#but! may that poor couple rest in peace

[wttt-dirus-work]

New episode

Not New York afraid weary of Canada lmao

Also, for the ones wondering; the rainbow bridge is the one in Niagara falls, separating Niagara Falls (the city) and Buffalo

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

[obsessedduh]

genre: smutty with a plotty.

cw: implied fem reader and sub simon. reader is a bit mean dumification, sexism (reader mocks simon for being a man and being 'weak') masochism (simon), sadism (reader), simon is a crybaby. loads of f-bombs. bit of a long one and may be loads of spelling mistakes, but bare with me, y'all 😭🙏🏾

side note: i'm such a shit writer that it makes me want to cry. ughhh, like i've some people smuts, and i'm so jealous, like, i'm so shit at writing it burns 😭😭

MDNI – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

dorky!gamerboy!simon with a slutty, popular, mean roommate.

he finds her so annoying, walking around in your dorm with those stupidly tight booty shorts that show the bottom half of your ass and those annoyingly tight tank tops that you wear that has your nipples poking through the fabric of them.

it's so aggravating because you get him hard in the matter of seconds and then you make him stumble of his words or make him blush like a fucking idiot.

and ohhh, don't even get him started when you bring guys over. it's so fucking irritating trying to study or play video games with a boner and having to listen to you stupid pornagraphic moans, it's so fucking distracting!

and on top of that, when he finishes studying and thinks he can finally go to bed in peace. wrong. the familiar buzzing noise he hears through the thin walls, and your moans are enough to make him go insane. he thinks his poor cock is on its last leg because of how many times he's had to jerk off.

he bets you're doing it on purpose at this point! trying to get him all riled up. trying to drive him nuts! i mean, what other reason is there?

also, your attitude is so bad. he could be telling you to do something, and you're already telling him to piss off. then it leads to an argument and blah blah blah.

you're honestly so fucking bitchy and it gets on his nerves.

today was no different! he was playing video games as per usual until you bursted into his room. you obviously startled him but he doesn't pay attention to you. just taking off his headset and letting it rest around his neck and still continuing to play his game, "don't you know how to fucking knock!?"

"whatever. get off your stupid game, it's your turn to do the dishes."

he groans and shifts around in his chair, so it spins to look at you, "i did them yester-..." as soon as he manages to look at you straight away, his eyes widen. you're stading in his doorway wearing a red lacey bra and a matching lacey red thong.

what kind of woman does this!? standing in front of her guy roommate, half-naked!? his eyes trace all over your body, your figure, and he can't help the blood rushing down south. he gulps and shifts his hands to block the serious boner he was having right now.

"why the fuck are you staring at me like that?"

"n-nothing..."

"whatever, you gonna wash the dishes or what?"

"s-sure... j-just give me a m-moment."

"aight cool. just hurry the fuck up, dork."

you leave him be and close the door and as soon as he hears the door click. his hands are already pulling down his sweatpants and fisting his aching hard cock, moving his hand up and down at an uneven pace, so desperate to cum. your name falling out his lips and filthy images of you clouded his mind.

meanwhile you were getting annoyed because he was taking way to long. you opened the door, "why the fu-..."

your eyes shoot open. he clearly didn't hear the door open or your voice. you grin as you watch him toy with himself, moaning your name. gosh, you never knew a man's moans could be so... addicting. you could already feel heat building in your core.

you watch simon fist his cock a couple more times before his cum drenches his hand and the chair under him. you grin and decide this is the time to speak up, "you enjoy yourself?"

simon felt his heart drop and he turned to look at you. his soft cock now going hard again by the sight of you. he let out a fit of sorry's and of course the dumbest like any man could say, 'it isn't what it looks like'.

"cut the bullshit, simon. you were jerking off, moaning my name. the fuck is it meant to look like?"

he looked away in shame and embarrassment. "and you know what makes it worse?"

he looks up at you, noticing the digested expression on your face. "your cock is getting hard again. you fucking pervert."

