: Hi my loves! The "Friends to Lovers" trope won the poll, thanks to your votes. Any thoughts or suggestions for what's next? I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

My requests are open!

English is not my first language.

The team basked in a mix of exhaustion and accomplishment as we settled into our seats on the jet, heading back home after successfully closing another case. The subtle hum of the engines seemed to echo the collective satisfaction that enveloped us.

We had just finished a case where the unsub targeted individuals with a deep passion for books. Each victim was chosen based on their preference for a particular literary work. The killer orchestrated scenarios inspired by famous novels, challenging us to decipher the connections between the crime scenes and the literary references.

From my seat across from his, at the meeting table in the Nevada police department's, I observed Spencer in awe. His deep concentration, the way his fingers danced over the pages, and the thoughtful furrow of his brow—he looked so handsome, absorbed in the task of perusing a pile of books that would have taken me at least two years to read.

I cherished watching Spencer at work; his intellect, passion, and dedication were captivating. There was an undeniable admiration that had grown within me as we spent countless hours in shared pursuit of justice.

I vividly recall the first time our connection became something more. After a grueling case left him drained, slowly succumbing to fatigue, his head found refuge on my shoulder during the flight back. It was an unexpectedly intimate encounter—his tousled hair brushing against my neck and the faint scent of lemon shampoo lingering close to my nose. Though innocent, the closeness left an indelible mark, and often I think about the weight of his head resting against me.

Fast forward to another sweet moment; it was forever engraved in my mind when I first noticed that he cared for me. Spencer and I were staked out in a park that an unsub used to frequent in Boston. The autumn winds whispered through the colorful foliage, and the chilling breeze made my arms shiver. It was getting cold, and I scolded myself for not bringing my jacket. Spencer, ever observant, noticed how I hugged myself for warmth and asked, "Hey, are you cold?"

"What? No, it's just a bit chilly, but I can take it," I chuckled, my teeth almost clacking against each other as I shivered.

"I can clearly see you're cold, Y/N."

"Okay, fine. I may be a little bit cold; we left in a hurry, and I forgot my jacket," I admitted.

Without hesitation, he took off his FBI jacket and handed it to me. "No, Spencer, I can't accept this. If it's cold for me, it will be cold for you too," I protested.

"Compared to men, women have less muscle, which is a natural heat producer. They also have 6 to 11 percent more body fat than men, which keeps the inner organs toasty but blocks the flow of blood carrying heat to the skin and extremities." He started to ramble while holding the jacket in front of me.

So I gave up, not wanting to hear him talk about this for the rest of the night, and accepted his offer. As the jacket touched my body, I could still feel his warmth, and the scent of his perfume enveloped me. His tall stature made the jacket too big for me, and I struggled with the oversized jacket's zipper. Looking down as I tried to zip it, I felt his hand on mine. "Hey, come here! Let me help you." I looked up to meet his beautiful brown eyes as he held his gaze on mine. His gentle hands zipped up the jacket. "There you go; now you'll feel warm," he added with a sweet smile.

We had a connection—an undeniable force drawing us together. For example, with Spencer and I, the casual "sorry, Y/n, passing through" was never just a phrase; it accompanied the gentle press of his hand on my side.

When shared laughter ensued, it almost always led to a playful nudge against my shoulder, a light and affectionate gesture.

And there were times when Spencer would reach out with a reassuring touch on my arm during tense discussions or a challenging moment. His fingertips, feather-light yet grounding, conveyed a silent reassurance that we were in this together.

I’d like to think that our connection extended beyond the realm of solving cases and catching serial killers, finding roots in those quiet spaces between words, because unspoken sentiments resonated louder than any conversation we had.

These simple and innocent touches left me curious, especially considering Spencer's general aversion to physical contact, often sidestepping handshakes. Each touch, though understated, carried a significance that lingered, prompting me to ponder the depths of our friendship.

Yet, somehow, we were never more than friends. Perhaps because of the lingering fear of disrupting the delicate balance we had, I hesitated to act upon the emotions that quietly blossomed within.

So, Spencer and I stayed comfortably within the boundaries of friendship, keeping the unexplored depths of our connection confined to the realm of what-ifs and maybes.

Rather than risking it all, I chose the simplicity of silent observation and opted for the quiet intimacy of just watching him while he worked. There was an unspoken fascination with witnessing Spencer's mind at play.

The breakthrough came when Spencer uncovered a pattern in the victims' book preferences, his face lighting up at the realization. The Unsub, it seemed, orchestrated his killings based on the ominous narratives found within these chosen novels. Each victim unwittingly acquired a literary prelude to their tragic end as the killer turned the pages of their lives into a haunting script of their own demise.

With this knowledge, we were able to predict the next target and swoop in just in time to prevent another tragedy. The final confrontation took place in an abandoned library, where the unsub attempted to stage his twisted interpretation of a tragic love story. With swift and coordinated action, we thwarted his plans and brought justice to the victims.

So, with the unsub's twisted plans foiled, we found solace in the fact that we had saved the couple from his dark intentions.

Amidst the chatter on the jet, the mood shifted to a more relaxed and celebratory tone. The weight of the case had dissipated, replaced by a comforting conversation and shared laughter.

"Hey, Prentiss, any hot plans for Valentine's Day? Morgan teased, giving Emily a mischievous grin.

"Valentine's Day? Seriously, Morgan? After all the chaos of this week, I just want a quiet night with a good bottle of wine," Emily responded, leaning further into her seat.

"Valentine's Day is this weekend, and I completely forgot! Will and I will have to just stay at home," JJ confessed, sounding a bit bummed.

"Well, Beth and I will be taking Jack to the cinema to watch a movie. Would you like us to also take Henry so you and Will can have a date?" Hotch offered.

"Oh, Hotch, that’s very sweet. If you don't mind, yes! We would really appreciate it," JJ replied gratefully.

"What about you, pretty boy? Got any plans?" Morgan playfully mussed up Spencer's hair.

"Well… I…” He cleared his throat. "I, um… I actually do have a date," Spencer stammered, his face immediately turning a bright shade of red.

"A date, Reid? Come on, spill the details. What's her name?" Morgan proceeded to probe.

“It's a blind date, so I'd rather not jinx it by talking about it.” Spencer spoke with a faint smile.

As I learned about Spencer's date, I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the sheer coincidence—both of us had blind dates on Valentine's Day. What were the odds?

Then it hit me, and as much as I tried to dismiss it, there was a subtle pang of envy that Spencer also had a date. I understood the irony of feeling jealous while I was also going on a blind date this weekend.

Earlier that week, my friend from the previous division I worked in—International Affairs and Counterterrorism—set me up with a guy. According to him, this guy was perfect for me—smart, kind, and seemingly attuned to my taste. So, I've decided to give it a shot and go on this date. It was Valentine's Day after all. So yes, I was also going on a date, and I acknowledged how contradictory it sounded to feel envious of Spencer's date. Nevertheless, a twinge of jealousy lingered.

Yet, in the grand scheme, I genuinely wished for Spencer to have a fantastic time this weekend. After all, we were nothing more than friends, and his happiness was something I truly valued.

Morgan, with a playful glint in his eye, turned his attention to me and chimed, "Alright, Reid's stepping into the world of romance, so what's the deal, Y/N? Any Valentine's plans on your agenda?"

"No, I don't really have plans. It'll be a normal weekend for me." I spoke with a smile, gently sidestepping Morgan's inquiry. I preferred to keep certain aspects of my life private, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Saturday night came around pretty quickly.

I chose a simple red dress and black stilettos for the occasion—it was Valentine's Day, after all, and opportunities for dates were not a frequent occurrence for me. Since joining the FBI, I haven't had many opportunities to look like this. Typically reserved for pantsuits and white shirts, it was refreshing to see myself look so put-together.

What awaited me on this evening could be a mistake or, just maybe, the start of something unexpectedly wonderful. Despite the flutter of reservations in my stomach, I resolved to push through the uncertainty.

Before stepping inside, I paused at the entrance, reminding myself to take a deep breath; it was just a date after all—no need to be nervous. The restaurant, my absolute favorite, bore the name "Bella Luna," renowned for its delectable pastas. It had become my go-to spot for a delightful meal, offering a perfect blend of cozy ambiance and culinary excellence.

My friend, the mastermind behind this blind date, had given the gentleman a specific directive: reserve the table with a view of the river—my favorite spot in the house. This strategic move not only catered to my preferences but also had the practical benefit of simplifying the identification of my date.

As I stood by the entrance, lost in my thoughts, I almost jumped, caught by surprise, as someone bumped into me. "Hey, where were you goi..."

“Y/N! Hi!” His eyes were widening with surprise as he recognized me.

“Spencer! Hi! I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing. Didn’t you say you didn’t have plans?” He asked in an inquisitive tone.

"Yeah!" I laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I, uh, decided to give in to the Valentine's Day spirit, I suppose." Spencer chuckled softly, his warm demeanor putting me at ease.

"How are you anyway, feeling good about your blind date?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his well-being.

"To be honest," he admitted, "I'm actually kind of nervous."

"What? Why?"

He hesitated before sharing, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"Why wouldn't she like you?" The words left my mouth so fast, a testament to my incomprehension of how someone could not like the guy standing before me.

"Because I'm weird. I slouch; my hair's too long; my tie's perpetually crooked." His words were almost a whisper, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen before.

I smiled softly, reaching  my hands to fix his crooked tie. "Here, your tie is now straight. And Spencer, you're not weird; you look really good tonight. I think you'll do very well."

He smiled softly, thanking me, and said, "Well, you do too! You look very beautiful tonight, Y/N.” My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. He blushed slightly before adding, “I should really get going. I don't want to be late for my date.”

“Go get him, tiger,” I encouraged with a smile as I stayed behind, watching him leave.

Fuck, he looked so good; his dark blue suit fit him in all the right places. Though not a radical departure from his usual attire, the effort put into his appearance fueled my jealousy. The realization that he was heading on a date with someone else lingered in my thoughts, intensifying the sting.

To make matters worse, we´re at the same restaurant, and I would have to endure the evening watching him, attempting to engage in my own date while inwardly yearning for his company.

The challenge would be to keep my eyes from straying towards him, wishing the girl by his side was me.

Shaking my head to dispel thoughts of Spencer, I took a deep breath before entering the restaurant. I traversed the restaurant, consciously keeping my head down until I arrived at the table with the view of the river, and it was only then that I allowed myself to look around.

To my surprise, when I looked at the table, I found Spencer sitting there.

Confusion clouded my mind as I stood there, staring at Spencer, seated at the table, facing away from me. Disbelief hung in the air like a heavy fog. This had to be a misunderstanding; it couldn't be Spencer. My friend John specifically directed the blind date; he arranged for me to sit at this table, but Spencer was here.

The possibilities raced through my mind like a whirlwind of uncertainty. Did the receptionist make an error? Could there be another table with a view of the river where they seated my actual blind date? Could this guy look a lot like Spencer from behind? My thoughts spiraled into a maze of questions, each more perplexing than the last. I was caught in a web of doubt, trying to grasp the reality of the situation.

Could Spencer and John know each other? How would they even know each other? Although we all work at the FBI, they work in totally different divisions.

As I approached the table, just a few feet away, I confirmed my suspicion: it was him—Spencer. Even though he wasn't facing me, I recognized his curls, almost catching a whiff of his distinctive perfume. It was undeniably him. How did this happen?

My heels clacked on the ground, a sound that drew Spencer's attention. His gaze shifted, expecting another woman, preparing for a polite greeting. "Hi, nice to meet y…” His words now caught in his throat.

As I pulled the chair and sat down in front of him, he halted his movements, confusion etched on his face. It seemed like he was ready to stand up, perhaps shake hands, and greet another person. But as he realized it was me, his expression transformed into one of utter bewilderment.

"Y/N, what is going on?" Spencer asked, his face a mix of confusion and concern as he settled back into his chair.

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the table. "How do you know John Watters, Jonathan Watters?" I questioned, peering at him with an intense gaze.

"What? What do you mean, Y/N?" Spencer replied, clearly confused by the sudden turn of events.

"Spencer, how do you know John?" I repeated, my eyes locked onto his, seeking an explanation for the unexpected twist in our supposed blind date.

"John Watters and I play chess in the park. We met a couple of months ago, and now we play together regularly," Spencer explained, his confusion still evident in his expression. “Y/N, what is going on?” he added, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Spencer…” I began, a faint smile creeping onto my face as it reddened, my hands immediately meeting my face. It dawned on me; John had set us both up, and it seemed he might not have known Spencer and I already knew each other.

I could see the wheels turning in his head, his eyes widening. He seemed to have a eureka moment. "Do you know him?" he asked, his tone still a little unsure. I only nodded, my faint smile hidden behind my fingers, covering how embarrassed I was.

Then Spencer fired questions left and right. "What? How do you know John?” He set you up with me. Like… did you know? You wanted to have a date with me and asked him to do it? I mean, I have talked…." He was blushing like crazy, so I decided to interrupt.

"No, No... I mean, yes, but..." I stumbled on my words as I tried to answer. "I do know John, yes, but I didn't know he set us up... But yes, I wouldn't... I wouldn’t mind a date with you." The last part slipped my tongue way too quickly, the confession escaping my lips.

"Are you serious? A date with me?" He sounded excited but mostly surprised.

"I mean, we're already here, so we might as well do it. He clearly thought we were a good pair," I offered, keeping my head down. My face felt hot, and I was smiling like a stupid little kid.

“I can't believe this; I can't believe this is happening. You don't know how long I've been trying to gather the courage to ask you out, and now this is happening." His head fell back as he inhaled deeply. “Is this real? Can you pinch me, Y/N? You look so pretty, so beautiful. I can't believe this is actually happening. I must be dreaming." His excitement was palpable, and his gaze was fixed on me with a mix of joy and disbelief.

“You're definitely awake; this is real!” I reached out my hand to him and held his hand. “See, this is real—a very strange coincidence, but undeniably real.”

The evening unfolded gracefully. Spencer took my recommendation, and we ordered the Carbonara, complemented by a shared bottle of Cabernet. I couldn't help but savor the moments when our laughter harmonized, creating a melody of shared joy. A subtle warmth spread across our faces, not just from the ambiance but also from the wine. Our laughter became a touch more carefree, perhaps a little tipsy, adding an extra layer of delight to the evening. The restaurant seemed to fade into the background as we continued to enjoy each other’s company.

As the plates were cleared away and the restaurant emptied out, Spencer's gaze remained locked on mine. We sat in silence for a little bit as a warm feeling settled, enjoying the lingering aura of the evening. Spencer smiled softly, leaning closer to me and taking my hands in his. "Let me walk you home," he suggests. "It's a beautiful night, and I'd love to spend more time with you."

As we stepped out into the crisp night air, the city lights played on the surface of the river, casting a gentle glow on our path. Spencer and I began to stroll along the riverbank towards my apartment. The soft murmur of the water provided a soothing background to our conversation, and amidst our banter, our attention was drawn to an old lady with a basket of roses.

"Hello there," the old lady said, greeting Spencer with a twinkle in her eye. "Would you like to buy a rose for your beautiful girlfriend?"

"Oh, but I'm not his girlf..." Before I could clarify, Spencer, wearing a confident smile, chimed in, "Yet..." He told the sweet lady "So yes, I would love to buy her a rose." He turned to me with a playful glint in his eyes.

The old lady chuckled warmly. "Here you go, young man, a rose for your not-yet-girlfriend. May your love bloom as beautifully as this rose," she said, handing the vibrant flower to Spencer.

I thanked him as he handed me the rose, appreciating the beautiful gesture. We then continued our walk, the soft glow of the city lights guiding our way.

"So, a rose for the 'not-yet-girlfriend'," I teased, a playful smile on my lips.

"Well," he began, "I thought a rose might be a good start, but who's to say what the future holds?"

"Fair enough," I replied, a teasing glint in my eye. "A rose is a good start but what's your plan for the rest of our 'not-yet' journey?"

"Well, I've had a lot of time to think about this," he began, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I won't disappoint you, that's for sure."

I felt a subtle warmth spread—a mixture of curiosity and excitement. "Is that so?" I replied with a playful glint in my eye. "I guess I'll have to wait and see what surprises you have in store.”

As we continued our walk to my apartment and reached my doorstep, the night seemed to invite us to linger a little longer.

"I had a lot of fun, Y/N. I regretted every moment we weren't doing this sooner," Spencer confessed.

"I loved this night too, Spencer," I began, a genuine warmth in my voice. "This is not how I imagined my night ending at all; I definitely never expected you to be my blind date."

"I just can't believe this happened. Who would have thought you would go on a date with me?" His soft hand reached for mine; his touch was warm and inviting.

"Well, Jonathan apparently did," I laughed, the surreal nature of the evening sinking in.

"Of course, he thinks I want to date you. I talk about you all the time..." Spencer shyly admitted, his gaze avoiding mine.

"Wait! You talk about me?" My voice lifted with happiness.

"Well, I just tell him about my day... and how I love being by your side. You're so understanding, always listening to me. Your attentive gaze makes my heart skip a beat, and your eyes, Y/N, they sparkle so beautifully. And your smile—oh, it's the prettiest I've ever seen." His words were tender, and his brown eyes never left mine. "Jonathan never told me he knew you; I guess he sensed I was too scared to act upon my feelings and took matters in to his own hands." He chuckled. "And now you're here, and we went on this date—a wonderful date, may I add—and you look absolutely stunning."

As Spencer's words lingered in the quiet night, I felt a soft warmth enveloping us and an unspoken connection deepening.

"I would really to kiss you." He whisperd. His gaze held a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability, mirroring the sentiments that resonated within me.

"You know what, Spence?" I began, a gentle smile playing on my lips. "I'd really like that too."

His eyes brightened with joy, and as if a shared understanding passed between us, he leaned in slowly. His hands cradled my face, creating an intimate connection as he closed the remaining space between us. The world around us faded into a soft blur as our lips finally met.

The kiss was tender, his lips warm and inviting, and the sensation sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

As we pulled away, a shared smile painted across our faces, our foreheads pressed together in a moment of quiet closeness.

"Wow," Spencer whispered.

"Wow indeed," I replied, my heart echoing the sentiment.

"I've been waiting so long to do this," he said, kissing me again, this time with more force and desire.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing against mine with a newfound intensity, fueled by the longing we had both harbored for so long. It was a fusion of heat and tenderness, with each movement deliberate and purposeful.

His hands, which had cradled my face so gently before, now moved with a purpose, exploring the contours of my back and waist. The taste of him was intoxicating—a blend of warmth and desire that left me breathless.

"Spencer," I began, feeling our breaths mingle. "Would you like to come in?

Spencer's eyes darkened in response, his nod signaling his agreement.

As the door shut behind us, I carefully placed the rose he gave me on a small side table by the entrance, wanting to preserve the sweet gesture. Spencer, without saying a word, pulled me against him again.

I guided us through the familiar space of my home with an urgency that spoke of unspoken desires. As we reached the bedroom, our bodies entwined again.

I laid back on the bed, letting my body sink into the softness of the mattress. Spencer's body was right above mine, and our lips met in a hot, messy kiss. It was like everything else melted away, and all that was left was us in this moment. I could feel the heat of his body on top of mine, and the rush of intimacy was palpable. I wanted this moment to last forever, clinging tight to his every touch.

Spencer's hands glided along the curves of my body, caressing me with an intimacy that left me wanting more. His lips left mine to roam lower, descending slowly towards my breasts. A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine, and my breath caught in my chest.

Spencer's voice broke through the intensity. "Are you sure?"

A smile played on my lips as I whispered, "Yes, please Spence."

The sudden touch of his finger on my skin sent a shiver down my spine as his hand slowly drifted down my shoulder and pulled the strap of my dress down. As my nipple became exposed, he kissed it gently, sending a wave of arousal through my body.