"i-i'm s-sor-... a-ah!!"

his eyes widened when your hand wraps around his cock. he let's out a groan when you pull the uncut foreskin down to see his angry leaking tip. "fucking disgusting. you're getting off by this!?"

blood rushes to simon's face and he let's out a croaky moan when your thumb traces across his tip, collecting his pre-cum. you slip your thumb into your mouth, the salty flavour lingering on your tongue. he watched you carefully, his breathy unsteady and his cock twitched a bit. "you're such a fucking pervert. you enjoying this, letting your roommate, your bully, play with your cock like this?"

he avoids your gaze causing you to dig your pretty, manicured nails into thigh, "answer me simon."

he lets out a pained groan and nods, "y-yes.."

you move hand to wrap his cock again and you begin jerking off his cock, his previous orgasm presenting as lube to help you guide your hand up and down his length. you watch as his head rolls back onto the of his gaming chair and his face contort into pleasure. you kiss your lips against his tip and he tenses up.

you grin, and you slip the head of his cock into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it and watch as simon's eyes close from the pleasure. you tongue teases the slit of his cock, taking pleasure in the salty taste of his pre-cum.

he groans and starts blabbering about how he's gonna cum. he opens his eyes to see your pretty half lidded eyes looking up at him through your lashes. you slip your mouth off his tip and pump his cock a lot quicker, hoping for more of his creamy white. instead you were met with loud groans and tiny droplets of cum. you look up at him again to see how breathy he was and you immediately start bursting out laughing.

"fuck me! you're so out of breathe and you only gave me, what, two, three fucking drops of cum? how embarrassing."

your laughter was humiliating enough, but now a whole sentence about it? he felt the heat rush up to his face in embarrassment, but what was then embarrassment was now lust.

he whines and watches as your tongue swirl around his tip again. tears building up his eyes from the sensitivity, and you slowly start taking him deeper into your mouth, and that's when waterworks come out. he wasn't fully crying, just a couple of tears from the painful pleasure, that's all.

you hear sniffles and sobs and you look up to see simon crying and you never felt so turned on in your life. how fucking cute. you take your mouth off of his cock and you give him the most smug grin ever. "are you fucking serious?! you're crying? oh my fucking god."

a full-blown laugh erupts from your lips. not again. he watches you slowly call down and stop laughing, and he notices something different about your expression. sure, lust was still there, but there was a tint of sadism there now. fuck. are you getting turned on by this!?

he doesn't even get the chance to say or think about it before you're already deepthroating him. he let's out a loud groan, tears leaking out of his eyes now. he can't help it, it feels so painfully good and the pleasures to much. you nose was nuzzled against his pubes and bop your head up and down and you are delighted to hear his pornagraphic moans and groabs and again as he cums. you were delivered with the same tiny droplets of cum.

you take your mouth off of his cock again, "fuck. the same orgasm from before how pathetic."

he couldn't even pay attention, too, out of this world to say or do anything. he was taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down but he let out a strained and choked moan to feel your wetness engulfing his cock. his eyes open and he looks down to see your pretty lacey red panties pushed to the side. he watches as your wet cunt slips his onto his cock with greed.

he groans at the feeling and he can't help the tears anymore. he doesn't care, he gives up, letting himself cry. his tears blur up his vision and he focuses on the feeling of your gorgeous warmth sucking his cock in until it was kissing your cervix. you slowly start bouncing on his cock and he's gone at this point.

eyes rolled to the back of his head and his head again resting against the head of his chair again. the chair creaks as you ride him. your moans being music to his ears. you place kisses all over his neck, smothering it in love bites and hickeys.

you feel his hands wrap around your waist, and you watch the state he's in. messy hair, eyes rolled to the back of his head, hickeys all over his neck. it's so fucking cute. "you're so fucking weak, what kind of man are you? a weak one at that. you're such a fucking crybaby."

you feel his cock twitch slightly at your words and you mouth shifts into a sadistic smirk, "you like that, getting called weak? a crybaby? a fucking man whore?"

you feel his cock twitch again, "f-fuck... you do... a-ah~... you do like that."

you feel your orgasm approaching and you pick up the speed. soon enough, you both have each other screaming each other's names. you squirting and simon finally delivering you that delicious creamy white you were so desperate for. you slowly slip off of his cock, your mixed orgasm now leaking onto the chair them the floor.

at this point, simon was so drained. his cock slowly going limp. his eyes start going droopy, tired from you two's sessions. his eyes closed and all his can remember is your soft lips against his then you saying,

"goodnight simon."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･*

extra side note: may or may not have gotten carried away 😔. um, please tell me if this was good because i feel as if i waffled way to hard😰 and that it's shit. i know it's probably gonna get barely any like as most of my post now but whatever. at least i tried 😛😛 also took me 2-3 fucking hours to do and it may not look like it but oh well, yolo. 😽

wanna know more about me —> here

masterlist —> here

[signedeclipse]

May I please request fluffy and nsfw headcanons hantengu ( and his other forms) with chubby fem s/o? Please and thank you.