He looked so pretty like this; his smooth hand cradled my breast as his lips left soft kisses. His slow hums of satisfaction were accompanied by the thrusts of his hips against my clothed core.

Sensing the escalating desire between us, Spencer then took the initiative, smoothly pulling my dress off. I felt exposed as his hands traveled down my body, lowering himself and planting soft kisses on my stomach.

"You look so beautiful and you smell so good." His whispers of admiration filled the air. "I bet you taste even better." He placed a soft kiss where I wanted him the most. I moaned at his words, not expecting them.

He then proceeded to slide my panties to the side, slowly licking a long stripe. The warmth of his tongue against my skin sent shivers through my body, and the anticipation built with every teasing touch.

“Fuck, it's even better than I imagined." His words were muffled as he spoke from between my legs, looking into my eyes. My moans filled the room, joined by the sound of his mouth devouring my wetness. My hands met his hair as I pulled him closer by his curls.

"Spencer..." My voice caught in my throat.

"What, baby?" The enduring name leaving his lips made my heart flutter.

"I need you," I pleaded.

"Need me to what, baby?" His middle finger breached my entrance. "Use your words," he said, caressing my opening. The sensation of his finger chills of pleasure down my spine. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and I could feel a rush of arousal building inside me. "I need you inside, please," I begged, moving my body against his.

Sensing my urge, he stood, undressing me and then himself. "Since you asked so nicely," he lined up and slowly sank in, his head resting on my shoulder, and his soft moan muffled on my neck.

Our kisses were slow and passionate, our lips brushing against each other with every movement of our bodies. His hands caressed my body, sending a wave of pleasure through me that only increased with every thrust.

Each rhythmic movement brought us closer to the edge, the intensity growing with each caress and whispered word. "You feel so good, Y/N; it’s like you were made for me." Spencer's voice was laden with desire as I moaned into his lips.

The intensity grew with each passionate thrust, and we were both lost in a world of pleasure. Our bodies were tightly intertwined, pressed up against each other as we let our emotions take over. Our moans filled the room, and our breathing became shallow and fast. We both wanted this moment to last forever, clinging to each other with all the strength we could muster.

"Spencer, I can't,” I cried out.

"Can you hold it for me, just a little, pretty girl?" he said, looking into my eyes. My eyes fluttered, closing at the words.

"No, no, no, keep your eyes on me," he said. "Yes, just like that." He kept thrusting with force, and I couldn't take it anymore. “I want to see your pretty face as you cum, baby.”

"Spence... please inside." I begged him, and that was all it took. I didn't have to wait any longer. The tension in the room reached its peak, and I could feel him release, his climax echoing mine.

Our bodies trembled together in the aftermath, the shared intensity of the moment lingering in the air. The room was filled with the sounds of our rapid breaths and the soft rustle of sheets as we came down from the euphoric high.

As we lay there, a playful smile crossed Spencer's lips. "So, about that 'not-yet-girlfriend' situation..." he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I chuckled, tracing circles on his chest. "Well, it looks like we just fast-tracked that process."

Spencer grinned. "Guess we skipped a few steps."

I gave him a playful look. "Steps? Who needs steps when you have Jonathan playing cupid?”.

Spencer gave a playful shrug. "Well, I'll be sure to thank the man.”

[seeingivy]

french toast

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

an: enabled by @babiemay thank her for giving me the BIGGEST best friends older brother sukuna brain rot i've ever had in my life. (ooc sukuna again btw)

**part of my best friends (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

--

based on the seventeen years that sukuna has known you, he figures that you’ve already worked up some type of overthinking storm in your head when you arrive at his apartment two days later. and he knows for a fact that he’s right, because you’re at his doorstep with a pinched look on your face, clutching your purse like you’re about to get robbed. 

“hi pretty girl. did someone make an attempt on your life today?” 

you can feel your cheeks burning at the term of endearment, so phased you can barely coherently respond - or understand - what it is he said. 

“no?” you respond, nearly sweating under his eye contact as he smiles. 

“then why are you looking at me like you think i’m going to eat you?” he asks, annoyed as he gestures for you to walk into the kitchen. 

you feel your head run in a spiral, at the implication of his words, as he places his hands flat on your shoulders, and guides you to sit at the stool on his little kitchen island. the entire ordeal - the breakfast, the fact that he’s peeling off your coat and pressing a kiss to your temple, and the lingering touches - they make your skin burn, almost itch with nervousness. 

he stands on the other side of the counter, leaning forward on his forearms, as he smiles at you. and you try your best to figure out what exactly it is that’s beaming in his eyes as he leans forward. 

“pick your poison.” 

you feel yourself pale. 

“huh?” 

he frowns, as he leans back. 

“for breakfast? what did you want to eat?” he clarifies. 

you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“anything’s okay. don’t trouble yourself. i-i can even help.” 

you walk over to his side, pulling up your sleeves and giving him a peachy smile, as he takes the opportunity to step towards you. your back hits the counter and sukuna makes it a point - resting both of his arms at your sides - as he traps you within his hold. 

“talk.” he states, almost sternly. 

“hm?” 

sukuna leans closer, leaning his forehead against yours, as he takes a deep breath. it reminds you vividly, of two nights ago, when he pulled you straight onto his lap. and murmured into your skin that you were his pretty girl. and that he was going to prove it to you. 

“talk.” he states, the tone in his voice irritated. 

you look up at him, at his eyes razor focused in on yours, and spot no inclination of irritation on his face. despite the fact that you were almost positive that it was dripping from his tone. though, you always found him particularly hard to read.  

“now.” he murmurs. 

you sigh. 

“what are you trying to do right now?” you ask. 

he rolls his eyes. there’s the irritation you were hearing. 

“make you breakfast.” he deadpans. 

“is that all?” 

“what are you getting at?” he asks. 

sukuna often finds that talking to you is like digging a hole. that it takes patience. because he’s not going to find what he’s looking for forthright. but he knows for a fact that there’s something down there. 

it’s aggravating. but he persists.  

“promise you won’t make fun?” you ask. 

“i will do no such thing.” 

“sukuna.” you whine, crossing your hands against your chest. 

sukuna finds this part of you endearing. because it reminds him of all the different ways he’s seen you. when you were four and barging into his house to play wii with his little brother, explaining barbie movies at the dinner table, and tagging along on his family vacation when he was fourteen. 

and how after all this time, you still have the same tendencies. you bounce your right leg when you’re nervous, tuck your hair behind your ears when you’re finished rambling, and curl your hands into little fists and cross your arms - entirely unable to meet his eyes - when you’re embarrassed. 

sukuna clears his throat, as you look up at him. and you know the expression all too well. that he’ll wait all day if he has to. 

“no making fun. i’m serious, sukuna.” 

“it’s almost like you know you’re going to say something stupid.” 

“don’t call my feelings stupid.” you murmur. 

“well, i’ll keep calling them stupid until you tell me what they are. i’ll be honest if you let me.” 

this is something you can appreciate about sukuna. that he won’t beat around the bush. or say things just to coddle. it’s the same as the other night, where you told him about what happened at the bar, when he didn’t rush to your defense like almost everyone else does. and when it comes to this, you figure that he’ll be straightforward. 

“are you trying to have sex with me right now?” you ask. 

you look at sukuna, specifically at the way his eyes widen, before he breaks out into a laugh. and not just any laugh, because he’s nearly keeling over with how amusing he finds it. howling even. and it makes even more blood rush to your cheeks, humiliated for even bringing it up. 

sukuna grins, lifting his hands up from the sides of the counter and wrapping them around your neck.you can feel your breath hitch in your throat, as you instinctively shut your eyes. he’s going to be straightforward. 

“your feelings are stupid.” he whispers, right into your skin. 

you pull back, staring at him dumbfounded, as he places one of his hands on your waist. and he’s staring back at you, the expression in his face slightly amused. 

“that’s not nice.” 

“i’m not a nice person.” 

it’s frustrating. the tone that he uses with you. it teeters between placating and teasing you and you find it hard to decide which one exactly it is. and it seeps right under your skin, lets your irritation come to a head faster than it usually would.

“okay, well. sue me! you had no problems doing god knows what in my room the other day. and-and then you were making jokes about how you were going to eat me. the second that i got here. and-and you know how you are-” 

“and what’s that?” 

you pause.

“what?” 

“you said you know how you are. well, i don’t. enlighten me please.” he clarifies. 

sukuna’s pleased with himself. because he’s figured out exactly what it is, that’s brewing in that head of yours. and naturally, he has every intention to make you mince your words. 

“you-” 

you’re not sure how to say this. if there’s a polite way to call him what he is. 

“i’m what? a manwhore?” he asks. 

“no! you-” 

“you think i’m a horny freak, right? that i want to lift you up, take your skirt off, and have you right here on my kitchen counter?” 

you feel your eyes go wide, as you swallow hard, and feel the nervousness take residence in your stomach. sukuna senses it fast enough and makes his efforts to diffuse it. 

“do you think i would only invite you here because i want you to please me? do you think that’s the only way i can enjoy your company?” 

you can feel yourself getting too overstimulated, your head nearly steaming - at the implication, at the way he’s looking at you, and the fact that his lips are a few feet away from yours - and his smug grin crawling underneath your skin and making you twitch. 

you cover your face with your hands, feeling the warmth on your palms, as you feel his hands curl around your wrists, prying them off of your face. and when you look up at him, at the soft smile on his face, as you can’t help but frown at him. 

“no…” 

sukuna smiles. 

“are you lying to me?” 

you deflate. 

“maybe a little.” 

sukuna secures his hands around your waist, before fully lifting you up and placing you on the counter. and he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before he wordlessly starts rummaging through different cabinets in his kitchen and the fridge, fully intent on making you the breakfast you were promised. 

you can’t help but watch him, as he muses around his kitchen, slicing vegetables on the cutting board and fruits on the side. at how he entirely discards the conversation you just had like it was nothing. 

from two feet away, sukuna is very, very appreciative of you. because you’re not very proud. and despite your first attempts, you’re honest too. because he knows for a fact that your hesitation to state your thoughts is because you don’t want to write sukuna off as something so…lewd. even if you think it’s true. and that of course, any hesitation on your part comes from something deeper than him. 

the deep seated distaste you seem to have for yourself. though sukuna’s entirely unsure why it’s there in the first place. he slices a strawberry in half, letting the eggs cook at his side, before he makes a residence standing in between your legs. 

he hands you one of the halves of the strawberry, before popping the other in his mouth and leaning into your space. 

“i don’t think you’re a manwhore.” you clarify. 

“okay. i don’t think you’re one either.” he responds. 

you smile.

“but you do think that’s the only reason you’re here?” he pokes. 

“no! no, i don’t think that. i just-” 

you sigh, placing your hands flat on the fabric of his hoodie, as you crumple it into your fists. 

“sorry. i’m not very good at this type of thing. and-and you’re like…you know. reputation. and you obviously have needs! and megumi thinks you’re a womanizer.” 

sukuna snickers, as you release his hoodie, and you deflate slightly. mainly at the fact that he’s not offended. and letting you ramble - and say ten different things you shouldn’t - openly. 

sukuna doesn’t shy away from what exactly it is that you think of him. or what that godawful sea urchin megumi thinks either. because it’s naturally, quite simple. and somewhat true. because he finds it hard to stay in one place for a long time. and as you very keenly put it, he had needs. 

though, that rule, as sukuna was painstakingly reminded of, didn’t apply to you. because again, you transcended any normal guideline that sukuna had. which is why he was keen on making you breakfast two days later, on his day off. and make your favorite, which he specifically remembers from the camping trip. 

“i’m not sure what thing you’re referencing. and make no mistake. i don’t talk in tongues like you do. if i invite you over for breakfast, it’s because i want to eat breakfast with you.” he responds. 

“you were the one who said you were going to eat me.” you defend. 

“you were looking at me like you were scared of me. like how prey looks at a predator before it gets eaten?” 

“oh.” 

sukuna pushes off the counter as he starts plating the food onto and feels his ego inflate when you jump off the counter and cling to his arm when you realize what exactly it is that he made. 

“sukuna. i love french toast!” 

“yes. i’m well aware.” 

"how'd you know?" you ask.

sukuna looks over at you, the look in his eyes so devious, that you know you've certainly walked into something by stating it.

"you told us. on the camping trip. you've always been my pretty girl. even when you were fourteen."

you barely have time to even stomach what it is that he said as he lifts both plates as he makes a gesture for you to follow, seating the two of you back on his kitchen island. and when you settle in, sukuna gets to pick at your mind, with the questions that have been stuck in his head for the past two days. 

“before i divulge my manwhore adventures for you, you have to indulge me first. how many guys have you dated? or talked to?” sukuna asks. 

you hate sukuna’s choice of words sometimes. indulge. it’s almost like he knows he’s saying words that make you nervous. that make the sweat accumulate on the palms of your hands. 

“where’d you learn how to make french toast like this?” you ask, deflecting. 

“i asked first.” 

you swirl the eggs around on the plate - moving them from the left, to the right, and back to the left - before you answer. 

“i had a crush on this guy named dean from sixth grade to eighth grade. all of the boys in school got dared to slow dance with different girls and he picked me. it was an awkward four minutes of halo by beyonce but i loved him after that. he was funny. and cute.” 

“did you date?” he asks. 

“oh, of course not. he started liking this girl named kimi in eighth grade.” 

sukuna’s not exactly sure if this is the question he asked. but you keep going. and it’s intriguing to him nonetheless. 

“in my sophomore year of highschool, i had a crush on this guy named parker. he was kind of nerdy, like the stupid type? my english teacher would always put us in group projects together, and when i asked him why, he said it was because he wanted us to get married.” 

“that’s an appropriate thing to say to a fifteen year old.” sukuna bites. 

“no! my teacher had this dream to go to two of his students weddings, that met in his class.” 

“and what killed that extremely inapprorpiate dream, dead in its tracks?” 

“my best friend. we all somehow ended up in the same friends group our junior year. and they kind of started flirting. dated all the way till our freshman year of college.” you respond. 

sukuna curbs the question that comes to the forefront of his mind. because it occurs to him that his plausible answer to it, one that he despises, is exactly what’s going to be the answer. that if they liked each other, you were going to let them. despite the fact that you liked him first. 

“any more for me?” sukuna asks. 

“my first boyfriend was in my senior year of highschool.” 

sukuna feigns shock, as you fight the urge to laugh. 

“have we finally arrived to a real boyfriend?” 

you laugh, as you settle your hand into his underneath the table. there’s something so inviting about him, the way he’s hanging off the ends of your words and listening intently, that makes you continue. 

“we don’t speak his name.” you state. 

“oh?” 

“he’s not a good guy. we dated until….my freshman year of college. december. and we officially stopped talking the summer of my sophomore year.” you state. 

sukuna bites the urge to ask every question in his mind. on who this guy is, why you continued to talk to him almost an entire year after, and most importantly, why you haven’t talked to anyone else since. 

except for him anyways. for the first time, sukuna finds himself being the exception. in a way that’s favorable to him. 

“that’s all of them! your turn.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s all?” 

“mhm! it’s kind of boring, i’m assuming. in comparison to you.” 

sukuna concludes one thing. that all three of these men, especially the last, were not deserving of you. in the slightest. and that each one had wrecked a sizeable amount of havoc. he curses himself for not paying attention when he was still there.

“oh definitely. you’d need to stay here all day if you wanted to here that.” 

you smile brightly. 

“that can be arranged.” you respond. 

sukuna leans forward, lips a few feet away from yours, before he speaks again. 

“you like to play hard to get, don’t you?” sukuna asks. 

“what? what do you mean?” 

sukuna places his hands on the rung of your chair, before pulling it flesh with his own. and he tests the waters, by placing his hand on your bare knee, right near the pleats of your black skirt. and he feels you instinctively press your legs together, but make no moves to push him off. 

“i didn’t make the list?” 

you swallow hard, entirely embarrassed. though, your first real crush you supposed is naturally the one that you’ve denied, vehemently, since you were four years old and yuuji asked you in passing. 

because when your eyes lingered on him for too long, after he fixed the wii controls and dutifully handed you both your controllers back - of his wii, that he was letting you play on - yuuji halfmindedly asked the question. 

why are you looking at him like that? do you like him or something? 

it was a joke, of course. because yuuji just asked so he could start the match of wii tennis while you weren’t paying attention. that in the rush of it, you never got to consider the answer to it in full. though you suppose there’s no better time to answer it than now. 

“i have this best friend. his name is yuuji.” you start. 

sukuna’s alarmed. so alarmed that he pulls his hand off of your thigh, retreating it behind his back. 

surely you didn’t really like yuuji. because that would stop whatever it was that was blooming right now. because he was not his brother, despite their identical pink hair. the farthest thing from it actually. 

“i met him when i was four. and i barged into his house because he wanted me to play wii with him. you see, his big brother didn’t really like to play with him so he figured that i was the next best thing.” you state. 

“he had greasy hands. so did you. it was disgusting.” he states. 

“and yuuji didn’t know how to turn on the game. or-or remember which one it was in. so he called his very cool, much older brother, to help us. i’d never met a six year old before, and naturally if i had, i wouldn’t have thought he was so cool.” 

“shut up.” 

sukuna desperately wants you to continue. 

“seemed like the real serious type. kind of quiet. dark blue shirt, black shorts. the socks that only go to your ankles. i didn’t even know that his name was sukuna until a few days later, when he walked with us to school. he didn’t even introduce himself to me.” 

“did you want to know him that badly?” 

“and he fixed the remote, obviously. had some six year knowledge we didn’t clearly. and-and he turned to me. gave me a smile before he handed one to me and walked away.” you state, shrugging at him. 

sukuna’s satiated with your answer. mostly because, it seems you seem to remember the ordeal in as excruticating detail as he has. that you were wearing a pink dress, gold earrings, and a ribbon in your hair. that your skin was the softest he had ever felt, that you were the first girl who had brushed fingers with him when he handed you the remote, save for his mom of course 

sukuna brings his hand back into your hair, feeling the fabric of the blue ribbon in your hair today, matching with the short cardigan that you were wearing. and he wants to keep this one too. yank it out of your hair and secure it to his keys next to the pink one he refused to return. 

sukuna looks down at the fabric, at your hair sprawled over your shoulder. he can make out the length of your collarbone from underneath your tanktop and settles his lips right into divot, before pressing a lingering kiss into your skin and feeling you keel over in his arms. 

“france.” he murmurs, right into your skin. 

“what’s that?” you ask, dazed from the contact. 

“i learned to make the french toast in france.”

he kisses up the length of your neck, making no inclination to stop even as you barely stutter your words out. and for the second time, can't resist and places his hands on your waist just to pull you straight on top of him.

"makes sense. that's just-just toast for them." you mumble.

sukuna can't help but laugh. he's never going to tire of you.

--

next part linked here

taglist: @ghostreadersthings @porridgesblog  @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks

[weird-is-life]

Can I request a shy reader and Spencer's fic. When the reader works at a flower shop, Spencer comes in there looking for flowers. And the reader goes on a little rant about what he should buy and what each flower means.

Hii lovely, ty for the request! Hope this is okay🙈warnings: use of y/n, fluff, a few swear words, (0.9k)

Spencer needs to buy some flowers for Emily. It's her birthday and he's always brought her flower before, so even if he's already running late to her birthday dinner, he can't not go buy her some flowers.

He goes into the first flower shop, he spots on the way to Emily's apartment and that's where he finds you.

It's almost the closing time, so you are just sitting behind the counter, reading some book. Spencer immediately thinks he's in love.

He swears, you are the prettiest girl, he's ever seen and the fact, that you are too absorbed in your book to even notice him, makes you even more attractive to Spencer.

You finally notice him as he's a few steps away from the counter. You quickly slam the book shut and try not to look too caught off guard.

You weren't expecting anybody to come to the shop anymore and you definitely weren't expecting it to be a very handsome guy.

His messy, curly hair, expensive-looking black suit and the small stubble have you buckling at your knees. You are sure, that if you weren't sitting on the chair, you would be on the ground.

"H-hi," you somewhat compose yourself, "w-what can I help you with?"

He shoots you a smile and you're pretty sure that your cheeks go very red," Hi, I was wondering if I could get some flowers?"

"D-do you have any specific in mind?" you ask, barely holding an eye contact with him. You are shy and he isn't helping your situation at all.

"Ye-...No, I don't. Can you recommend me some?" Spencer literally knows the meaning of every flower you have in this shop, but something about you makes him shut his mouth, so he can stay here longer.

"I can, yes," you smile sheepishly at him, "who are they supposed to be for?"

"My friend, it's her birthday today," you would be lying, if you said that your heart didn't skip a beat at hearing that it's for his friend and not a girlfriend. You thought, that he was getting flowers for his girlfriend.

"W-well, I'd suggest, that you should definitely get some yellow flowers for her. Yellow color represents friendship, would that be okay?" you hesitantly ask. Spencer just nods encouragingly.

"Okay, so we could do some mixed bouquet. Yellow roses are definitely a yes, you can't go wrong with that, they are beautiful and smell amazing. We should also add sunflowers, they represent loyalty and adoration of the friendship. Oh and mums are grest, too. They can really make the bouquet come alive, they are like the spirit of optimism. We could also-," you ramble about each flower, that you put in the bouquet for him.

Spencer listens to your every word with a happy smile, you remind him of himself with your rambling and to be honest, he finds it adorable.

You are done too quickly tho and Spencer finds himself wanting to hear you speak again.

But his phone rings and he doesn't even need to pick up to know, that the team is wondering, where he is.

"Here, i-is this okay?" you hand the insanely pretty bouquet to him. Spencer's grin basically answers your question.

"Thank you, thank you. It couldn't be more perfect. You're a total lifesaver..." he looks at your name tag, "y/n. Thank you, y/n."

You are certain, that your cheeks couldn't be more red as they are right now. Spencer's compliment makes you blush like a fool.

"Oh. I'm..I'm glad, that you like it." You stutter out your response, looking at the ground. You carefully wrap the bouquet in the flower wrapping paper and tell him the price of it.

He pays it and before you can say no, he puts a bigger tip than it's normal into the tip jar.

Spencer then slowly leaves thanking you as he goes. And right before the door closes, it looks like Spencer wants to tell you something else, but in the last second he shakes his head and dissappears.

You wave him a shy goodbye, you are a little disappointed even if you don't really know why. Well okay, maybe you do know why. But you shouldn't have put your hopes up, thinking the handsome stranger felt the spark like you did. And that maybe, only maybe, he'd ask you out.

You sigh and sluggishly start to clean up the counter to finally close the shop and go home. The door bell rings again and your head immediately shoots up.

He runs up to the counter, a little out of breath, "shit, I'm sorry to bother you again. I don't usually do this, like ever, it's just....Would you like to go out with me sometimes? Like for a-a coffee? You can say no of course, hell, I'd totally understand if you said no." Spencer's now the one to rumble.

"I-I'd love to," you, surprising even yourself, reply immediately. Cheeks, of course, burning red.

"It's okay- Wait, really?" Spencer was totally expecting you to reject him.

"Yes, really....." you want to say his name.

"Spencer, my name is Spencer," he quickly understands.

"Spencer, " you try out his name," I'd love to Spencer, here." You bravely scramble your phone number on a piece of paper and give it to him.

Spencer takes it with a huge smile, "I'll call you, " he looks like he wants to stay longer, but looks at his watch and curses under his breath," I'm so late. I gotta go, but I'll call you, I promise."

"Bye, Spencer," you say sweetly and Spencer already knows he's fucked. Not even one date and he knows, he's down bad.

[byslantedlight]

Hello OFMD Tumblr thingie, and all the amazing people who are out there, and especially the ones who've been making all the posts that have made me so happy over the last few months. 💖💖💖 First and most importantly, thank you, thank you, thank you, to anyone who sees this!

This is my first post to Tumblr (probably pretty obvious from my huge lack of Tumblr sophistication! And the length of this post...) If you don't count reblogging things that I wanted to be able to find again. I've braved up to comment thank you to people a couple of times, but that's been it so far. I must admit it all looks a bit scary from this side of the glass, even though I can also see how friendly people mostly are.

But OFMD fandom is big! And you've been here a long time! I loved Series 1 when I watched it, and knew I wanted to watch out for Series 2, but it wasn't until I re-watched it when the Series 2 trailer came out on BBC iPlayer that I fell veeeery in love with it! And by then you were already here, and there was a language and debates about things I'd barely even noticed, and it's mostly me staring with big eyes thinking wow, and sometimes huh? and... well, you know. Plus there's trying to work out Tumblr, which I definitely haven't actually managed to do yet, and possibly never will, so... I decided to just jump in and post summat. Even just rambling, which is a bit of a specialty of mine... I mean - what's the worst that can happen, right? 😬

So... how come now? Well, I can't make art or gorgeous screenshots or gifs. I do write, but I'm still hanging out to get the right voices in my keyboard... I know them when I hear them, but you've gotta get the right rhythm going, and I'm not quite there yet, I don't think. Although really, I should probably just sit down and try (and stop waiting for work to shut up and give me time - I should be a pirate and take it!)

Anyway (told you about the rambling...) what I'm mostly doing apart from rewatching the eps on a constant loop is reading the fic. I'm picking it according to kudos on AO3, and according to recs that I see on Tumblr, and it's occured to me that alot of the stories I'm loving must have been recced looong ago, and that newbies like me totally missed them, and so maybe I could do my own recs, even if they are of older stories, and someone might find them useful. You know, if I work out how anyone else might ever see my posts. 😁 And if people aren't put off by my probably age-revealing use of emojis. (But I am entirely age-appropriate for Ed and Stede, and if I had to look up what zaddy meant too, well, that just means I matched Rhys Darby's expression in the bts, right? 🤨)

So it's not much, but I'd like to contribute even just a tiny bit to OFMD fandom in return for everything it gives me, so... yeah. That's my plan. I'll start in a bit, but this post is probably already too long since it's just rambling. And kind of dull. I should probably have said tl:dr at the top, shouldn't I, but then maybe anyone who actually saw this wouldn't, so... See, I kind of live in hope. 😊

Okay. Tags next, right? ... ack ... why won't it let me create new tags instead of just using ones from the drop down...? Well, those will have to do for now... maybe someone who sees this will have mercy and tell me how? I'll just be over here being a slight failure at Tumblr... And if you've made it this far (how long is an acceptable post over here?! Not this long, I don't think...) - thank you hugely for just that, and may your dreams be OFMD and joyous!

[smoshyourheadin]

Maybe u could do a Spencer besties to lovers? Like they've known each other a long time yk

Thankssss no pressure if ur busy ofc <3

It’s Always Been You

cw: reader has a boyf who she breaks up w bc he’s an alchaholic!! don’t read if you aren’t comfortable, i’ll catch you another time ml 💛

a/n: EEK IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT ANON 🫶🫶💛💛 also im taking this as smosh spence not cm spence so feel free to re-request if you’d like <33 ps, ive written that he listens to pink floyd here so thats who syd barrett is if you don’t know :))

requests r open!!

///

pairing: spencer agnew x fem!reader

florida, 2002

you and spencer were scurrying around in the freshly mown grass of his backyard, playing tag.

“you didn’t get me, you cheated!” you exclaim, ducking as he reaches out to get you again, tumbling to the floor.

“did too!” spencer retorts, his grazed knees dropping to the floor so he can lean over you. he meets your eyes, pulls a tongue, and hoists himself back up to run to his tyre swing.

all 11 years you’d known, you’d known them with spencer. your moms had been great friends since way before you were born, being in the same book club. or was it an art night? you didn’t exactly know, but you did know that because your moms were best friends, so were you and spencer.

as you sprung back up to your feet, your moms watched your antics through the kitchen window.

“whoever can swing the other the highest gets to have the last red popsicle!” he yelled as you ran over

“oh you’re so on!”

your hands gripped the tyre and you pushed like your life depended on it.

“y’know,” your mom said “one day, they’re going to end up together.”

his mom looked over at yours and smiled,

“i’d be surprised if they didnt honestly.”

los angeles, 2024

you walk through the door of your apartment, and you kick the door closed behind you. your bag slides off your shoulder, and you throw your keys onto the dresser next to the door. you only manage a long groan before flopping onto the couch.

“heya, charlie!” you scrunch your face up as you feel your dog’s cold, wet nose press against your cheek, as he gently wags his tail

“i missed you too boy, work was so tiring today.” you work at smosh with spencer, and have done for the past seven years after you left your job at another channel to join him. it was basically the best decision you’d ever made, every day filled with laughs; practically just a 24/7 hangout. you work with spencer on smosh games, but rarely ever go on camera, even if spencer’s there. you enjoy it anyway though.

you sit up and scratch behind his ears. he wiggles his body contently at your fondness. and then your stomach growls. it made sense, it was currently 6:43pm, and you last ate at noon, so you get up and drag yourself to make some mac n cheese.

as the pasta boils your phone starts ringing.

it’s james.

rubbing your hands over your face, you answer the dreaded call from your boyfriend james.

“heyyy~ sweetheart, y’doin okay? you were hic bein’ a bit of a bitch today, didnt answer my calls, what, you hate me or sumn?” he rambles, most of his words just slurring off.

“james, are you drinking again?” your voice is agitated, hearing the chattering and the low bass of a bar in the background.

you know he has a problem, and you’ve tried to get him to stop so many times. but you just can’t. he just won’t take your help.

“wha- i mean- well- no- but um- well y’r just gonna be mad at me like y’allways are” he stammers, not wanting to tell you the truth.

“no, i’m done with this. you say all this to me when you’re drunk, and then act like everything is fine! i’m sick of it! you spend so much time at the bar, and its the only place we ever go on dates, and i just end up babysitting you! so yeah i am mad! but for the last time! fuck you james.”

you hang up.

you start to tear up, the knot in your chest tight as your emotions come rushing to you, face heating up as tears begin to fall. the hissing of something behind you snaps you out of it.

“shit!” you rush over to to your stove, where the water from your pasta spills over the sides, the flames licking at the bottom of the pan.you take it off the heat and turn it off. it looks done anyway. you add some butter, and, of course, cheese. stirring gently, you sob.

james was so nice to you, always showering you with gifts and praise and love. but it was all for nothing. he just didn’t love you like he loved drinking in the end.

pouring the mac n cheese into a bowl, you call spencer.

“hey lemon! how’s my favourite person this fine evening?” you smile at the nickname.

florida, 2007

“spencer, you’re a boy. why are you so complicated? i mean, its just annoying!” you walk into his bedroom after his mom let you in, clearly pissed off. being 16 isn’t fun, especially when boys you like are rude to you.

“what did he do?” spencer doesn’t look up from his computer, just slightly turn his head.

“he said that i must eat lemons because of how bitter i am. i mean come on!” you lie on his bed and watch him play runescape.

“lemon… hmph” he just smiles and continues whatever he was doing on his game.

“what? nothing to say? ugh! you suuuuuck!”

los angeles, 2024

“yeah, i mean, no. i broke up with james.” you sniffle, and eat a forkfull of your food, elbows resting on the cold marble of the kitchen island.

“i mean- um- yeah thats horrible…” he says

“you’re allowed to celebrate, i know you hated him. and so did everyone. but still. im fragile right now!” you giggle through your gentle tears

“well, i mean, honestly? glad he’s gone. he sucked dude. not sure why you didn’t do it sooner. well, one positive to come of this, your pillows won’t stink of beer next time i nap at yours!” he replies, clearly happy for you.

“yeah,” you chuckle at the memory of spencer falling asleep on your bed, then completing his hair smelt like budweiser “that is true.”

“all seriousness though, are you okay?” his voice is genuine this time, filled with concern.

“no, not really. it’s just… different i guess. but, not much has changed y’know? like, it already felt like he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore…” you begin to ramble for at least 20 minutes, only to be met with the occasional ‘mhmn’ and ‘yeah’ from spencer. mid sentence, there’s a knock at your door.

“oh one sec, someone’s here.” you get up from your table and swing the door open to see a very sympathetic looking spencer, two target bags in his hands.

your jaw is on the floor. you were just crying to him over the phone, and he’d stayed whilst going out to get what you can only assume is things like sour patch kids and vanilla ice cream, which you could see at the top of the bag. your favourites.

“girls night?” he smirked and raised the bags at his sides.

all you can do is smile ear to ear, and wrap him in a tight hug. he leaned into you, basking in your sweet citrusy perfume.

“you’re my favourite, spencie.” you say into his shoulder.

as you both walk inside, charlie comes bounding over to spencer, his favourite person.

“who’s a good boy! charlie is!” spencer was now crouchedby your kitchen island, fussing over your dog as you walked to put on something more comfortable. you slid on some track pants and an old atari hoodie. walking back into your kitchen, spencer has unpacked the bags, and is creating his favourite conconction, The Agnew Sundae. basically the most sickeningly sweet ice cream ever. his dad made it for you both in the summer, and it consisted of:

vanilla ice cream

chocolate syrup

caramel sauce

whipped cream

sprinkles

mini marshmallows

chocolate chips

m&ms

and some crushed oreos to finish.

god, you know you’re going to regret this later, but boy was it a good way to cheer you up.

also strewn on the counter was his switch and copy of animal crossing, a few of his dvd’s for you to watch, and his mom’s chocolate chip cookies.

“spencer, how on earth did you get these? your mom lives across the country!” you hold up the baggie, and raise an eyebrow.

he looks up from his ice cream assembly station, and smirks.

“a magician never- ow!”

you cut him off by lightly jabbing his arm

“okay okay, she visited not to long ago - when she took you to the mall? and she gave me these to freeze and keep for an important event. i think she’d agree this is important.” you cant help but smile at his remark. you missed you moms.

“i’ll have to ring her later to thank her.” you say.

the night goes on, and you and spencer sit on the couch under a blanket watching barbie princess charm school. because what else are you going to watch?

as the movie goes on, and the effects of the agnew sundae kick in; you were dozing off on his shoulder. towards the end of the movie, so does he. he drifts off, comforted by your soft hair occasionally brushing against his face.

you stir awake, the sun beaming into your eyes through your semi-open blinds, and you’re hit by a wave of memory. everything that happened last night comes flooding back.

james’ call.

spencer’s call.

spencer showing up for you.

at the latter, you smile slightly. you prop yourself up on the sofa, and notice the absence of spencer’s warmth by you. frowning slightly, you walk into the kitchen.

“morning sleepyhead” his sweet voice rings through the room

“hey. i thought you’d’ve gone home”

“no, im not that mean! who do you take me for?” he retorts, his attention turning back to the pancakes on the stove.

“pancakes? what time is it?” you come up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder.

“yeah, and it’s about 10:30.” he leant his head on yours, flipping one. you had to admit, they look pretty good.

“10:30!?” you lift you head in surprise, looking at your phone “shouldn’t we be in work?”

“nope, i called us in sick. said my mom was having surgery. which she is, but i made it sound dramatic so we could stay off.” he looks at you, and smiles slightly.

“well, send her my love! i think i’ll go get dressed now.” he hummed, and you left the room.

opening your closet, you pick out a yellow baggy t-shirt and some grey sweatpants. you pull on some fluffy socks, and slip on a zip up hoodie. walking back out into the living room, spencer walks in with two plates piled high with pancakes, drenched in syrup and strawberries

“so,” you say, a fork full of pancakes in your mouth. “whats the plan for today?”

he looks over at you, and shrugs slightly. “not sure, we could go to the book store you like?”

“ah, you know the way to a girl’s heart“ you put a hand over your chest and giggle a bit.

a few hours later, you walk into the store, door creaking just a bit as a small brass bell chimes overhead. the air is filled with a comforting mix of old paper, leather bindings, and a hint of freshly brewed coffee from the corner cafe that you and spencer like to get tea from. you breathe it in deeply, a sense of calm washing over you. as you walk over the creaky wooden floorboards beneath you, soft warm light filters down from antique lamps, and cast a gentle glow over the rows of books. you ghost your fingertips over the cloth spines while the quiet murmur of whispered conversations and the occasional rustling of pages create a soothing background noise, almost like a lullaby. through spencer’s airpods, syd barrett serenades you both, and his voice blends seamlessly with the ambiance of the store.

“anything good today lemon?” spencer says as he shimmies up next to you in the aisle of towering book shelves, his voice like honey rolling off his tongue. his hair was unruly as always, but he looked so pretty in this light. his face was littered with freckles that you wish you could kiss. he’s smiling at you, and it snaps you back to reality, and reminds you of the fact you’re staring at him

“uh, yeah, i think i’ll get this one” you smile back, holding up a copy of memoirs of a geisha by arthur golden

“cool, shayne likes that one i think. but he likes every book so…” he smiles at his own remark “um, you want me to grab our normal seats in the cafe while you pay for that?”

“yes, please!” you reply eagerly, smiling as he walked off.

you walk up to the cashier, an older lady who always gives you a bookmark.

“thank you m’darlin’, have a lovely day!”

“you too mrs bryson!” you reply, heading over to spencer who’s sat in some plush leather armchairs. as you sit in comfortable silence with him, time seems to slow down, and for a moment, it's just you, spencer, the books, and the comforting atmosphere of this charming bookstore.

“i got you your sweet tea.” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with your favourite tea.

he remembered.

fuck.

you were in love with spencer agnew, and it took you him handing you your favourite tea to realise it.

“thanks spence.” you say, still grasping the feelings in your chest.

while you read you book and drink your tea, you feel your attention drifting to him. you can't help but glance up from the pages every now and then, watching him as he sits across from you, his focus on his own book. his fingers absently tracing the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowing as he reads. the way the sunlight filters through the small window, casting a warm glow across his hair, highlighting the subtle streaks of lighter brown among his dark curls. you find yourself smiling at the sight of him, wondering when these small, mundane moments began to mean so much to you. the bookstore is quiet, aside for the murmur of others reading or talking in hushed tones. yet, with spencer sitting just a few feet away, the world feels like it's faded to the background. it's just you and him, sharing this space, this moment. you watch the way his lips move slightly as he reads, how he occasionally tilts his head in concentration, and the way his eyes light up when he finds something particularly interesting. as he looks up and catches you watching him, you feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest. he smiles at you, a slow, easy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. he raises an eyebrow, and you quickly look back down at your book, feeling your cheeks flush. but you can't help it; your gaze finds its way back to him, like he's the most interesting story in the room. he seems to notice the shift in the air between you. he closes his book and leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “just... glad to be here with you.”

he nods, his smile growing a bit wider. “me too.”

as he settles back into his chair, you realize that this simple exchange has changed something. the air feels lighter, the connection between you stronger. you may have come here to read and relax, but now, sitting across from spencer, you know you've found something else entirely - something you never want to let go of.

as you leave the store, you’re panicking slightly as you realise you don’t know what to do. so instead you make up an excuse.

“i forgot my keys ," you blurt out, looking back at the bookstore. it's a thin excuse, but spencer doesn't seem to notice. he simply nods, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"do you want me to wait for you?" he asks, already reaching for his phone to check the time.