Hantengu [X Reader]

In which Hantengu and his clones enjoy their s/o to their fullest.

Hantengu may be horrified, even of literally standing, but he will go to great lengths to make sure other demons don't even so much as know you exist

Think of a hidden away home where you are safe from nosey demon slayers, something he can easily protect from other of his kind and his enemies

The thought of you hurt just kills him, and he climbed the ranks a lot just by having the mindset of living for you

When you're alone, Hantengu is a very possessive person due to his jealousy and envy

He wants you to feel good, he wants to see you depend on him, he knows he could easily overpower you and dangles that over your head, albeit slightly unknowingly

He'll wrap you in his own silky clothes, just to praise your gorgeous body; lots of light scratch marks from his claws

Kind of a sugar daddy energy but he's lovely

Sekido despises his clones and other people, so he is happy just sitting in a room with you alone

You give him peace, and he loves when you'll run your hands through his hair or wash it for him because it helps ease his near permanent headache

You're soft and warm, unlike most the cold stone like individuals he meets, so he likes to rest his head on your chest

Behind closed doors? You know how some guys smack their s/o's ass when they walk by? He lightly zaps yours just to see you jump

Jealous/hate fucking is real with this one, but 10x worse than Hantengu

He wants to see hickeys the darkest they can get, he wants to see you clinging to him that your nails are breaking into his skin, he wants to protect and fuck you into the bed until you can't move

Karaku just adores seeing you fawn over his body

I mean, he mostly shows it off for you, and he loves feeling your fragile hands trace him all over

He doesn't purr but he makes little hissing noises as a way of showing he's happy and really relaxed

While he may be quite the kinky one, nothing beats having you sat on his lap cockwarming him

Seeing you get all flustered and embarrassed when you try to ride him while he stares straight at you only makes him harder

He loves his strength, because he knows no one else could treat you this good, he'd never let them

No, no he won't move his hips, if you want him so bad surely you can fuck yourself onto his cock, come on!

If you frustrate him enough, he'll pin your thighs down and fuck you so hard you'll lose your sight for a couple of minutes

Aizetsu really enjoys being all tangled up with you; he wants to have your arms linked, hands held, so on

He gets really silent once he has you defending him from any of the clones usual harassments, and appreciates you for seeing the good in him

In bed, he's the kind to 'pity' you with his words

"You poor thing, it feels so good you're crying...my poor weak girl can't handle it, can she?"

He'll be physically gentle with you, not much marking or bites, but he will overwhelm you until your eyes are so full of tears because he just loves seeing it

Urogi is just so sleepy with you what can I say

He expels so much energy flying, fighting, using his attack and bickering with his clones that once he's alone with you he just wants you to sleep with him

His wings are very strong but when new feathers come in he likes when you take the time to prune him and break the new feathers shells for him

Might smack you with his wing lightly because he thinks you make a funny noise when you get a face full of feathers

When he gets into a sort of 'heat', he just loves fucking you roughly, hell he will do it out in a wild if he's really feeling it, he wants to get dirty

Just wrap his wings around you so you're nice and snug against him, unable to crawl away as he feels you spasm on his cock for the nth time 

he is very light so it's a lot easier for you to overpower him but he doesn't mind introducing restraints if he needs to

Authors Note - I love Hantengu so much and I have really wanted to get my thoughts out on the clones because a lot of the things I see about them just don't rub me how I would like! Thank you for requesting and please enjoy, Anon!

[komoboko]

𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

ft: kokushibo Tsugikuni, douma hashibira, akaza soyama, demon!reader

I’ll probably make a pt 2 for the rest of the demons + the clones ! Banner by @mmadeinheavenn

# kokushibo ! ☆

KOKUSHIBO takes time to learn he adores you, he starts off with simple admiration. He attempts to convince himself he's just inspired by your talents, your strengths and your skills. He'll even attempt to train or spar with you as his body hopes to get close it you but his mind tries to deny it.

Surprisingly, Kokushibo can be the most self aware about his feelings, once he finally brushes off the denial stage he actually understand how he feels about you. He's been in love during his years as a human, he thinks he knows how to go about this.

Kokushibo is a very traditional man, his skills and knowledge of love are centuries old but he will still go about it the same way he does as a human. He'll watch from afar seeming to get to know you in silence before going after you face to face. He starts off as some sort of admirer of some sort, gifting you roses in secret seems to be his favorite tactic.