"no, it's fine," you reply quickly. "you can go ahead. i’ll just be a minute."

spencer seems reluctant to leave, but he nods, offering a warm smile before stepping out onto the street. you watch him walk away, his figure blending into the crowd as he heads toward the main crossing. your heart sinks a little as he disappears from view, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse.

the bookstore feels different now. the warm glow and soft murmurs are still there, but without spencer, it's like the color has faded a bit. you stand by the door, uncertain of what to do next. you could go back outside, catch up with him, and just say it. tell him how you feel. but the words seem stuck in your throat, and the thought of laying your feelings bare feels like too much, too soon.

you step back inside, pretending to look for something you might have left behind. the stacks of books seem to stretch endlessly in front of you, a maze of comforting distractions. you wander through the aisles, hoping to calm your racing thoughts, but all you can think about is spencer - his smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the warmth of his voice.

eventually, you find a quiet corner and sit down, closing your eyes for a moment. you know you have to do something. you can't just let him walk away without knowing how much he means to you. but the fear of rejection, of changing everything, feels overwhelming.

you realize you need time to sort through your feelings, to figure out the best way to approach this. with a heavy heart, you decide to make your way home, hoping the familiar surroundings will bring clarity. as you step out onto the street, the cool breeze brushes against your skin, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you.

on the journey home, you replay the moments with spencer in your mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of how much he means to you. you know you can't keep hiding your feelings, but you also know you need to approach this with caution. as you unlock the door to your apartment, you make a silent promise to yourself—to take the time you need, to listen to your heart, and to find the courage to follow where it leads, even if it means risking everything for him.

when you get home, spencer tries calling you as he paces around his bedroom, his phone pressed against his ear. the ringing continues, but there's no answer. he frowns, feeling an uneasy twist in his stomach. maybe you're still in the bookstore. maybe your phone is on silent, or maybe you're just busy. he tells himself there's a reasonable explanation, but the doubt lingers.

as he walks to his kitchen, he dials again. this time, the call goes straight to voicemail. his instincts tell him something isn't right. the keys excuse felt odd, and your hurried departure only amplifies his worry. he takes a moment to think, then leaves his apartment, jumps in his car, starts the engine, and drives toward your apartment.

the streets pass in a blur as he navigates through the evening traffic, his mind racing with possibilities. he finds a parking spot near your building and heads to your door. the hallway is quiet, save for the distant sound of a tv from a neighbouring apartment. he takes a deep breath and knocks.

nothing.

he knocks again, this time a little louder. the knot in his stomach tightens. what if something's wrong? what if he's too late? he knocks a third time, and this time, he hears a faint rustling from inside. the door opens slowly, and there you are, standing in the doorway with a look of surprise and confusion.

"spence?" you say, blinking at him as if he's the last person you expected to see.

"i - i was worried," he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "you didn't answer your phone, and i - i didn't know if you were okay."

you tilt your head, trying to process why he's here. his eyes search yours, and you can tell he's anxious, almost desperate to explain himself. "i'm fine," you say, "just had some stuff to think about."

he nods, but you can see he's not entirely convinced. there's something else, something deeper. he takes a step back, as if he's about to leave, but then he hesitates. "i - i have to tell you something," he blurts out, his words coming out in a rush. "i like you. like a lot. like i think i love you? and i know it might be weird, and i don't want to mess things up, but I just had to say it - because i couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

he looks at you, his eyes full of emotions you can't quite decipher yet. you nod, urging him to continue, even though your own heart is racing. there's something in his gaze that makes you realize this isn't just any confession - this is something that's been building for a long time.

"i've liked you since we were kids," he says, almost breathlessly. "i mean, you were always the coolest person I knew. you didn't care what anyone else thought. you were smart and funny and just... so genuinely kind. i remember when we used to ride our bikes around the neighbourhood, and you'd always be the first one to try something new. like, remember when you climbed that huge tree in mr lawson's yard just because you wanted to see the view from the top? i thought you were so brave."

he chuckles softly, his gaze softening as he reminisces. "and then, when we got older, you were always there for me. when my parents split up, and i felt like everything was falling apart, you were the one who came over with a pizza and just listened. you didn't try to fix it; you just let me talk. that's something i've always loved about you. you're a great listener, and you care about people. like, really care."

he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes locking with yours. "it's not just that, though. It's the little things, too. the way you laugh at the dumbest of angela’s jokes, the way you get excited about your favorite books, and how you always know the right thing to say when I'm feeling down. you make everything feel... lighter, you know? like, even when things are tough, you find a way to make it better."

spencer pauses, his voice growing more earnest. "so yeah, i've um, been holding onto this for a while, and i just, couldn't keep pretending that i didn't feel this way. i like you - a lot. and i don't know if you feel the same way, but i just couldn't not tell you anymore."

he takes a step back, the tension in his shoulders indicating that he's prepared to leave if needed. "i don't want to make things weird between us. if you don't feel the same, that's okay. i just had to say it, because you're the best thing in my life, and i can't keep acting like you aren't."

his confession takes you by surprise, but as he speaks, you feel a surge of warmth in your chest. the words you were struggling to say are suddenly so clear, so obvious. you watch as he starts to turn away, his shoulders slumping in resignation. before he can take another step, you grab his arm and pull him back, your lips pressing against his in a gentle, yet desperate kiss.

he freezes for a moment, stunned by your sudden action, then his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. when you finally break the kiss, you look into his eyes, and there's no doubt, no hesitation.

"it's always been you," you whisper, your voice soft but sure. "you're my person, spencer."

he hugs you tightly, his grip firm and comforting, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. it's a perfect moment, one that feels like the beginning of something new, something beautiful.

and as you stand there in each other's embrace, you know that everything's going to be okay, because you have each other. and that's all that matters.

[everybodyshusband]

per aspera ad inferi ; chapter one

[aka: the university ghouls fic]

aeon & dew (ghost band)

general | gen | 1.7k words | alternate universe (university), transmasc aeon, slow burn, general domestic niceness

tagging @midnight-moth for the biscuit tin idea that makes an appearance in this chapter and also for cheering this au on <3 same goes for @divine-misfortune and @ghoultrifle, thank you for indulging me in my university ghouls rambles and adding to the brainrot <3 i hope this first chapter lives up to your expectations :)

snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

He smiles awkwardly and looks down at his lap. “Thanks, Mum…” He tightens his grip on the biscuit tin that’s resting on his knees. The two of them spent all of yesterday afternoon in the kitchen together baking batches upon batches of his favourite chocolate biscuits to take with him. The tin on his lap is filled to the brim but it’s barely half of what they made together, the rest are in a selection of reusable plastic containers, the idea being that once Aeon has eaten the biscuits he’ll be able to use the containers for storing things or bringing his own lunch to places instead of buying it. He takes the lid off of the tin on his lap and brings it to his nose, sniffing deeply. Chocolate. He’s sure over the next few weeks, he’ll come to associate the smell and taste of these biscuits with home and his mum but he doesn’t mind, there are much worse scents to associate with home, he reasons. He picks one of the biscuits up and silently offers it to his mum without looking away from the tin.

He doesn’t need to hear the smile in her voice to know that she’s glancing over at him briefly with that ever-knowing look in her eye. “Thank you, love. You should have one too, chase those nerves away with chocolate-y goodness.”

“I’m not nervous,” he lies, pointedly ignoring the weight of his mum’s gaze—the heaviness thankfully lessened due to the fact that she’s mostly focussing on the road. “...Okay fine, I’m a little nervous,” he admits, not that he needed to, given that the two of them already knew it, but it’s nice to speak the words out loud to an actual human for once. Up until now the only ‘person’ he’s admitted it to has been his favourite stuffed toy in the nights leading up to his departure, which, no matter how many different ways he thinks about, makes him feel ridiculously childish, despite the fact that he’s currently on his way to start university. He knows that lots of people his age and older still have stuffed animals and plushies of all varieties but he’s never met anyone that still talks to them in the way that he does. It doesn’t bother him much usually, but the fact that he’s going to be sharing a room with someone he’s never met before—someone who might judge him—is beginning to affect him more and more the closer he gets to campus.

“I can hear you thinking over there.” His mum’s voice breaks through the beginnings of his internal spiralling. “What’s going on, hun? Talk to me.”

“I’m just nervous about meeting my roommate,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing serious.”

[read the rest on ao3 !!]

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Guardian Angel

Chapter 8: Chocolate Coins

Summary: Things are looking up now. You are finally heading back to work at The Candy Bar, and you have taken a big step forward in your relationship with Wanda by meeting Billy and Tommy. Can anything bring you down today?

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I’m so excited! We’re headed for some angst and suspense in the coming chapters. I hope you enjoy this chapter! 

Guardian Angel Masterlist

“Are you sure you're ready?” Wanda asked cautiously. 

The redhead had dropped Billy and Tommy off at school and then came over to the compound to help you get ready for your first day back to work at The Candy Bar. 

“Sweetheart, we've talked about this. Helen and Bruce have cleared me: no more walking boot, no more sling. I completed the required month of physical therapy, and I feel good. I’m ready for this,” pulling an outfit out of your closet.

“Ugh…you’re right, you’re right,” flopping down onto the bed and covering her face with her hands.

You crawled onto the bed and lay beside her, still in your pajamas.

“Hey,” moving her hands away from her face. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m fighting fires or anything. I’m bagging candy and scooping ice cream all day.”

The redhead turned sideways to face you on the bed. “Just promise me you’ll listen to your body. Sit down if you need a break; if there’s something high on a shelf, let Harper get it.” 

You cut off her rambling with a gentle peck on the lips. 

“What was that for?” Wanda asked.

“It was the only way to get you to stop,” giggling at the redhead. 

After a hearty bowl of frosted flakes and a steaming cup of coffee, Wanda drove you to work. You hadn't figured out what to do about a new mode of transportation yet, as your car was totaled in the accident. Honestly, it was the last thing on your mind at this point. All you could do was take your recovery one step at a time, and the next step was to go back to work.

^*~*^

Walking into The Candy Bar after almost three months filled you with excitement and nostalgia. The familiar aroma of sweets filled your senses, and you couldn't help but tear up at the sight. You had kept in touch with Harper, your best friend and business partner, over Zoom and FaceTime, but you had promised yourself that you would return to the store only when you could walk back into it on your own. 

“Harper?” you called out.

“Surprise!” Harper shouted.

The lights flipped onto reveal your best friend holding one of your mini ice cream cakes in front of a banner behind the counter that read, Welcome Back, Y/N!

“Aww, this is so sweet, Harper,” walking over to hug her. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“Oh, Please! I don't want to hear another word. This is a triumphant return; of course, we will celebrate,” she said.

“Thank you so much. This means a lot to me.” You were so engrossed in hugging your best friend you almost forgot about the redhead standing beside you. “Oh, Wanda! Where are my manners?! Harper, this is Wanda Maximoff.” 

“Hi, wow. Harper Bailey,” shaking Wanda’s hand vigorously. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for, you know, the world,” still shaking her hand.

“You’re welcome,” Wanda giggled and looked over at you. 

“Okay, that’s enough, Harper,” you said, separating their hands. 

“Right! Um, I’ll go turn the closed sign to open,” she offered.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” Wanda said, taking in the space. 

You put on your Candy Bar apron and adjusted your name tag. It felt so lovely to be back in your work attire. You glanced at your watch. 

“Sweetheart, don’t you have a meeting with the team at 10:30?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. They won’t start without me,” she said, dismissing your question.

“Wanda, it's okay. Truly, you don’t need to hang around here all day. I’ll call you on my lunch break. Go, have a good day, and I’ll see you tonight,” you said.

Wanda sighed and walked toward you. “Okay,” placing her hands on your cheeks, “but if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me,” ending her speech with a kiss.

“I won’t. Bye, sweetheart,” you replied.

“Bye,” she said.

You watched the redhead leave. Just as you did the first time she walked into your shop. The feeling of Deja vu was mutual, as Wanda glanced back at you with one final wave as she walked out the door.

“Man, do you two got it bad,” Harper said as she joined you at your side.

“Shut up,” blushing at the thought. “I’ve waited three months to say this, Harper. Let’s go to work.”

*^~^*

Steve's voice jolted Wanda out of her daydream, and she quickly refocused her attention on him. "What do you think about running point from the compound on this upcoming mission?" he asked her. "It'll let you get your feet wet before you're out in the field again."

Wanda considered the proposal for a moment before nodding. "Sure, I'm up for it. Whatever you need."

"Great," Steve said, looking pleased. "I'll make sure to give you all the necessary details as soon as we have more information on movement from the targets."

Maria stood up from her seat at that moment, signaling the end of their meeting. "Thanks, everyone. Let's reconvene in two days to finalize the plan.”

As Wanda approached the door, Bucky stepped before her, blocking her path. 

"May I help you?" she inquired, puzzled.

"Okay, Wanda. What's going on?" Bucky asked, concerned.

Wanda tried to play it cool. "What do you mean?"

"You've never zoned out in the middle of a meeting before. What's on your mind?” The super soldier asked.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to dismiss the subject.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that," Bucky remarked, seeing right through her.

Wanda knew that Bucky had a knack for cutting through the bullshit. "Is it Billy and Tommy?"

"No, no, the boys are fine," she quickly dismissed the idea.

"Is it this mission?” He suggested. “I can understand why you might be hesitant. It's been a long time since you've been out there."

"It's not the mission," she replied, turning around and walking back to the conference table.

Bucky followed her. "Then what is it?"

"It's y/n's first day back at the Candy Bar, and I'm just worried about her, that's all," Wanda confessed, exhaling deeply.

Bucky smirked. "You realize our job is vastly more dangerous than hers, right?"

"Yes, it's just... This is a big step in her recovery, and the shop means so much to her. I want it to go well."

"She'll be fine," Bucky reassured her, wrapping his arms around her. "She'll be home before you know it. Plus, it's movie night. You know how Y/N loves a good movie."

Wanda relaxed into Bucky's embrace. The super soldier had become a trusted friend, especially since her return to the team.

"Ooh, shoot," Wanda said, glancing at the clock. "I have to go pick up the boys at school, and if I don't leave now, I'll be late."

Bucky nodded. "Thanks for listening, Buck. I'll see you later."

"Okay, see you later," watching her rush out the door. Despite his attempts to reassure her, he could sense that Wanda was still concerned.

*^~^*

“Thanks, and please come again," you said as you handed the customer her bag of candy and homemade chocolate chip cookie. "Phew," you added, wiping your brow with the back of your forearm.

“Are you okay?" Harper asked

"Yes, I'm fine. I just forgot what the afternoon rush was like,” you lamented.

"Why don't you take your lunch break now?” Harper offered. “I can handle things for a bit."

"No, that's not necessary. I can do it,” you insisted.

“I know you can,” Harper touched your shoulder, "I just don't want your girlfriend on my case for not making sure you're taking it easy."

You laughed and replied, "Okay, I'll take a break. But not because of my girlfriend, because I know my limits.”

“Of course you do,” Harper smiled.

You step out of the shop onto the quiet side street, craving fresh air. After munching on the delicious peanut butter sandwich and apple slices that Nat had lovingly packed for you, you take out your phone and dial Wanda's number. 

As soon as she picks up, you feel a wave of warmth washing over you. "Hey, sweetheart! I've been thinking about you all day. How's everything going down there?"

You smile to yourself, feeling grateful for having someone who cares about you so deeply. "It's going well," you reply, strolling back and forth. "I didn't realize how much I missed the shop until today. I'm on my lunch break right now. What are you up to?"

Wanda chuckles, and you can hear the sound of her kids playing in the background. "Just picked up the boys from school. They're supposed to be doing their homework, but I'm pretty sure they're playing rock, paper, scissors."

You laugh, feeling like you can picture the scene perfectly. "Why do I feel like I would be right there playing with them?" 

"Because you totally would," Wanda agrees, and you can't help but grin.

"I miss you," you confess, feeling a little pang in your chest. 

"I miss you too," Wanda says softly. "I can't wait to see you in four hours and eighteen minutes."

You chuckle, happy to hear she's also keeping track of time. "You watching the clock too?"

"Maybe..." Wanda giggles, and you feel your heart swelling with love for this remarkable woman. 

Suddenly, you hear a commotion from inside the shop. Harper is calling you urgently. "Hang on a second, Wanda," you say, quickly moving the phone from your ear. 

"What is it?" you ask Harper, feeling your heart racing.

"There's a strange man in the shop," Harper whispers, looking at you with concern. 

You feel a chill run down your spine. "I gotta go, honey," you tell Wanda. "Harper needs me. I'll see you in a little bit."

"Okay, bye, y/n," Wanda says, her voice filled with concern at the abrupt departure.

"Bye," you say, ending the call and rushing back inside the shop to face whatever danger might be lurking there.

As you scanned the shop, you noticed a man standing near the candy with his back to you. He wore a black leather jacket, gloves, and a black baseball cap. You felt a little uneasy and were just about to call Wanda back to ask for help when he turned toward you. Your breath caught in your throat momentarily, but you immediately recognized the familiar face and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, for God’s sake! It’s okay, Harper,” you called out. “I know him. Bucky, what are you doing here?”

“Oh hey, y/n! Is this your shop? I didn’t realize...”

“Buck, what’s going on? Did Wanda send you down here? I was just on the phone with her. She sounded fine,” weaving through the rows of candy.

“Dear God, no,” Bucky said. “She has no idea I’m here. But you should’ve seen her during the team meeting this morning, y/n. So distracted with worry over you going back to work. I wanted to ease her mind a bit.”

“That’s very sweet, Bucky,” you said, patting him on the back. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

He nodded in agreement and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“You know, for an Avenger, I was expecting a more covert disguise,” you said with a smirk as you wiggled the bill of his hat. “Isn’t Tony in charge of ensuring you guys are badass in style?”

“I would rather take a bite out of brick than wear a superhero costume,” he chuckled.

You looked over your shoulder to see your best friend watching you with a look of confusion on her face.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Harper. You scared the crap out of her.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay. I should be getting back to work,” Bucky said, pointing towards the door.

“I thought this was work?” You asked

“More like freelancing,” he replied .

“Hmm, I see… You want some ice cream?” you asked, gesturing towards the ice cream display.

Bucky peered over your shoulder at the menu on the wall. “Do you have Pistachio?”

“I think I can scare up some Pistachio,” you giggled.

*^~^*

After a long day at work, Wanda showed up to pick you up and drove you back to the compound. Despite your insistence that you could call for a ride, she was determined to take you home. As you got into her car, you expressed gratitude and apologized for the inconvenience.

"Where are Billy and Tommy?" you asked. 

Wanda smiled and replied, "They're at the compound playing with Morgan. If you're up for it, I'd love to introduce you to them tonight. I know you've had a long day back, and it's a school night, so we won't stay long," she reassured you, "but I would love for them to meet the woman who's making me so happy."

As you listened to Wanda speak, you felt a lump form in your throat and had to look away for a moment to compose yourself. You had longed for the day when Wanda would feel comfortable enough to introduce you to her sons, but you didn't want to push things too fast. You knew that they had already gone through so much pain and heartache in Westview after losing their father, and you didn't want to disrupt the new life that Wanda had worked so hard to build for them as a family of three. Despite your desires, you respected Wanda's boundaries and tried to be patient, hoping that one day, she would feel ready to take that step with you.

“Nothing would make me happier, Wanda,” you said.

*^~^*

As you stepped out of the elevator and into the common area, you were greeted by the comforting aroma of food cooking. You spotted Maria and Natasha moving about the kitchen, preparing dinner. The sound of sizzling and chopping filled the air, making your stomach growl with hunger. 

Maria noticed your arrival and greeted you, "Hey, y/n! How was your first day back at work?"

You placed your messenger bag on the counter and took a seat on the island, feeling the tiredness from the day setting in. "It was terrific," you replied, "I'm tired, but it's the good kind of tired. A successful day at the Candy Bar," you said.

Just then, Yelena walked into the kitchen with a bottle of Vodka and a shot glass. "Ah, perfect timing! The candy maker is home," she exclaimed.

Yelena explained that it was a team tradition to mark the occasion of someone recovering from an injury and returning to the field with a celebratory shot. Natasha quickly dismissed her sister's intention, saying that you didn't have to do it if you didn't want to.

But you liked the sound of it and picked up the glass, gesturing to Wanda. "To life," you said with a wink before downing the shot in one go.

Impressed, Yelena complimented you, "Congratulations, y/n. We're glad to have you here," patting you on the back as Wanda kissed you.

As you were chatting with Wanda, suddenly, you heard a commotion down the hall, and the next thing you knew, Morgan, Billy, and Tommy came running through the room.

“Careful!” Nat shouted as Tommy super-sped around the sofa.

“These must be the guests of honor,” you whispered to the redhead next to you. She just chuckled at your statement.

“Boys, could you come here for a moment?” Wanda asked. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

The two sons stopped at their mom’s voice and approached you.

“Boys, I’d like you to meet y/n. Y/N, this is Billy and Tommy,” Wanda gestured to each of her sons.

“Hi, I’ve heard so much about both of you from your mom. It’s nice to meet you!” You said, shaking both of their hands.

“Hi,” they both said, a bit shyly.

“Remember the special candy bags you two got for birthdays?” Wanda said. “It was from y/n’s shop, The Candy Bar.”

“Wow, you own a candy shop? That’s so cool! So you get to eat candy all day?” Billy asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

“I did for the first couple of weeks after I opened the shop,” you explained, “but I always had a nasty stomachache.”

“Did you bring any candy with you?” Tommy asked, looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Tommy,” Wanda scolded.

“No, that’s alright. Hmmm,” you rubbed your hands together. “I think I might have something,” you said, reaching behind Tommy’s ear and pulling out a chocolate gold coin.

“Woah, cool!” Tommy exclaimed.

“I think you may have one back here as well,” you smirked, reaching behind Billy’s ear and pulling out another coin. “Oh, look at that, I was right!”

“Awesome!” Billy said.

“What do you say, boys?” Wanda reminded them.

“Thank you, Y/N!”

“Yeah, thank you, Y/N!”

“You're welcome, guys.”

“Can we go back to playing now, Mom?” Billy asked.

“You may,” Wanda smiled.

“Oh, and Morgan, come here for a second,” kneeling to the little Stark’s level. “Ah, there we go!” Reaching behind the girl’s ear and pulling out another gold coin.

“Thank you, Y/N!” Morgan gasped with joy.

“You’re welcome, honey,” you said, wrapping her in a hug.

All three kids ran off happily back toward Morgan’s room.

“That was a surprise,” Wanda said. “Since when are you a magician?”

“You don’t know everything about me yet,” you smirked, repeating the exact words she said on your first date. “It’s part of the magic that is me.”

“Ah, I see,” Wanda said, wrapping her arms lovingly around your neck. “Well, I can’t wait to see what other tricks you have up your sleeve.”

“I’m just getting started,” you winked, feeling a rush of affection for the redhead.

*^~^*

The day had been long and tiring, and you were looking forward to movie night with the rest of the team. After saying goodnight to Wanda and the boys, you joined the others in the living room, where they were bickering over which movie to watch. Kate and Clint couldn't agree on the genre, but eventually, they settled on an action movie that you weren't particularly interested in. You found a comfortable spot on the end of the sofa and snuggled up in your favorite fluffy blanket.

Tony was sitting next to you, reading the newspaper, one of the many things that intrigued you about him. The entire compound was futuristic and filled with state-of-the-art technology, but Tony still enjoyed the simplicity and controversy of the printed word.

As you watched the movie, a name on the newspaper's front page caught your eye. You asked Tony if you could see the paper, and he handed it to you. The headline read,

"Onyx Petroleum Company seeks permission to drill on remnant Sokovian soil. Y/F/N Y/L/N, Y/M/N Y/L/N to meet with Slovakia and the Czech Republic.

Your heart sank as you read those words. No matter how far you ran, your parents always found a way to return to your life in the most unexpected and disastrous ways. You tossed the paper aside, feeling troubled and uneasy.

"Excuse me, everyone," you said, standing up. "It's been a long day, and I'm pretty tired. I think I'll call it a night. Goodnight, all."

You walked towards your room, feeling the weight of the news on your shoulders. Tony was the only one who noticed the troubled look on your face. He picked up the newspaper and read the headline. His heart sank, and his blood boiled. Without saying a word, he got up and followed you to your room, determined to help however he could.

[mikage-rehoe]

A Bouquet of Red Roses (but make it a hundred)

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.7k

tags: post-timeskip, office au (office workers to lovers), mutual confession (is that even a thing? 🤔), Japanese honorifics are used, one cheesy chemistry pick-up line is used, LOTS AND LOTS OF RED ROSES!!!

a/n: dedicated to mami @quirrrky (ayiiiiiiiiiiieeeeee 😏♥️). Based on a request drabble by another Kuroo-simping moot @jotatetsuken from my old blog, rewrote and expanded it into a full-fledged fic. The original version’s been betaread by @krystalgaia, and this expanded version’s betaread by my fellow residents @unknownspecies @blackfire2013 @kenslilove at @enchantedforest-network—thank you 🙇🏻‍♀️ heart dividers by @cafekitsune 😘

Kisa’s General Taglist

RIIIIIIIIIIIING! “L/N-san speaking, yes! …yes? …a package for me? Hm… I don’t know… Hmm, mhm… I’ll receive it there at the lobby, thanks.” You placed the phone receiver back on its cradle, ending the call before quickly saving the worksheet you were doing on your computer.

“Going for a break, L/N-san?” Your co-worker Kuroo asked, face peeking from behind his cubicle across yours, his brown eyes looking curiously at your figure, while you shut down your computer and fish out your phone and wallet inside your bag before standing up.

You shook your head and grinned, fetching your coat from the back of your office chair and draped it around your shoulders. “Ah, no! Kikutani-san from the reception area just called, saying a delivered package of some sort that’s addressed to me came in, and I was to receive it at the lobby today.”

“‘Of some sort’, huh…,” he hummed, looking a bit perplexed. “I wonder what kind of package that is… Hope it’s not some weird stuff some random dude just sent it to you.”

You sighed vexingly. “Same here… though I don’t remember ordering some stuff online these past few weeks.” You started heading towards the double sliding doors, waving at Kuroo. “Kuroo-san, if someone asks for me while I’m away, please tell them I’ll be quick!”

He waved back, grinning softly. “Okay! Be careful on the way~” 

At the office lobby…

“...ah, L/N-san! Here are the papers you need to sign on for the package,” the senior receptionist, Kikutani, said while handing you a clipboard and pen. She rested her chin under her intertwining hands, pouting. “Lucky you, receiving such a sweet gift from your darling~ I’m envious!” She continued on rambling dramatically. “Ahhh~ when will the day of meeting my own Prince Charming finally come?”

You stopped midway through signing upon hearing her and turned to look at her. “Pardon?”

The receptionist then glanced sideways, which you followed suit, at a seemingly large bouquet of red roses sitting on the far right of the front desk, slightly obscuring the brass nameplate of the company’s logo on the wall.

“Wow… what a sight…,” a fellow employee who happened to pass by the lobby muttered, subtly taking a picture of the huge red-colored package from their phone’s camera. “Lucky~” A few other employees also followed suit.

“W-Wait a second, Kikutani-san… you don’t mean… these are mine? This whole bouquet of roses is mine?!” you blurted out in confusion, a faint blush blooming on your cheeks.

“Uh-huh,” Kikutani nodded in reply as she watched you pick up the card from the bouquet. “All ninety-nine red roses.”

You stopped yourself from opening the card and reading its contents, side-eyeing the senior receptionist. “Wait… how do you know they’re ninety-nine in total?”

She winked amusingly at you. “I counted them earlier while waiting for you to receive them.” You shook your head in disbelief as you gently opened the card that was attached to the bouquet and read: “‘Forget hydrogen. You’re my number one element ♡’” You softly chuckled at the cheesy chemistry pick-up line written on the card. Cute. Whoever wrote this knows their science stuff very well and how witty of them to incorporate it into a good pick-up line.

“You know, in the language of roses, even the number of roses have their profound meaning, too,” the receptionist said out of the blue. “Receiving a bouquet of ninety-nine red roses from a special someone means that they’ll love you until the day they die.” She added thoughtfully, “…it’ll be wonderful if you were to receive a hundred red roses, though.”

You gently felt the soft-rough texture of the petals with your fingertips, and hummed, “Is that so…?” But, if there are ninety-nine roses in the bouquet… where is the one-hundredth rose, if ever there is? you asked yourself.

You then looked at Kikutani in a nonplussed expression. “But, Kikutani-san, how can I receive such a beautiful and expensive bouquet when I don’t have a lover yet? Much less a suitor…”

The receptionist stood quiet for a few seconds, staring at you. “You haven’t?”

“Since birth,” you replied, nodding in embarrassment.

Kikutani blinked once before clearing her throat. “Oh Lord... I’m sorry I misunderstood, dear,” she apologized.

You quickly dismissed it, waving your hands in front. “Ah, no! It’s okay, Kikutani-san, you don’t have to apologize. It’s just… this is my first time receiving a bouquet of roses so I feel kind of overwhelmed for a bit,” you chuckled softly.

“Oooohhh~ L/N Y/N-chan from the IT Department getting a bouquet of ninety-nine red roses from a dashing secret admirer, huh? Pretty romantic, if you ask me~” she said in a singsong voice, before her eyes noticed something behind you and smiled sweetly. “Ah! Speaking of dashing…”

“Oya? What do we have here?” You jumped on your feet and turned around to see your ‘dashing’ co-worker approaching the front desk, practically surprising you.

“Eh? Kuroo-san, why… what are you doing here…?” you asked in puzzlement.

“‘Why,’ you ask…?” Your tall male co-worker with bedhead hair then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, avoiding your gaze. “I… I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all…,” he muttered; you failed to notice the faint red tinge coloring his cheeks as he said that.

“Ne, ne, Kuroo-san, did you hear?” The receptionist clapped her hands, drawing both your and Kuroo’s attention to her, and pointed her thumb at you. “L/N-san’s got a rich secret admirer and sent them a huge bouquet of red roses!”

You’re exaggerating a bit, Kikutani-san…, you thought, shaking your head.

Kuroo cocked his head on one side and looked at the card in your hands, feigning disinterest. “Uh-huh… a ‘secret admirer’, huh…”

You leaned your head into your hand and laughed, looking flustered at the thought. “Kikutani-san, even if there exists a ‘rich secret admirer’, I don’t know who would spend their money buying such an extravagant gift for me…”

“Hmm… I think I know of one—me,” he admitted, magically producing a single long-stemmed red rose from his hand, and gave it to you, smiling genuinely. You heard Kikutani gasp in the background and say, “A single red rose… it means ‘love at first sight’!”

You stared at Kuroo, your cheeks getting redder and redder, the beating of your heart pounding louder and louder.

“W-what’s the meaning of this, Kuroo-san?”

Earlier…

You started heading towards the double sliding doors, waving at Kuroo. “Kuroo-san, if someone asks for me while I’m away, please tell them I’ll be quick!”

He waved back, grinning softly. “Okay! Be careful on the way~” As soon as you were out of sight, he opened his cubicle drawer and carefully plucked something red from inside the drawer.

Kuroo stood up from his seat, took a deep breath and straightened himself up. “Good luck, me… you can do this!” he said to himself before heading out.

He opened his lips. “L/N-san, I like you… ever since the day you were assigned to our department months ago. When I first laid my eyes on you, I thought I was blown away with your cute looks, but then I also witnessed your adorable personality that’s uniquely you. You’re charming, sweet, kind and down-to-earth—good traits that I love about you.”

Suddenly, he gently placed his hand over your head and ruffled your hair a bit. “I also love your clumsy side, too…,” he added teasingly, pulling his hand before you swat him away.

“L/N Y/N, I’d be more than happy if you would go out on a date with me.” Kuroo held your hand and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss while looking sincerely at you. Then he began to panic and pulled his hand away from yours, his face a flushing red. “A-ah, sorry! Was my confession straightforward? Did it weird you out?”

You giggled and shook your head in reply. “No, you didn’t… and I would gladly accept your offer for a date with you!” you said, happily accepting the rose from him before placing it together with the other ninety-nine red roses. “I’m also glad you’ve confessed that you like me… because I like you, too, Kuroo-san.”

Both Kikutani and Kuroo were stunned at your sudden confession, with the latter asking: “…you like me, too?”

You shyly nodded in response. “…it was also a love at first sight for me. You’re really sweet and always helping me out! A true gentleman… Also you made me giggle with that cute chemistry one liner you wrote on the card.” You brought the card to your lips and chuckled softly. “I love it!”

Cute… you’re so damn cute… I swear to God you’re gonna be the death of me, L/N-san, a blushing Kuroo thought, quickly clutching his chest to stop his heart from beating past the normal rate.

“Ah! I don’t know if you remembered but… you helped me before, during my first month here…” You then pointed at a nearby snack vending machine, and smiled at Kuroo. “You know, the stuck bag of chips?”

“Eh!? Is that you?”

“Mhmm… I was so hungry at that time—I forgot to bring my bento from home—and I couldn’t get myself to go out to the nearest restaurant without sacrificing my precious lunch hour,” you said to him. “So, I resorted to buying some chips at the vending machine for lunch. But just as I dropped some coins and turned on the knob, it stuck between the coil mechanism and the glass wall…”

“…that’s why I found you teary-eyed and kneeling in front of the machine and pounding your fists on it,” Kuroo continued, reminiscing about that fateful encounter with you. “Then, I remembered kicking one side of the machine and you get to eat that bag of chips…”

“I was so happy that time, and I was going to thank you but you’ve already left. I forgot to ask for your name or from which department you were part of. So…” You and Kuroo continued to chat some more for a while in front of the reception desk.

“A hundred red roses—‘a gesture of commitment and supreme devotion’...,” the now ignored receptionist murmured, sighing dreamily as she looked at the both of you getting all shy and lovey-dovey in front of her, chatting away.

Bonus, a few minutes later:

“Shoot! I forgot to finish signing the receipt form for the bouquet earlier.”

“What?”

Likes are okay (but useless), reblogs are nice, reposts and plagiarism stuff are frowned upon 🥰 | ALL WORKS BY MIKAGE-REHOE © 2023

[bitchlessdino]

the situationship

Pairing: seokmin x afab!reader x roommate!wonwoo

Genre: smut

Word count: 4.6k

Tags: polycule, secret relationships, reader being told they’re pretty and beautiful, reader w/ breasts, degradation, face sitting, double penetration, anal play

author note: this was probably the longest thing I've ever written and i felt so happy hearing yall want a full length version of the headcanon. this is the followup to the headcannon "homie hopper" under Dokyeom's tab in my masterlist and per request to the people that enjoyed it. I will be tagging all of you hehe.

Taglist: @sluttymingyu @sluttywonwoo @huiranghaes @shmooooo @wonwussy @multi-kpop-fanfics @flowerwonu @httpswonwoosglasses @kooookie @just-here-to-read-01 @onlyseokmins

You swore that you were mere seconds away from throwing yourself on Seokmin the first time you met at a mutual friend’s birthday. You felt betrayed moments after finding out he was your roommate's best friend. That meant if you did decide to pursue Seokmin and things fell through, you’d have a common denominator haunting you. It wasn’t right, and you knew that. Yet two weeks ago, you felt like god himself was testing you when you found Seokmin right at your door one evening. 

You could feel your soul could pretty much leave your body the moment you drink in his sudden appearance. His wavy dark hair fell to his pretty, soft eyes, a relieved smile decorating his cheeks. “Y/n, right?”

Even with the simple way, he says your name, just–

“Right. Yeah. And you’re Seokmin.”

“Yeah,” a soft sigh leaves his lips, and you could’ve sworn a tinge of pink on his cheeks, “Is Wonwoo here? He said I could come by and just wait until he’s home to go out.”

That couldn’t have been right, you thought. He was supposed to be stuck working on an independent project and would be coming home for a while another day. You open your mouth to inform him but freeze, the words refuse to come out. Something was telling you that it was no coincidence that Seokmin decided to take the space of your roommate tonight. Instead, you tell him: 

“Yeah, okay. Come wait inside.”

Seokmin sets his stuff aside on the couch, tapping his lap with his fingertips and smiling at you politely. 

“Want a nightcap? I still have some coffee, or I could make tea?” You offer.

Seokmin nods. “Coffee sounds great.”

You went ahead to warm up some coffee you had brewed previously during the afternoon. In doing so, you subtly try observing Seokmin, who overtly does nothing, settling in quietly. You bring the half-full mugs to the coffee table where Seokmin decides to wait patiently and places one in front of him. He thanks you softly. He graciously accepts the mug and sips it, humming at it delightfully. “It’s very smooth.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream or anything, so I set it aside on the table.” You respond, immediately regretting how you started to overexplain.

He chuckles, drinking the coffee as is. “It’s delicious. You have good taste.”

You got slightly giddy. It was nice to hear someone sharing a common love for a good roast. “It’s a really nice brand from Brazil. It’s been a personal favorite lately.”

“I can see why. Do you enjoy making coffee? Wonwoo told me you were a barista but wanted to open up your own shop.”

“Yes! That's the goal.” You start giggling, cueing the butterflies taking place in the pit of Seokmin’s stomach.

This prompted you to go on a tangent of your caffeinated career goals, taking the man's questions as an invite. What Seokmin learned that night was how much you rambled without noticing, not that he minded. Hearing you go off and just talk about something you love was (1) refreshing because people thought of him to be the same so it was nice to have to listen to someone else, and (2) you were so cute with how your eyes lit up with every word and detail. He thought he could listen to you for hours, days even. Although that would be nice, stalling wouldn’t have done him any good.

“Can I be honest?”

“Sure,” you answer invitingly.

He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t here waiting for Wonwoo.”

Your bubbly exterior diminished, leaving a curious sternness. You cross your leg over the other, hands to either side, actively listening. You weren’t expecting that answer, nor were you surprised, however it was rather interesting to see Seokmin take the initiative.

Your head tilts to the side, peering at him more carefully. “Then why...it couldn’t have been to see me?”

He took a beat. “Yes, I actually did want to see you. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

You wanted to choose your words carefully, hoping your intentions would be evident between the lines. Your body veers towards him, your eyes glaze over him from top to bottom, noticing how casual but done up he actually looked: a plain white tee and a pair of cuffed jeans. Perhaps nothing to someone passing by, but seeing how the top hung around his collarbone loosely yet fitted up around his chest and lower torso, Seokmin didn’t seem like that sweet clueless guy after all, “No…I knew you were lying. I also knew Wonwoo wouldn’t be home tonight.”

He hums, softly scoffing in a way that just said ‘well what do we have here?’

“Does that bother you?”

The corners of his lips turn up in a relieved smile, eyes shifting to the shape of your lips, “Not in the slightest.”

He leans towards you, his hand reaching over to rest on the couch arm behind you. You catch Seokmin’s lips upon impact, initially cautious leaning away for any sign of hesitation. Your hand comes up behind his head and pushes it back on you, the warmth conjuring in your stomach was almost unlike anything you ever felt with someone else. You pull him closer, his body following to crawl over you. Your knees propped up on either side of him, Seokmin’s hips dip to match you, not showing any signs of leaving your side.

What preceded that night were things you wouldn’t dare let out an exhale of a breath. His hands stroke your sides as you ride him, their pressure digging into your flesh, falling to your ass that supports them satisfyingly in his big hands. Your moan his name blissfully, having him rut in you without the faintest clue how things have escalated this far so fast.

“You feel so good.” The sounds of your squelching fuel his stamina, sputtering your name, losing control of his impulses.

“Min, I’m gonna cum…”

He lets out a deep chuckle. “Well, we can’t have that yet.”

With the strength left in him, he lifts himself off the bed and pushes you down flat on your back, not pulling out even once. His legs bent at the knees, his hips buck into you, giving you the pleasantry of having him do some of the work this time. His hands take your legs to toss them over either of his shoulders. Your lower torso is lifted in the air but soon pushed down by the sheer force of his cock, twitching inside you, bottoming out. Your hands gripped the sheets underneath you.

Your mouth drops in amazement, following Seokmin’s euphoric voice gasping and groaning as he fills in the casing, a thrust to squeeze out every drop. He collapses on top of you, his mouth roughly taking yours as his hands stroke your sides. “You’re so, mmhp, fucking amazing.”