Once he's able to approach you face to face, he'll put up an act per say. Trying to get you to like his presence claiming Muzan wants him to train you, in reality he just wants to be close to you. Take in your presence until he finds the comfort into charming and courting you into adoring him as well.

# douma ! ☆

Poor people who are apart cult, because DOUMA is insufferable when he falls in love. While you can’t directly blame the demon as he never experienced such emotions. Even so, he annoys one to many people around him.

Douma ask one too many questions once he finally begins to feel something. His questions are oddly specific and he spits so many out like rapid fire. Some people may not even understand what he's trying to explain, as his descriptions are so abnormal. Don't be mad, he just has so many questions! He needs to know how he feels! He needs to know how he feels for you!!

"Is it normal to feel like the phrase where a certain insect is in your stomach?" or "What do i do when my cheeks rise above the 32 degrees Fahrenheit and become a shade of pink" once he saw a couple in his cult kiss and had bugged them with so many questions.. "what did you both just do with each other? Why do I yearn to do that with name as well?

he clings onto much more then he would originally. He complain once you have to go do missions and will try to accompany you no matter what. the only time you will get some peace is if muzan calls upon one of you. Even then he'll whine having to depart from each other even if its only for a couple of minutes. He's attached to you by the hip, at one point you're going to be annoyed by his antics. if the people in his cult are right about what he feels about you. Maybe being close to you will make you adore him?

# akaza ! ☆

At first AKAZA finds you as a nuisance. His mind tries to push you out of it but he can't help how you invade his thoughts and he can't get his mind off of you! It's not his fault your so intoxicating!

At first, he distances himself from you as he believes your the main problem. he's supposed to be focused on become the strongest and training himself to achieve his goal. he shouldn't be focused on the thought of being by your side and the chance to hold your hand! It's only then when he comes to his senses to realize he's fallen in love with you.

Once he realizes that distancing himself from you isn't the right way to go, he'll approach you.. slowly. It only starts from his commenting on your blood demon art, them commenting on your fighting skills. He even asks for inspiration or for guidance which is something he never say a word about around any other demon. It takes him a while to open up to you and actually begin to fluently have a conversation with you. Once he does get there, you've sure earned a place in his heart.

Douma bugs him about this, he never hears the end about it once the uppermoon knows. He'll pester Akaza about anything about you knowing it gets under his skin, he'll even go as far as to bother you about it. This only lands Douma a missing jaw and an embarrassed Akaza

[bisexual-apocalypse]

Stressful Situations

Hello! The fic below the cut was written by the lovely @suueeeeeee ! They messaged me asking if I would be willing to edit and post this for them and after reading this delightful fic I had to say yes!

To the 2 people who requested fics! They are in the works but may take a little longer as I'm leaving for the weekend! Thank you so much for the love and support y'all!!

It was yet another day, another rehearsal and another stressful session of Andrew and the band trying their best to make sure they’re all set for today’s concert.

Ever since (y/n) had started to accompany Andrew on tour, she’s been nothing but a delight in everyone’s eyes. She made sure they all ate, stayed hydrated, and well-rested and genuinely cared for them as if she was their mother.

She sat down on the side watching them with those eyes that said ‘I’m so fucking proud’. She enjoyed every part of this tour, everything about it made her happy. She loved Andrew and therefore watching him do what really makes him happy tickled her insides and made her all giddy.

She noticed how on edge he was today, and how he was taking it out on everyone else. She felt bad for everyone but she bad for him specifically. Poor lad’s been extremely tired and exhausted. Anyone would be the same if they’d been touring nonstop for almost 2 months now, and having to put so much energy into shows every couple of days.

She felt bad for Andrew but also for the band, they were trying their best but for some reason something was messed up every now and then which resulted in Andrew cursing loudly, not at anyone in particular but just out of frustration.

She sighed and got up, heading towards him. She placed a hand on his back, stroking it softly.

“Love, take it easy, don’t stress yourself much, it’ll be okay.”

She says with a soft smile attempting to comfort him and calm him down a little bit. She felt a vein was about to pop in his forehead and he’d get a headache from frowning so much. He looked up at her with a blank expression.

“(Y/n), please. The last thing I need is distractions. Don’t tell me what to do, we have shit to get done.”

He snapped at her and this was the first time within their 9 month relationship that he had done something like this. She was taken back a little. This attitude definitely was weird cause Andrew never behaved this way even in times he was stressed out the most. She gulped and nodded her head, fighting off the tears.