“Stay the night?” You offer in a soft voice.

Despite his pleasant smile, there’s hesitancy in his voice and he pulls away. “Really, are you sure? What about Wonwoo?”

Your eyes shoot up in realization. “Right, fuck. He’s supposed to come home sometime tomorrow morning.”

“How early?”

You shrug your bare shoulders. “I don’t know, like 9 or 10 am?”

A relieved smile presents Seokmin’s face. “Then I’ll leave around 8 am?”

You match his expression, “If you want, okay.”

“Okay.” His smile goes a little bigger.

“Okay.” As does yours.

He leaves around 8 am like he planned, of course not without a few rounds in before that, and hardly a trace of him is left behind. When Wonwoo comes back an hour or two later, he doesn’t question any events from last night. Your sexual rendezvous with your roommate’s best friend goes without a hitch.

Seokmin and you don’t define the relationship. Things were simply harmonious without it. Between sneaking around to have sex at either one of each other’s places or during one of those nights out together, it would’ve felt a lot of pressure to give this situatonship a label. Of course, there was something between you two that desire more than a fuck buddies situation, but you took what you could get.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that,” You could hear the thick nectar oozing out of his voice as he held your nude body in his arms.

You smile down at him, arousal seeping out of your warmth deliciously as it coated the lining of the condom dressing Seokmin’s length, squeezing around its girth and riding his lap. “I got a pretty damn great view myself.”

His chuckles tickle your skin, taking your arm to kiss you from your palm and gradually to your elbow, rocking his hips underneath you. Your moans are short and sweet, feeling how full he makes you feel. You are so close to where you are, calling his name, kissing his lips as if it is naturally where they belong. 

“Mh, cum–Seokmin, mmh.”

“Doing so good, baby. Cum all over co–”

“Hey Seokmin, Wonwoo’s here!”

Soonyoung, Seokmin’s roommate, warns him from the other side and you immediately hope over him to hide under the covers. He tucks you away from the door’s view and tries pulling on a shirt until his bedroom door opens. Wonwoo enters with his eyes on his phone about to open his mouth regarding something important until he sees Seokmin barely an arm in the shirt. 

The older man narrows his eyes at him, “uh, am I interrupting something?”

Seokmin rapidly blinks back at him, thinking of a response, “Uh, yeah can you like come back in an hour or s-something?”

“An hour, what takes an hour? What were you even doing?”

Seokmin tries scoffing nonchalantly, ultimately failing, “Nothing super important. Just, uh, mmm, m-masturbating?”

Even with an answer as outlandish from Seokmin, Wonwoo remains doubtful but doesn’t question his best friend as he backs away from the room and closes the door behind it. When the nude man checks for things to be clear, i.e. waiting for any more reception from the other end of the door and asking Soonyoung what the situation is in the living room via text message, he finally takes a breath of relief and looks underneath the covers for you inside. 

His smile still shines in the dark of the thick fabric and you melt underneath its warmth. “Hey, we might have to cut things short today. I’ll distract him by taking him out to lunch. Can you leave 5 minutes after we do?”

You nod understandingly, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry–”

“No, do not apologize, we knew what were getting into. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, still worried about leaving you behind.

You reassure him by pulling him into a deep kiss, caressing his tongue with your before, pushing him away, and rushing him out of the apartment as soon as you can. You were grateful for Wonwoo’s work schedule, it made your apartment available most of the time. There were those days you preferred his place to yours, forgetting to take into account that they are very close. This was one of those days that maybe it would’ve been better at your place.

It wasn’t as easy avoiding Wonwoo as you hoped it’d be. You found no fault in him, he’s a great roommate. He just had really poor timing sometimes, it almost felt on purpose on that point. Maybe that’s the guilt talking. 

“You’re so good at making my cock feel welcome, baby.” Your mouth is warm and tight around his girth, Seokmin moans feeling you hollow out your cheeks. 

Finally feeling like their alone, he gazes down at you with a sinister look in his eyes. Running his hands through your hair, the pads of his fingers going grip from your scalp. He feels your lips reach the base of his cock, seeing your head sink into his lap. “S-shit, you’re so–”

“What’s going on?”

You pull your mouth off Seokmin and avert your attention to the familiar man’s voice. You quickly match Seokmin’s panicked expression and gained as much distance as possible from him. The half-naked man quickly covers his raging boner that has met his dear friend's eyes. Wonwoo stares down from his spectacles to quickly drink in the situation, immediately forming his own conclusion. You draw attention to the situation as calmly and mild-mannered as you could. “Wonwoo, bud, I can explain.”

“It looks like you were sucking my best friend's dick.”

There was no better explanation than that. Seokmin, still pantless, inches over to his friend, awkwardly covering his half-flaccid cock, before trying to reconcile what’s left of this weird arrangement. “Wonwoo, I’m so—“

“Sorry? You should be.” Wonwoo drops his things to the ground, reaching for the top button of his dress shirt, and slowly peeling it away to reveal his skin. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

You couldn’t help but watch him finish all the way through, his name barely escaping your lips until you realized past the incredibly toned abs what Wonwoo was insinuating. Seokmin was confused, of course, he was. His best friend was undressing in front of him and his sexual partner. What was he supposed to think about this?

“It really sucks finding out that you both had all the fun, sneaking around my back. Seokmin out of anyone would’ve known how attracted I am to you.”

Your eyes shoot open over to the man in question, who warps a flustered smile. “We may have talked once or twice about it.”

“We both talked about if we’re given the opportunity to be in bed with you, we’d both take it. And to think that he’d have the balls to get a head start. Bastard.” Wonwoo’s hands grasp the top of his pants to slip them down to his ankles and kick them aside.

His hands instinctively hold on to the fullness of his rod over the fabric of his briefs, stroking himself as he slowly approaches you, who watches him like a kid with a new toy. 

You always considered Wonwoo an attractive man, but an even better roommate, having a situationship as you do currently with Seokmin was out of the question.

He bends down to your level and fingers at the oversized tee shirt you borrowed from Seokmin and follows the seams to its hem, “May I?”

You nod subconsciously before you realize that shirt is abandoned across the room and you’re entirely naked. Both men scan your body like it’s on display and Wonwoo tucks a hair behind your ear. “Seokmin was really keeping you for himself.”

“You started first when you waited until it was Mingyu’s birthday for them to meet me.” Seokmin retorts with sass.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind sharing time around. I have known them longer than you, and it looks like they don’t mind, don’t you y/n?”

Your throat was dry, shifting gazes from both the incredibly gorgeous men in front of you, asking for both your attention politely and mesmerizingly.

“I-I don’t, if I’m being honest. Seokmin?”

You turn to the man who was mentally prepared for one thing only to have a complete other. He watches Wonwoo’s hands trail over your body, watching what was exclusively his for some time only to have it be touched and admired by his own friend. He admits to himself it wasn’t entirely fair what he did to have you be his, but if he wasn’t going to do it, Wonwoo would’ve.

Then again, there was something exciting about seeing you overwhelmed with pleasure. There are some things he wishes he could do to make the experience more fulfilling for you. If this was what you wanted, who was he to say no?

“Alright, Wonwoo, how do you want to do this?”

A content smile spreads across Wonwoo’s face before looking back at you. “That’s up to, Y/n, of course.”

It was as if you walked into a wet dream. You were sinking your mouth over Seokmin’s length while Wonwoo’s length was prepping to be in the other end. Seokmin was relieved to see that pretty face of yours, wrapping your lips around him and taking him whole. “You take me so well.”

You hum contently around his girth, gaping open on the other end as Wonwoo caresses the shape of your ass. With his rubber-covered cock, the tip teases your entrance. Wonwoo licks his lips in anticipation, “Are you ready? Remember one tap for yes, two for no.”

You land one tap against the bed, giving him the okay, and Wonwoo wastes no time filling the absence of your warmth. You vibrate around Seokmin, allowing a groan to elicit from the man and he watches Wonwoo gain momentum inside of you. Wonwoo grips your hips in his hands slamming against you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head while your lips and hands lose your grip on Seokmin’s shaft. Seokmin proceeds to thrust himself in you, tugging your hair, regaining his sense of control. His mouth was watering seeing you being used.

“Shit, your mouth feels so fucking good. You like that? Me and Wonwoo taking you at the same time?”

A corner of Wonwoo’s lips tugs against his cheek, “I bet they do, what a good little slut.”

He picks up speed, having you practically gargle Seokmin in your mouth, dribbling your chin and down your neck in a mix of your drool and his precum. The sensation was riveting until Seokmin had to pull off of him, scared of coming too early. This was a race he did not plan on finishing first place.

Like clockwork, Wonwoo pulls you by the arm, pressing your sweaty back to his firm chest, meanwhile, Seokmin joins your lips together. The taste of himself on your tongue is admittedly exhilarating, he chuckles with a heavy breath against your lips, intensely sharing a gaze. “Good slut is right.”

You whimper, followed by a moan, Seokmin’s tongue pushes past your lips, entangling itself with the presence of yours, and reaches his hand down to find your wet clit. 

“Seok please, mmh, I can’t take it.”

“What? Is our little cockslut being needy? Wonwoo isn’t enough?”

You shake your head, “He’s s-so good, b-but, I want you t-too. P-please.”

A whine lingers in your voice, both men’s jaws dropping at its gorgeous resonance. Seokmin takes a look at his best friend, a devilish glut in his eyes. “How ‘bout it Wonwoo? Should we give them what we want? Or should we make them work for it a little more?”

Wonwoo’s breath tickles the back of your neck, teeth grazing your ear. “I think they can take a little more teasing, can’t you y/n?”

His voice sends shivers down your spine and you feel obligated to nod. He kisses your ear in thanks, his tongue tickling your ear lobe, “Good. Now, why don’t you let Seokmin pay you back by letting you use his face like a seat.”

A nerve in the younger man’s cock twitched at that suggestion, really grateful for Wonwoo’s presence at this point.

You quickly follow, asking Seokmin politely to make himself comfortable before you decide to. He nods willingly, laying himself at the head of the bed and pulling you along to take the next steps. You hover over his face, giving Seokmin a view of your pretty tits and flustered expression before he holds on to your thighs and lowers you to the latch of his lips. His nose immediately tickles your clit and tongue sampling your arousal.

“W-wow…”

A sense of pride settles in Seokmin’s stomach, feeling the instinctive jerk of his raw hips to follow. Wonwoo comes to your side, takes the side of your face in his hands, and attaches his lips to yours. In your half-open gaze, you see his glasses fog up as well falling to the lower bridge of his nose, causing you to bump into them repeatedly. His teeth gnash against your lips, tugging at them carnivorously before his tongue would play with yours, his hands finding home on your breasts.

You feel the tweak of his fingers, rolling your nubs in between as you grind into Seokmin’s mouth, unable to think of a response to what comes next out of Wonwoo’s mouth.

“Seokmin’s so lucky to know what your pussy tastes like. You’ll let me try next time won’t you?”

Babbling, brain scrambles from Seokmin’s skillful tongue, you opt for nodding, a rewarding kiss pressed in your lips in return.

“Good.”

You feel his hands squeeze the weight of your breasts in his hand and catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking and erecting it to its full size. “Your tits are so perfect. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you like this. Seeing you walk around with barely anything on sometimes, I almost lost it. If I knew you were such a little whore, I would’ve taken my chances sooner.”

You moan louder at Wonwoo’s voice, at the same time feeling Seokmin fucks your inside with his tongue faster, as if the impact of Wonwoo’s words were getting you both off.

“My only regret is I should’ve gotten to you first.”

You mewl, the heat of your body makes you lose balance. His handsome, kind face gazes up at you playing with your breasts, smiling charmingly, “You’re so pretty. Hey Seokmin. Where are we at making them cum?”

Seokmin takes his time pulling back for air before answering. “I think they’re ready. They’re so wet.”

“All thanks to you. Now, could you grab that lube from the bedside?”

The scene followed with Seokmin on his back with you on top of him. He would knock his cock at one entrance, while Wonwoo prepped and slicked the other. You kiss Seokmin feverishly, stalling for the imminent fullness you’re about to endure, and Wonwoo asks for your consent one last time.

“I’m ready, Wonwoo.”

The click of the cap follows, a chill sensation of the water-based lube hitting the crack of your ass, having you shudder on the man below you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Seokmin praises, fueling your ego with kisses as his hands grab either of your ass cheeks and spread them apart.

Wonwoo let the pressure of his fingers test you out, feeling your hole swallow tight around him, a foreign but gratifying feeling to enter your body. “Good, good. You’re taking it so well.”

“Mmh, Wonwoo, mmp…more…”

He snickers. “Already can’t get enough? Seokmin you go this.”

The younger man nods, taking his member out and easing it inside your wet slit, your body accepting him naturally like he was home. Wonwoo plays with your ass a little longer, matching the rhythm of Seokmin’s hip, and inches himself in between the divide between both yours and Seokmin’s legs.

The pump of Wonwoo’s digits stretches inside you, scissoring and adjusting to their form before he replaces it with his cock, easing it gradually to avoid any pain on your end. You take a sharp breath, feeling the length fill your insides in their entirety and soon enough you feel the insane feeling of both fat cocks pushing deep and gratifyingly inside you.

You scream out in pleasure, resting your forehead on Seokmin’s shoulder and doing nothing to contribute to the insane ecstasy running through your body as thick as blood. Seokmin clutches you by your ass, swatting a hand at either one between every fierce grip, muffling your moans in his kiss. “You want the neighbors to hear or something?”

Wonwoo chuckles within his grunts, “Can’t help yourself, can you, baby?”

You could hardly hear the words they were saying, both rods coming in and out of you with no uniform rhythm, just fucking the daylights out of you until mouth drooling thick strands down to Seokmin’s chest. “Mmp, so g-g-good…”

You claw up for the pillows behind Seokmin, digging your nails until you could feel the flesh of your palm through the fabric. You weren’t sure how long its been, from baring the Seokmins’s hands that sucks on the skin and texture of your breasts so hungrily and the clap of Wonwoo’s hands against your jiggling cheeks that bordered your stretched-out holes, you never felt any feeling like this. You fould feel the taste of iron on your tongue from bit your lips so hard, clenching for dear life or this pleasure wreck you that hardest it damn could; you wish it’s never end.

“God, I’m cum-ning. Can I? P-please…”

Seokmin looks over your shoulder at Wonwoo, who was drenched in his perspiration, visibly tired but not drained, nodding back with a smile that could light up pitch-black skies. Seokmin turns to you smiling reassuringly with his lips against yours, catching his breath. “Cum for us, beautiful. We wanna see it.”

Seokmin’s word was as good as any, your trained hips now losing their grace, involuntarily twitching your lower body,  and seeping your climax out on Seokmin’s sheets, helplessly faltering and losing strength when you’re finished. Wonwoo still pushes his last bar of stamina rutting inside you with Seokmin to follow. Simultaneously, they cum at the same time, exchanging gaze of pride, and pumping the last bit of their load in the condoms, over-stimulating you. Wonwoo kisses along your back, and Seokmin does the same with your cheeks, pushing sweat-drenched strands of hair away from your face.

You fall on your back against the bed as they pull out, both guys quickly disposing of their condoms and dressing to an appropriate level for a pair of friends that had sex with the same person. Seokmin is quick to help you clean up, getting a warm towel and letting it soak up the overflow of your orgasm, “I’ll run you a bath in a quick bit. We must've taken a lot out of you.”

Wonwoo watches the moment like a bystander, remembering briefly during the sex that there will be a next time but unsure if that would ever be the case. Seokmin looks over at you so kindly, treating you delicately with what seems to be like love in his eyes, thinking to himself, was there ever really a situation like this ever again?

“You’re really good to them.” Wonwoo comments.

“It's only natural when they give their all. Look how tired they are.”

You sip the water Wonwoo provided you earlier. “I’m okay, I’m okay, but thank you. The both of you. That was…incredible. Really.”

“It really was,” Wonwoo agrees, picking up the shirt he dismissed so easily coming across them initially, “Well, that was fun. I think I got my closure. I…I’m happy for, you guys. I’ll get going.”

The older man turns to leave until he hears one of their voices call out to him. He averts his attention from the familiar voice and meets eyes with Seokmin, who had the most welcoming smile he had ever seen on the man. 

“Look. This…We can’t just walk away from this like it never happened. With Y/n’s permission, we should all…do it again.”

Wonwoo’s eyes shock open in apparent shock, shock for Wonwoo that is, stunned that Seokmin would offer such an arrangement. “Wow. Uh, Seok, that’s really big of you, but you don’t have to do that, you know? I'm not trying to get in between this, whatever it is.”

“You wouldn’t,” you butt in, “I think this something we’d all be okay with. The choice is yours, Wonwoo.”

You pull yourself up from the bed to sit up, joining Seokmin’s side. “Please?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even considered the possibility of the offer. He did enjoy himself and Seokmin’s presence did not hinder any of it, on the contrary, made it more pleasurable. He looked at the eyes of the people closest to him, the sexual tension radiating off of them was indescribable and for some reason, they felt even more complete if they had them. With an idea so bizarre, so out of his comfort zone, he couldn’t help but agree more. There was no reason for him to say no.

“Okay, but no more sneaking around. I want all the details.”

Seokmin nods, a hint of relief on his face and yours, “Of course, welcome to our situationship, Wonwoo.”

[noxsoulmate]

💞 Through Thin Walls 💞

🏘 A Tarlos Neighbor AU 🏘

Ship: Tarlos | Fandom: 911 Lone Star Author: noxsoulmate | Podfic by: Juulna | Artist: kinkajou Read and listen on ao3 | View the art on ao3

Chapters: 2/2 | Complete Word Count: 18197 | Rating: Explicit | Warnings/Tags: alternate universe - neighbors, first meetings, 5+1 things, podfic, podfic & podficced works, podfic length: 2-2.5 hours, dorks in love, two person love triangle, falling in love, getting to know each other, getting together, idiots in love, love at first sight, kinda, cliche firefighter rescue, fluff, fluff and smut

Podfic created by the amazing @juuls

Art made by the wonderful @a-kinkajou

Created for the @pod-together event

Based on a prompt by the lovely @actuallysara

Summary:

“Hey, so please don’t freak out–” In the next moment, Carlos could hear a thud, followed by a curse, and he was pretty sure the guy had just hit his head somehow. Carlos winced in sympathy. “Sorry! Sorry, it’s just your neighbor here.” “Dude,” came the reply, the voice sounding rough, probably from all the crying. “Way to give a person a heart attack. Also, creepy much?” “My apologies. The walls here are basically paper with some paint slapped on. So uhm… noises are somewhat muffled but… not really, I guess.”

~*~

3 times Carlos only heard his neighbor’s voice, 2 times TK lusted over a certain officer, +1 time it all melted together.

OR: A Tarlos Neighbor AU

🏘 Read and/or listen on ao3 🏘

💞 and please leave lots of love on the wonderful art on ao3 💞

I cannot thank my team enough 🥰 @juuls, @a-kinkajou, this was such a wonderful experience!! thank you so much for putting up with me, tolerating my rambles and my writer's block, agreeing to switch fics when I panicked, and always cheering me on - and of course for the AMAZING podfic and art respectively that you two created for this fic. I truly hope this will only be the first of many projects we will work on together 😘

Sneak peek and more art under the cut:

one

When the first sniffles came through the wall, Carlos was startled, turning in his bed where he was cocooned in his blankets, book in hand, and in the process of winding down. It was his first night home after a week straight of night shifts and it was his goal to quickly get back into a normal sleep rhythm, even though he wasn’t remotely tired. 

The sniffling sound that very clearly came from the room adjacent to his didn’t help in that endeavor, setting all his senses on high alert right away.

As far as he knew, the apartment next to his had been empty for the last few months. Someone must’ve moved in during the week – which was entirely possible, seeing how Carlos hardly had any free minutes between his shifts, helping on the ranch for two days, and covering some extra shifts so Mitchell could visit her sick mom.