“Yes yes, of course. I apologize, ehm- I’ll just wait in one of the dressing rooms, sorry guys.”

She looks at them with a sad smile and Alex turns to Andrew with the angriest glare.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Alex spit at Andrew and slung off his guitar then followed her immediately. They weren’t particularly close but he appreciated her taking care of Andrew and of the whole band. The woman was sweet and kind and it hurt him to see Andrew speak to her that way. He ran after her and he could see her shoulders shaking which confirmed his thoughts that she was crying.

“(Y/n/n), wait.”

He calls for her by her nickname and places a hand on her shoulder. She turns around to look at him with teary eyes and a wet face. She wipes her eyes quickly and sniffs not wanting to seem weak or like a crybaby. He just takes her in for a hug.

“He didn’t mean it, you know he’s crazy about you, but he’s just stressed. It’s not an excuse though. You have every right to be upset just don’t take it to seriously, okay? I’ll kick his ass.”

She pulls back, chuckling a little then nods her head with a sigh.

“I know, Alex. I’m not upset with him, I’m just upset for him. He’s been so exhausted and it’s starting to take a toll on him. I’ll just give him some time. Maybe after tonight’s show he’ll feel a little less stressed.”

Alex blinks at her and wonders how the fuck someone could be this peaceful and kind. Now, Alex was 10x angrier with Andrew for hurting her feelings and he intended to give him a piece of his mind but after tonight’s show. He softly rubs her shoulder.

“Just go get yourself something to drink and don’t think about it much, I’m sure he’ll apologize in no time.”

She nodded and thanked Alex and walks away, but it was obvious she was still upset. He sighed and walked back to the main stage area to find Andrew still strumming the guitar with the same frown except it was now deeper. The tension was too thick and the vibes were really bad unlike how it would normally be. He picked up his guitar again and when Andrew noticed they started rehearsing again.

———————————————————-

One time while performing, Andrew finished his water bottle and he kept on looking around for someone to refill it for him but for some reason everyone was busy with technical difficulties going on so she took it upon herself to get him another water bottle. She didn’t think much of walking on stage as she just wanted to get Andrew his water cause poor thing’s vocal cords must’ve been screaming for help.

When she walked on stage, everyone was confused, including Andrew himself. She handed him the water bottle, took the empty one with a smile. His heart exploded at that moment and he instantly reached out and hugged her which caused her to blush deeply. He was openly hugging her in front of everyone, which was something she wasn’t used to, which also caused the fans to go crazy for that moment. After he let go, she ran backstage, but ever since that moment, (Y/n) made an appearance every concert when handing Andy his water bottle which was always thanked by a side hug.

Andrew was thinking to himself, would she do their ritual tonight even though he was a total ass towards her? He openly admitted to himself that he was mean and rude towards her, but his energy lately had been so low. He’s starting to get exhausted from the constant traveling and performing. Therefore, he decided to get her some flowers and take her out for dinner after they’re done with the show. However, he was upset at the fact that there’ll be no water bottle from her tonight which will get the fans talking and it’ll just create a hassle he’s in no mood for.

Much to his surprise, amidst his performance, he heard loud screams and cheers which confused until he felt someone place a water bottle down on the floor in front of him and he looked and saw his beautiful partner. She looked up at him with a tight smile then walked back. At this point, his heart exploded with so much love for that woman and his love for her grew a million times.

——————————————————-

The show was an absolute success, the vibes were very nice despite everything happening prior to the performance and everyone was happy with how everything came out.

Everyone was putting their things back in place and was making sure they’re all set to retire to their rooms to relax after a long, stressful and emotionally draining day.

Meanwhile, (y/n) was in the tour bus, packing a small backpack to spend the night in a hotel. She kept reminding herself that he never meant it and it was his tired mind talking but she just couldn’t accept the fact that someone spoke to her that way in front of the whole band. Had they been alone, she would have just ignored it, joked about it and teased him until he became less grumpy but the fact that he snapped at her like that, for some, reason felt humiliating.

She walked out of the tour bus when Alex was going in. He saw her bag then frowned.

“Where are you going? It’s late.”

He asked her, feeling genuinely worried. He started thinking the worst. Is she going to leave Andrew? Is she going to fly back to Dublin for a break? She was the one mostly keeping their times fun on this exhausting tour leg and particularly keeping Andrew’s strength to keep going despite the exhaustion.