What little time he’d spent in his apartment, Carlos had been asleep. So yes, a new neighbor moving in without him noticing was actually quite possible. 

That didn’t explain the sniffles though which by now had turned into sobs that hardly sounded muffled. And why would they? His neighbor probably didn’t realize just how thin these walls were. Carlos certainly hadn’t suspected it when he first moved in – but quickly found out the hard way. His neighbor until a few months ago certainly had a thing for loud women… 

Contemplating what to do, Carlos tried to focus back on his book. It wasn’t his business why his new neighbor was sobbing so loudly. Or bawling his eyes out by the sound of it. Damn… 

Putting the book back down, Carlos closed his eyes for a moment. Two parts of himself were at war right now. The polite side, reminding him that it was not his place, that it would probably be embarrassing for the man to find out that Carlos could hear him; that it wasn’t nice to snoop in other people’s privacy. And then there was his protector side, wanting to make sure the man was okay. It didn’t sound like he was in direct danger or crying because he had hurt himself. But the tears still sounded so full of pain.

In the end, it was his compassionate side that won out, and putting the book aside he turned further in bed and moved closer to the wall. Clearing his throat, he spoke just above his normal volume.

“Hey, so please don’t freak out–”

💞🏘 Continue on ao3 🏘💞

Noxy’s Tagging List:

@detective-giggles, @sgirl18, @firstprince-history-huh, @beautifulhigh, @rangergurlgleek1211, @shadesofdeviant, @actuallysara, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @welcometololaland, @wtfuckevenknows, @lightningboltreader, @meditating-honey-badger, @just-inside-her, @alidravana, @morganaspendragonss, @bonheur-cafe, @heartstringsduet, @ravens-words, @lire-casander, @otter-love-asl, @ramblingdisaster73, @first-kanaphan, @xtltokio, @buckybarnesalways, @mangacat201, @catanisspicy, @lemonlyman-dotcom

[minimallyminnie]

Moonlight Sunrise

Summary: Vincent tells you how much he loves you and how he wants to stay with you.

Tags: Vincent/Gn Reader, mentions of others, hurt/comfort, mentions of bad parenting (Vincent), proposal, fluff, gender neutral reader!, spoilers for Vincent’s route, you traveled back with Vincent back to the mansion after that incident bc I can’t cope with Vin leaving Theo and William sniff sniff…., based off of Twice’s Moonlight Sunrise!!!

Just in case you’d wanna read it @azulashengrottospiano! Thank you for introducing the most greenest and sweetest person I’ve seen in romance games to me. I love my sunflower to bits <3

“I don’t quite understand this feeling yet.”

Vincent doesn’t know why this emotion makes his heart feel warm.

It doesn’t feel like it’s choking him but it’s similar to a warm embrace from his brother.

You gave him this feeling…But yet just like always when he’s with you

Everything he knows just disappears from his head.

“It’s overwhelming but yet if I let go of them, I feel cold. Empty again.”

He let go of you once. Pushed you into your own world.

And to that, Vincent brought you into his arms instead. Close and tight.

This emotion, his raw and unbridled love for you is so powerful and strange to him, but he would rather take it all in pride rather than let you go for a single moment.

Gods. How long has it been since he’s felt this much love from someone besides Theo?

“Their smile, their eyes, their lips, their hands, everything about them feels so…wonderful.”

Ever so gentle, he loves kissing you. It’s addictive and sweet.

With gentle strokes of his brush, he paints your eyes. The most delicate of touches as he tries and fails to portray how dazzling and comforting your eyes are to him. It could never match the real thing.

He loves it when your warm hands cup his face or when they’re intertwined with his. Stroking tears away, just pressing kisses on his face or just watching as his cheeks turn a pretty pink from you just touching him. Vincent loves it.

And lastly, your smile. Oh he could ramble for days and days on end about why he just adores it. Vincent had the honor to see your first genuine smile when you first came to the mansion. And ever since then, he relished in every sweet and warm honey like smile you have given him.

“They’ve given me everything. No matter what. Even…even their blood.”

The first time you bled, Vincent regretted it so so much of how he just…took from you. Drank from your thumb without your consent. Even if you said it was okay later on, he hated himself.

The second time though, he bit his lip and tried to simply bandage your wrist but then you raised it close to his lips. You told him to take and he was shocked but listened. He was so gentle with you.

Even when you had no injury, you offered him your blood any time he was hungry and he was elated to find out that you didn’t mind. You wanted him. You meant the world.

So anytime he’s hungry, instead of suppressing it using blanc, he goes to his amazing lover to be fed. At the end of his feeding, he licks your wound and just smiles dopily at you.

“Despite everything that I am, despite who I am, they love me to the moon and back.”

He gets his bad days sometimes. Where he feels trapped and stuck inside his head. Where he hears the striking sound of a sharp gunshot over and over again.

Days where he won’t come out of his room at all. Not even eating when Sebastian brings him food. Not even when Theo, Arthur, or even when William or Comte come with concern.

You know this. He’s still a living being with emotions. So you bring both of your plates up and just eat inside his room. No words are needed. Just your presence.

If he feels okay enough, he’ll sneak his head out from underneath his blanket and simply lay his head on your lap.

“Because despite everything,”

A certain memory strikes in his head as he remembers having a mental breakdown from being reminded of what his parents told him.

“They choose to look at me with stars and colors swirling in their beautiful eyes.”

You were next to him in seconds. Holding him as you guided him to an alleyway to kiss his tears away and be besides him even after he calmed down. He sniffled in your arms and was about to give an apology before you kissed him and assured him that you’d stay by his side.

“I am forever grateful and honored to have such an amazing significant other like them. I want to stay by their side, to be the one to comfort them as they do me.”

Vincent watched one day as you just bit down on your sobs as he was painting one day. He dropped his paintbrush and immediately kissed your head with ever so gentleness. He’ll listen to you if , or just wait in silence if you don’t want to talk about it in the moment. The blond wiped away your tears as they flowed down, let you laid on his chest as you bursted out in tears.

“Because I love them. I love them. I love them.”

You smile at him as you watched the starry night shine down on his beautiful features and warm ocean eyes. Leaning again the flowered gazebo.

For an entire day, he spent time with you, and you just adored that.

But why was he suddenly saying all of this? You didn’t not like it but what was all of this coming from?

“I want to make a wish. A wish to stay by their side forever until…not until our last breath, I want to stay by their side for eternity. For however long they want me by their side. I don’t even know if they’ll accept but…”

….Wait.

Hang on.

It can’t be.

Could it?

A sudden gust of wind went through the gazebo, blowing petals off their flowers inside. The moonlight shining individually on each velvety piece.

But all you saw was Vincent on his knee holding your hand.

“V-Vincent?”

“I’d like to ask them. To ask you my starlight, to marry me. To please stay by my side through all our hardships. Through everything no matter how light or heavy it is. Regardless of what you answer, I love you.”

Again, you took his breath away and his head over heels as you tackled him with a hug and teary eyes.

He fell for you all over again.

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 7: Candlelight

Summary: Ghost spends the night

Author's note: Before I do anything more, a special thank you to @onomatobooyah for mentioning my fic to someone else! When I got the notification that I was tagged in a comment I thought "Oh boy another p*rn bot" and cried for a good 5 minutes when I realized what it was 😭

word count: 4.4k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Next chapter is here!

Content Warning: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

Ghost stood under the stream of lukewarm water coming from the showerhead above his tilted head. Anymore cold and he might as well stand outside beneath the endless rain. He could hear a staccato cadence of footsteps climbing the stairs while he peeled off his rain-drenched clothes that clung to his skin, followed by the thud of a door closing. He felt confined in a house that provided ample distance and space for the both of them and her furry companion. Still, being able to hear her movements on the second floor made him feel like he was still too close.

-----

Andra came out of her own shower shivering. She had read that ice-cold shock baths help regulate the nervous system and, in some cases, improve a person’s anxiety levels. Well, she didn’t have a tub of ice to submerge herself in, so a shower on the coldest setting she could handle would have to do.

Still, the crewneck two sizes too big felt too tight against her skin, her sweatpants stuck to her legs and her toes felt numb from the cold. She sat at the edge of her bed for a few minutes while she warmed up and towel dried her hair. The swipe of Sammy’s tongue against Andra’s hand startled her out of her frazzled thoughts, and she gave Sammy a loving rub to the underside of her maw.

“Crap.” Andra realized Ghost’s jacket was leaving a damp spot on her duvet to the right of her. She got up, abandoning the towel on her chaise lounge and decided to take it downstairs to let it dry on the coat rack by the front door.

The stairs creaked with two different patterns of feet as she walked down in a pair of fuzzy, black socks, just in time to catch Ghost walking out of the bathroom.

There’s no way it went unnoticed with how her eyes practically did a pat down like she was airport security. He had more tattoos on his right leg, a sight only possible due to his basketball shorts. His gray PT shirt with the name ‘RILEY’ across his shoulder blades was just as tight on him as the sopping wet shirt he had on beforehand, all accompanied with his trademark skull balaclava.

Say something, for the love of all gods. “Was the water pressure okay?” Andra was ready for lightning to take her out. If a god exists, it’ll strike me down now.

His eyes squinted from a grin. “Solid.” Ghost reached out for the jacket draped over her arm. “I can take that for you.”

Andra looked down at it before handing it over. “I was going to hang it up so it could dry. Oh, did you happen to put your wet clothes in the wash? It’s behind the sliding door in the bathroom.” She was rambling at this point to diffuse the nerves knotting her stomach.

Ghost looked to the darkened bathroom. “No, I’ll go ahead and do that.”

“I’ll warm up some water on the kettle and grab us some food.” Andra walked past him and headed for the kitchen, Sammy in tow. Ghost’s heavy footsteps made his announcement, joining her in the kitchen. “Do you have any dietary restrictions? I have leftover pot roast from yesterday with some white rice.”

“No, I’ll have what you’re havin’.” Ghost opened the refrigerator door. “Is it this container?” He pointed to the big plastic Tupperware container on the second shelf.

Andra glanced over. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about it, you can sit down and give your feet a rest.”

“Let me do something, doll.” Ghost shut the fridge door and started searching cabinets. There he goes again calling her that; a heat simmered in her lower belly from the way he said it. Andra crouched down to the cabinet in front of her and pulled out a pot. “Here, you can reheat it in here.”

The two of them prepared the leftover meal together, working in tandem as Ghost explores the layout of the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and let out a breathy chuckle. “You have every kind of tea imaginable in here.”

“I like having variety.” Andra reaches for the box labeled with the flavor honey vanilla chamomile. “Take your pick.”

With the kettle boiling, Andra retrieves two mugs, plopping her tea bag in one of them with the string hanging off the side. Ghost reaches for the kettle before she can and pours for both of them.

He was close enough for Andra to detect the scent of his bodywash. The kitchen had never felt smaller before.

“Storm’s bad enough out there to cause a power outage.” Ghost broke the palpable silence as he peered out the window above the kitchen sink. There was still a lightning show going on out there.

Andra started pulling out bowls and utensils for the food. “If it does, I have plenty of candles in the hallway closet.” She brought over the servings of pot roast to the little dinette set in the nook beside the kitchen. They sat down together across from one another, the sound of torrential rain waterfalling on the farmhouse overtaking the silence. It was enough to create its own background noise, like a sleep soundtrack Andra sometimes listens to.

At the same time, the two of them stretched out their legs beneath the table, and upon feeling one another, Ghost jolted back in retreat as if she was a bolt of lightning. They exchanged glances, their eyes communicating a non-verbal apology.

Andra shamefully watched Ghost fist the fabric of his balaclava at his neck and bring it up over his mouth, stopping at the tip of his nose. She had caught a glimpse of his face earlier in the day, but now she was taking in the features that have always been hidden from her.

Wholly chiseled jawline, batman… Andra dipped her head in an attempt to focus on the food in front of her, but her eyes flicked back up while he started to dig in. The parts of his face she could see had a five o-clock shadow of stubble ready to grow, will most likely be there by the morning, his chin was dimpled – gods, save her – and a white scar slashed through the right side of his mouth. There was another scar on the side of his left cheek that disappeared underneath the fabric of his mask.

Andra was no better than a Victorian-age man peeping his first ankle. No one’s facial movements and features have been so interesting before until now. She had to memorize what she could see in fear that it would be the first and last time she’d ever see any part of him again.

“Did you learn how to cook on your own?” Ghost asked, seemingly oblivious to Andra’s ogling eyes.

His timbre voice made Andra drop her spoon in her bowl with a clang as she looked away. The first instinct screamed at her to ask about his scars, but she was thankful for the opportunity to veer her thoughts away from anything other than his marble-carved jawline. “My grandmother when she was still alive, and my dad, and whatever recipes I find online.” Her jittery fingers recovered her fork from the bowl. “Do you cook?”

Ghost wipes his mouth with a napkin, muffling a laugh. “Hardly. I cook simple meals just to meet macros and protein intake, so it’s nice tasting something with flavor for once.”

Andra thought of something else as she swallowed her last bite. “You spent a lot of time in the chow hall, I’m assuming, when you were active duty?”

He sat up straight with a head tilt as his gaze focused elsewhere, recalling years and years of memories. “When I first joined the Royal Air Force, yeah. Then I trained to join the SAS boys, and when I was assigned to task forces, we would take turns cooking meals every evening. Soap - Johnny can’t cook for shit,” Andra smiled like she already knew that, “Gaz was the better one out of all of us.”

Her eyebrow twitched at the name; she heard Johnny talk about Gaz before, but it wasn’t coming to her. “Do you keep in touch with anyone else other than Johnny?”

“Yeah, a few of us catch up a few times outta the year when our schedules align.” His relaxed posture had Andra softly smiling. His legs had stretched out once more, accepting the gentle brush against her foot, then her leg.

She was doing something right today, and it was chasing away her own butterflies and the anxiety the storm had initially created. The thunder wasn’t as frequent, but the rain continued to trickle down the nearest window Andra could see.

Sammy was laying right beside Ghost’s chair, resting her empty head on her paws in a peaceful snooze.

The moment the both of them got up to start cleaning up, she got up as well and wagged her tail in hopes that she would be getting scraps. Ghost looked to Andra, mask concealing him once more, and reached out for her bowl. “I’m cleanin’ up.”

Ghost said it like a declaration that she was not going to change, so she bashfully handed her dish over. “Alright, baby, there’s a little bit left for you.” She scraped the bottom of the pot into Sammy’s dog bowl, her tail smacking Andra’s foot with rapid speed as she sat patiently. “Go ahead.”

Sammy helped herself while Andra brought the last dirty dish to the sink where Ghost was scrubbing at the bowls and tea mugs. The evening was still young; Andra racked her mind for an idea of what they should do with the rest of their time before going to sleep.

After cleaning up, they all relocated to the living room. Ghost paced leisurely around the walkways of the room. He was observing the Halloween decorations adorning the walls, the shelves, and the coffee table. “You’re ready for the holiday, I see.”

“Where people decorate for Christmas right at the beginning of November, I decorate for Halloween on August first.” It was Andra’s tradition, one that she never had the pleasure of showing to others since there weren’t opportunities for hosting at her house. “I hit the costume stores as soon as they open every year, and whatever I find is added to my obscene amount of Halloween decorations I have.”

Ghost picked up the skull-shaped amethyst crystal on one of the shelves, weighing it in his palm. “You could take someone out with this, Christ.” Ghost gently placed it back down and walked back to where he left his bag sitting beside the couch. He picked it up and started rummaging through it. “I threw our books in here before running inside.

Andra’s eyes lit up and accepted the book Ghost chose from his warm hands. “I’m glad you did! I wanted to start reading it tonight.” In truth, she couldn’t think of anything better than buddy reading with Ghost. Yeah, her weekend evenings were a riot.

Ghost sat on one end of the couch, Sammy sat beside him and did two twirls before plopping down. Andra took up the opposite side, curling her legs beneath her and placed a torch light she pulled out of a utility drawer from the kitchen in case the lights did happen to go out. She opened the book up to the author’s note page.

Changes were made to the text in order to protect the work of a unit which continues to play a key role in the fight against terrorism.

“Oh shit.” Andra whispered to herself. Ghost picked an anecdotal story. She looked at the front cover once more to see the author’s name to keep it in the forefront of her thoughts while she reads.

Ghost shifted on the couch cushions, making himself comfortable as he held the book in one hand, his thumb splaying the pages apart. The fabric of his mask made it difficult for Andra to get a peek at his expression, but from what she could tell he was settling into the read as much as she was about to.

They read for what felt like a few hours. Andra shifted every now and then to try and find a new position to get comfortable, as all readers do. Ghost was as still as a statue, the only movement from him was the flip of a page every few minutes. Andra tried peering over to see where he was in the story, only catching a glimpse of the page number if she squinted ever so. A furry German Shepherd was keeping her from getting any closer. Sammy even had the audacity to perch her head on Ghost’s thigh.

Girl, if you only knew how lucky you are.

It’s like her canine companion knew her thoughts; her tail started to tickle Andra’s arm with its little flutters.

With Ghost’s free hand, he rubbed Sammy’s coat along her side before resting his arm on the back of the couch, his hand sitting right behind Andra’s head.

She rolled her lips between her teeth and inhaled through her nose. What were the last three paragraphs about? She retained nothing, even though she swore she read the same sentence three times over.

VRRT-VRRT. Andra’s phone vibrated against the wooden top of the coffee table. Her face immediately heated when she saw who the message was from. On a social media messenger no less since anyone overseas could only communicate with her that way.

Isabella: Andrew made bail, we don’t need your help.

Andra couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. Her eyes traveled to the time in the upper lefthand corner of the screen. “Hey, it’s already eight.” She turned her head to look at Ghost, and Sammy crawled off the couch with a big stretch. “I usually go to bed in the next thirty minutes, want me to set up the pullout couch for you?”

Ghost was about to dog ear the page he left off on, but Andra quickly handed him one of her bookmarks that sat on her coffee table for instances like these. She knew this would come in handy. He slid the bookmark between the pages and set the book on top of hers. “Sure, I’ll move the table aside.”

Andra got up and shuffled to the hallway closet to retrieve the spare pillow and blanket for her guests. She could hear the scuffing movement of the coffee table being moved across the floor. As she was closing the door, Ghost came to retrieve the items in her hands when the lights began to flicker. Then completely went out.

A flash of lightning lit up the entire house for half a second.

The shatter of breaking glass was loud in her ears.

It had both of them dropping to the floor, a hand muffled the scream Andra let out. Sammy barked in a panic, rushing to Andra and Ghost. She breathed heavily from her nose, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. The onset of hyperventilation.

Ghost’s soft shushes got through to her, his hand moved from her mouth and brushed her hair. “Stay here.”

Andra could feel an absence in front of her; Ghost wasn’t there anymore, but Sammy was beside her, licking her to calm both of them down.

She could hear the sound of a zipper being pulled, the rustle of Ghost removing something from his bag. A weapon? A gun? It made the most sense in her mind. Another flash of lightning went off, long enough for her to see Ghost crouched in front of the couch, a pistol in one hand and a torch crossed over in the other. A soldier – no, a warrior - taking stance like he’s never forgotten his days and nights in service.

A wave of security washed over her. She was coming down from the fear and anxiety, her mind beginning to rationalize that she was safe from whatever had happened.

Was there something out there? No, it was just the force of lightning that broke the window, wasn’t it? She was in the safety of her farmhouse, where no one could possibly get to them. The road was obstructed by a fallen tree.

The light of Ghost’s torch startled her. His pistol was pointed downwards to the ground, finger away from the trigger. “A rock broke through your kitchen window.”

A rock? Andra got up onto her feet, the closer she got to Ghost the clearer she could see him. His shirt was a darker shade of gray, as if it got wet. He went outside. Shit… she didn’t even hear his movements, or the door opening.

“How big of a rock are we talking about?” Ghost led her to the kitchen. It had to be pretty fucking big for it to have –

Wholly shit.

It was about as big as half of a brick. The kind of rock that people throw into windows with notes attached to them to let them know they were on someone’s list. Her eyes bugged wide.

“The storm picked that up?” Andra was trying to rationalize it in her head. Or maybe a strike of lighting hit the ground and sent it flying into her window…

Ghost shook his head. “There’s no way. It’s got weight to it.” He stepped around the broken glass and kicked it, sending it sliding across the tiled floor. It hit the wall beside the back door a little harder than she expected.

She let out a nervous scoff. “No one would be crazy enough to be out in this storm just to be pulling pranks, especially all the way out here. Even so, the road’s blocked.”

His silence brought her no reassurance. He started to look for something to patch up the window, the torch sitting on the table facing up to light up the room. He pulled out one of her kitchen trash bags and used a pocketknife to cut down its seams. “That won’t stop someone from getting out here.”

Andra wished he had just stayed quiet instead. “What are you trying to say?” Her heart was racing in her chest, and her fingertips tingled.

“Let’s get this covered first.” Ghost avoided her question and held the cut out bag up to the window. “We need to tape this.”

“Okay.” Andra pulled the roll of duct tape out of the utility drawer and started to unravel piece after piece. Once the makeshift cover was secured over the broken window, Andra started sweeping up the broken glass. It was a miracle none of the shards punctured her socks, still, to play it safe she discarded the pair into the bin with the dustpan of broken glass.

Andra lit a few candles in the living room to give them some light. Ghost sat there with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes reflecting a storm as ravenous as the one outside.

“Why do you think someone threw a rock into my window?” Andra sat on the edge of the coffee table.

He finally looked to her. “That day we went into the woods, I spotted a group’s worth of footprints off the beaten path we were on.”

She waited for him to continue his explanation, but it didn’t stop her from theorizing scenarios.

Ghost’s hands clenched into fists. “And lately, a car with stolen license plates have been driving down the road several times in the past few months.”

Her insides went cold, she was glad she was already sitting down. “Wait, you knew about this for months and now you’ve decided to tell me?”

His eyes softened with guilt. “I had every intention of telling you about the first incident at a later time, I just never got the chance –“

“Because you cut me off.”

The silence was so loud, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Yeah.”

Anger and something like betrayal was churning in her chest. It had her gnawing on the inside of her cheeks. She didn’t want to be angry with him, not after she just got him back. Her tongue swiped her lower lip to get rid of the dryness bothering her. “Do you suspect someone is after me? Or you?” She failed to hold back the implicating tone in her voice.

Andra was afraid to look away from Ghost’s stare, afraid that he was going to detect her fear. He was good, and it didn’t surprise her. Ghost straightened himself and rolled his shoulders, giving him an intimidating appearance. “Are you worried that someone might be after you?”

Fuck. Her mouth opened then closed once more before answering. “There were people who had beef with me, but they wouldn’t go out of their way to track me down.”

Andra felt like throwing up. It wasn’t a lie, she wouldn’t lie to Ghost. But what about him? He wasn’t being very forthcoming with her, either. In fact, he evaded her question and turned it back around on her. “I asked if you think someone was after you, and you didn’t answer.”

Now it was his turn to freeze up on her. His shoulders became tense. “I don’t know.”

Her eyebrows went up. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

Andra flinched. Regret glazed his eyes for how bitter that answer came out. Ghost sighed, bowing his head to avoid her wounded gaze. It wasn’t the first time she’s heard him shut down the conversation before, the first time being about his family. There was a wall between them when it came to his past, but his was far thicker and higher than hers.

She had no right pushing him for answers while she concealed her own secrets as well.

“I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”

Her heart ached. No, not again. He was distancing himself, but this time it was from pre-conceived notions that the both of them had no clue was true. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. Her words were stuck in her throat. So, she swallowed with a head nod and went upstairs.

-----

Andra snoozed her alarm twice. Sleep evaded her for majority of the night, and when she thought it finally came, the power came back on around three in the morning. With a disgruntled groan, she turned the lights off and laid in the dark of her room.

Now she was struggling to get out of bed with hardly any rest. She had to get ready; Johnny already sent his usual ‘on the way’ message, so he was going to be met with the obstacle of the fallen tree. She had thrown on a black and white flannel and an unwashed pair of jeans, brushed her teeth and threw her hair up in a tie.

The living room was empty by the time she came downstairs. The foldout couch was put away, the blanket folded neatly with the pillow sitting on top. She checked to see if the makeshift cover on the kitchen window held up through the night, and it did. She made a mental note to herself to call her insurance. Should she make a police report as well? It was probably a good idea to see if there were any signs of a person being out there first.

Ghost stuck to his word and was out of the house first thing.

-----

Something was off with Andra, Johnny could detect it in the way she forced a smile every time she talked to a customer. It faded once no one was around. She was quiet with him and shook her head with an unsatisfied sound coming from her when she checked her phone.

“You’re off today, lass.” Johnny started. “I figured after the evening you had with company, you would be a wee bit chipper.”

  “I guess Ghost didn’t tell you what happened.” She slipped her phone in her back pocket and sat in her foldout chair.

Johnny leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “No.”

She was avoiding his eyes. “The day at Lyme Park was really good. Everything was super nice until a rock went and shattered my window in the kitchen.”

His head tipped up and his eyes shut for a moment. “And he panicked, I’m assuming.”

“Well, we both did.” Andra explained. “It was kind of weird how the power went out and then the rock came through the window. But he texted me just now to let me know he called up someone to go repair it and he foot the bill for me.”

Johnny nodded his head. “Typical Simon.”

Andra rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Now I feel like he’s trying to push me away again because he thinks someone did it rather than some freak accident-“

“Wait, he told you that?” Johnny stood up straight, his hands falling to his sides.

“In so many words, yeah. Then he told me that someone has been through the woods of my property, and there’s been a vehicle with mismatched plates driving down our road.”

Johnny turned away from her and pretended to prep paper bags. “That’s a new one…”

There was a beat of silence before Andra grabbed his arm to turn him back to her. “You knew about the first incident?” Oh shit, she wasn’t happy about that.

He grimaced. “Sorry, lass. He did tell me to keep a lookout when I am there and when I’m with you at the market.”

She threw her hands up in disbelief, this time she gave him her back. “Unbelievable, you men.”

“Simon didn’t want you scared about something that might not be an issue,” Johnny tried to justify. “His PTSD tends to send him into overdrive at things like this.”

“Now there’s been a new incident to add onto the list, though.” Andra started to pack up her stall now that it was noon.

Johnny grabbed the chair in her hand to make her take pause to look at him. “These coincidences aren’t incidents, we have no proof of someone bothering either you or Simon. Don’t let his anxiety get to you, it’s gonna be fine.”

Her sad eyes locked onto him, telling him that she was just as shaken up as Simon probably is. And he wanted to know what has haunted her for her to remain that way.

----------

And that is the end of Act 1! Thank you to everyone that has stuck around with me so far, and thank you to my new readers that took a chance on my fic as well! I'm going to be taking a brief break from writing to avoid burning myself out again, it won't be as long as the last time. I do intend on posting a filler chapter like I was contemplating, but I do want to give myself some time away from the keyboard and enjoy other things.

I'll be seeing y'all again soon <3

[monstrouslyobsessed]

Concept : Reader is a shrine priestess and have a crush on the shrine priest. But he is so powerful that people made a contract with the snake demon. They let him eat the priest in exchange for not attacking the village. The priest tried to fight the snake, but he was defeated. The villagers cut off his arms, so the snake can eat him better. Reader tried to save him, but was locked away in the shrine. But the priest cursed the village and his fused with the snake making him a snake monster he killed all the villagers and cut off six arms to replace those he lost. And now he can claim his sweet shrine maiden all for himself. (Sorry if its quite long and detailed, do as you wish) Thanks! —anonymous

—a/n: alright, i’ll bite and do this one with my own take, but please add the source behind such suggestions next time lol this one is originally from the compilation manga ive read forever ago, Hachishaku Hachiwa Keraku Meguri (TW!!! under-age, noncon, horror, extremely dead dove!!!), specifically the 4th story. i…don’t recommend reading every story btw, some of them are very…yikes, but the 4th one is pretty good if you can get past a certain issue (namely, the mc’s vague age range). the main difference is that the monster is a woman and mc’s a guy.

if you want my personal recs, stick with reading 3rd (the statues, is okay), 4th (6-armed snake lady, fave if only because of the monster’s beautiful design and backstory but wished the mc would be someone older), and 5th (swamp-worm monster in the forest, warning, pregnancy/birthing is involved, is okay) story and ignore the rest. 2nd (the monster on the road) is okay, actually, but i hated the monster’s creepy old man design lol rest is just a big fat no to me for various reasons.

anyway….i rambled enough. i think…i might actually keep this character, even if he isn't entirely original and is (almost) literally the genderbent version from the manga. i actually envisioned him with dark-colored skin though. hm, so the setting might even be different! i’ll let yall decide~enjoy!

—tw / tags: gn reader, horror, gore, violence, imprisonment, neglect, implied multiple deaths, amputations, general yandere themes, sfw…ish

—featured character(s): 6-armed snake-god / cursed priest

You can hear the screaming in your ears, the horrible gut-wrenching shrieks heralding the arrival of death. The earth rumbled distantly beneath your feet, striking unspeakable fear in your cold veins, pounding your heart, and your empty stomach twisting with nausea. You shuddered and your voice came out weak, dehydrated, “N-no…”

Raking your throbbing nails down the wood, bloody raw from scratching and pounding on the chained door, you fell to your knees and bowed your head. You’ve warned them, that the demon would not accept the trade—or that the priest wouldn’t retaliate in some way. A choke erupted from your dusty throat at the vision of the priest you cherished so, so much flashed within your mind.

His warming smile and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, had transformed into something wrathful and malicious. His expression became one that spoke of murder, of dark, malevolent intent, as the hateful village men severed his arms and fed him into the yawning mouth of the snake-god. It wasn’t his cruel fate that had broken your heart and shattered it into pieces though.

The very moment before he disappeared into the slicked depth of the demon’s belly, the priest saw you and wore a horrified face. With blood tears running down his eyes, he interrupted his furious cursing with a soft whisper of your name. You remembered screaming through your tears and fighting against the fisted hands of burly men then, when the snake-god folded its mouth shut and swallowed him whole.

That was the last you’d seen of him and wept his name as the men dragged you from the forest clearing, satisfied that you were too weak to save the one they all feared.  

He shouldn’t have died fearing for you.

As they’d thrown you into the dilapidated shrine, you were numbed with fury and sorrow and shouted that the demon would hunger for their flesh once more, that the priest had cursed them all, when they slammed the door shut and leave you for the dead. Your pleas and cries grew hoarse as you screamed your grief to the sky. There was no reply, only jeers from the village in the distance, as if laughing about your foolishness, that you shouldn’t have fallen in love with the priest.

Their cruelty was beyond your comprehension

You had no idea how long time had passed, there was no light in this rotting shrine, not even a single peek of any warm sunlight or the moon’s soft glow. There was no water, for your throat ran dry and your skin tightened on your bones, and there was no food as your stomach stopped rumbling some time ago. The villagers intended to let you die alone, pitifully and bitterly alone.

It could’ve been days, it could’ve been weeks, when you rose your head from the coarse ground, confused.  Weakly, your hand reached towards the wooden door, and your calloused fingers traced around its edges, feeling along the rough surface and finding the raw marks you left behind, until they settled on a crook. Something familiar electrified the air, the sense of power pressed into your senses. You furrowed your brows—before fear sunk in your nerves once more.

The demon had returned to welt its hunger.

Screams followed and you remained in the shrine, with no more tears to shed. You couldn’t weep for the cruel men and your tongue was too dry for you to utter even a single prayer for the innocent children you once tended to. You bowed your head between your knees, but you were still alive.

You still knew fear, trembling with the desire to live.

Your hands were shaking wildly, but you forced them back into prayer as the screams continued unabated. The walls rattled with thunderous crashes. Louder and louder, until finally, after hours of agony, they stopped. Silence followed.

Only silence and the smell of blood, lingered. And an ominous feeling.

You slowly rose from your hunched position, your gaze fixed on the wooden door. The air had turned heavy with tension, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Something approached, quietly grinding the pebbles and dirt underfoot as it moved closer and closer.

Somehow, the walls started swaying and the sound of cracking timber reached your ears, rising above the deafening sounds of your heartbeats and your shuddering breathing. You clasped your hands into a prayer once more and begged the gods to answer, to spare you from the belly of the snake-god. Your prayers became desperate begging, for mercy.

As if in response to your prayer, the ceiling creaked and groaned and a low growl emanated from above. Your eyes widened, and you stumbled backward, barely catching yourself on a nearby pillar. The walls rumbled, and cracks began appearing along the floorboards.

Then, the light.

It cut into the pitch-black darkness you’d been trapped in for days and blinded you. Clasping your hands over your eyes, wincing in discomfort as if light burned you, something exploded overhead, shattering the roof tiles and raining tiny chunks onto your head. You flinched at the loud noise, shielding your face and ducking your head between your legs from any further danger.

As the crackling groan quietened, you remained still—half expecting the pain to cut into your skin and long teeth tearing into your brittle flesh. But, silence hangs thickly above into the air. As if in waiting for you to unveil your eyes to the world.

You hesitated, before slowly lifting your head, squinting and blinking against the light. When you adjusted to the brightness, you blinked and saw shadows. Shadows cast by a massive serpentine being coiling amidst the splinters and rocks littering the ground all around you, staring down at you with glowing golden eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat and you staggered forward, your arms reaching above your head, “—! You…you came back…?” Your words broke and dissolved into hiccupping sobs that shook your frail frame.

Long discolored arms distended from the being’s side, wrapping around you in a dangerous embrace. The priest’s pale face buried into the crook between your neck and shoulder, nuzzling into your dirt-caked hair and releasing a deep purr. Its body vibrated and you felt yourself being lifted from the ground. Your arms instinctively snaked themselves tighter around its thin neck, your cheek pressing against its strangely scaled skin, and you squeezed your eyes tightly shut. “Don’t leave me…please don’t leave me again…” You cried, with rivers of tears falling down your cheeks.

Tears you thought were completely dried out.

This was not the priest you remembered, his ashen body protruding from the mouth of the dead-eyed snake-god, his grin jarring with a smile too large for his handsome face, and having a few arms too many stitched to his sides. But as his fiery golden eyes warmed and his touches overly gentle on your skin, you knew. This was the same man you loved, the very man who never ceased to cherish you and always looked for ways to make you smile on bad days. Even after all this time. Even when everything else changed, he remained steadfast, loving, and kind.

—though, only to you, as he held you as if you were the most precious jewel in his world. Despite his loving gaze, he was dressed in the blood and guts of those he’d gleefully slaughtered for their slights against him, glimmering on his eternally long tail in the moonlight. Yes, he gripped your tiny body tighter to his emaciated body, all he’ll ever need is you.

—end

[alieinthemorning]

Melancholia [Avatar of Wrath | Satan]

Content: Hurt/Comfort, Self-Indulgent

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Despite what everyone thought

you got angry

really angry.

So angry that you ended up snapping at the brothers, stormed into your room and just started wrecking it.

Throwing things here and there.

Even to the point of throwing your D.D.D at your open door

that Satan was standing in.

“Woah there.” He said, catching the device with ease. “You might hurt someone.”

You glared at him. “Just because you feed off anger doesn’t give you the right to instigate mine.”

He sighed. “I’m not here to make things worse. I’m here to help.” He paused, holding out a hand. “If you’ll allow me.”

You stared at the open invitation for a moment before turning away as you crossed your arms. “Whatever.”

You could already feel the anger fizzling out.

Leaving you as a smoking fume of exhaust.

You barely registered Satan closing and locking your door, securing it with a binding spell. You counted the few footsteps it took for his long strides to meet you on the other side of the room. Then he was placing his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to your bed.

“No…room’s a…mess…” Ah. Talking had already become too much.

“We can deal with that after you’ve rested.” He gently maneuvered you, curled up against him with your head resting on his shoulder while he sat up against your many pillows, a book in one hand and the other tracing small patterns along your back.  

And then, he was reading to you.

Reminding you of a long forgotten warmth.

You soon succumbed to your fatigue

from your wrath

and from your melancholia.

You floated in and out of consciousness for a bit.

Hearing bits and pieces of Satan’s conversations with his brothers.

Assuring them that you were in good hands and to not disturb you.

Then he muttered a few incantations, ones to restore your room from before your outburst.

And then,

the soft lulls of his breathing.

Which pulled you back to sleep.

A beautifully dreamless sleep.  

Until you could sleep no more.

And you had to face your emotions.

“So…do you know what caused this?”

…

You either say it or you don’t.

Keep it buried in the deepest depths of your heart for the rest of your feeble life.

You bit your lip, tears already threatening to overflow. “...I think it was misplaced. I think the real reason was…is…the death of my father. The anniversary is coming up really soon.”

You knew that out of all the brothers’

Satan would have the least amount of understanding in this.

Hell, his father was his brother

or something.

And the brothers' creator…

Well they were still alive weren’t they?

The closest thing they had was Lilith, but Satan only had the remnants of Lucifer’s emotions to feed into his own regarding her, so—  

“I don’t understand.” He began, “The feeling of losing someone important. I’ve never had it happen to me. However, I can still sympathize. I felt your wrath, that emotion, no matter how misguided, was deeply rooted in pain and hurt.”

“It’s just—” Tears fell, you were quick to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I—”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling them away from your face, allowing the tears to fall freely.

“It’s okay to cry. You don’t need to hold back— You don’t have to be afraid to feel anymore.

"I’m here.”

I forgot how personal this one was lol

Context if you didn't read the original: I wrote this on the anniversary of my daddy's death: April 19th. It's been 14 years.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[progenycursed]

Hello! I love your comic and wanted thankyou for your great work. I always get super giddy when I see a new chapter (if you couldn't tell by my rambling tags)

Anyway, chapter 15 left me with a few questions. Could you elaborate on why the pure vessel isn't able to see other bugs emote? and when this is said: " The hollow knight. It's hollow" Who is speaking? And why does this convince the pale king?

Aww! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡ Thank you so much!! And I love rambling tags! Every time there is a reblog I read through them all. It always makes me so giddy to see people reacting in the tags! It makes me think of sitting in my room, then suddenly hearing muffled exclamations of joy from a few rooms down. Which makes it all the more glee inducing for me.

And I would love to elaborate! The reason the pure vessel can’t see/sense the emotions of other bugs, it entirely because the Pale King is blocking them. Which is also why the pure vessel can’t sense his emotions. That’s the reason he never lets them be around other bugs without himself being present. After several previous failed pure vessel attempts, he has come to a conclusion that many of them failed because the emotions of other bugs were tainting the vessels. The only people he is even remotely okay with being around the vessel without him, are bugs that can conceal their emotions like he can. Like Lurien, when he’s not flustered(chapter 8), and Relda(chapter 11).

For your second question, it requires some explanation. The Pale King was using his foresight ability to look into the future. Checking to see if the Hollow Knight plan will work. However! Void can ‘deny time,’ as one of the white palace lore tablets said, thus it has a nasty ability to mess with his foresight. That’s why when he was in his void lab, when he tried to look into the future, time lines were overlapping and obscured. And while it was clearer once he got far away from the void, he was still trying to look into the future of a void being. So it still wasn’t as clear as his normal foresight is. He has about as much information about the glimpse as we do. But he isn’t used to not being able to trust his visions 100%. So, instead of being smart and asking questions, he just believed it.

And I am going to control my can’t-shut-the-fuck-up-itis and not explain anymore, as this will be an important plot point later in the comic. ( ｡ •̀ ᴗ •́ ｡) One I am sooooo excited to get to!