She sighs, looking away, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m spending the night in the hotel around the corner, Alex. I don’t think I could be around Andrew tonight. I might say something I regret and make things worse.”

“Did you at least let him know?” He knows he can’t change her mind but he also thought this was a good solution cause as chill as they both seemed to be. When they get angry, they’re monsters.

“Well- that’s going to be your job. Don’t you dare tell him where I am, Alex. Just tell him I’m fine. Let me torture him a little.”

She grins evilly and Alex lets out a laugh. That was her typical behavior, managing to make fun and humor out of dark situations.

“Alright, but let me know when you check in and come back first thing in the morning.” He pulls her in for hug then lets her go before watching her walk away.

————————————————————

She got settled in and changed into her night shirt, getting into bed. She decided to scroll down through instagram for a little, seeing that Andrew posted snippets from today’s concert as he does every time. She liked them but it was obvious to her that he wasn’t really in his normal state. She pouted, starting to feel guilty for leaving him when he’s feeling like this. She was supposed to support him through everything and the first time he does something like this, she reacts like this? Then again, he was rude towards her in front of other people. Her mind was racing with thoughts and she was feeling as if she was drowning in this dilemma when she heard knocking at the door.

She curses to herself, knowing it’s probably Andrew, cause Alex couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Deep inside, she was hoping he’d come to her. When she peaked through the door, it indeed was the one and only Andre Hozier-Byrne. She sighs, opening the door and steps to the side, nodding for him to come inside.

He walks in silently and she sees the flowers in his hands. He got her Verbenas, her favorite. He clears his throat and hands them to her.

“Ehm- I got you these.”

Truth be told, he didn’t know what to say, as the situation was awkward and it was the first time they'd dealt with something like this. They both were really chill and peaceful, when they disagree about something they just leave it and agree to disagree without forcing their own views on each other or anything like that. They both always treated each other with respect whether they were alone or with other people. She accepts the flowers, placing them on the bed next to her where she sits as he takes a seat in front of her on the small sofa.

“Love, I’m incredibly sorry. I know what I did was wrong, but I’m just so down, exhausted. I don’t feel the best. I know that this isn’t an excuse and you have every right to be mad, but please, don’t leave me.”

She could hear the desperation in his voice and she looks at him, surprised.

“Andrew, are you insane? Why the fuck would I leave you? Yes, I’m upset. I understand your point, but still upset. For you to apologise and acknowledge your mistake is more than enough. It’d take much much more than this for me to leave you. You’re stuck with me.”

She grins, sitting next him and taking him into her arms. He cuddles against her, resting his head on her chest, enjoying the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair. This was the only thing he needed. To be alone with his beloved after a long day, wrapped around each other.

[maggisaaart]

Dr Pride (My SCP-963 Rewrite)

I’m still working on it. But here’s Dr. Pride. He’s the current doctor I use for my SCP (dnd) campaign! I’ve been crafting him for a couple months. I hope you all enjoy him.

(Here’s a written version in case you can’t see it due to low quality)

Name: J——- Pride

Security Clearance Level: 3

Current Assignment: Assistant to the Director

Profile: Dr. Pride is an eccentric French doctor who currently works at site-19. He is easily identified by his odd selection of t-shirts. An example would be A black shirt that says “Rest in Peace Princess Diana” with an image of famous actor Owen Wilson underneath the text. He may also have been seen wearing interesting pajama pants around the foundation.

J. Pride’s appearance is one of a black male in his mid to late 30s with long blackish-red tinted hair. His hair is usually kept in braids or dreads. His appearance, however, may change due to him being the holder of SCP-963. SCP-963 is engraved into Dr. Pride’s chest where his heart is located. The effect of SCP-963 is that he can take the form of any creature, person, or object that he has studied. However, whichever form he takes still behaves as a living being and can go through its life cycle. He is currently on his second life cycle.

[Audio Log 12/09/—]

Redacted: So Dr. Pride, how long have you been here at our foundation?

Dr. Pride: Been here since the 80’s baby! Just kidding, it’s only been 29 years. I got here around 1995 and was working alongside my parents for the longest time.

Redacted: your parents? I was informed one was a previous site director, yes?

Dr. Pride: Yep! My old man, poor old bastard, had it coming to him.

Redacted: …Excuse me?

Dr. Pride: What were we saying?

[stxrrynxghts]

Re-watching Mahabharat (6/?)

Not Karna being scandalized by Dury's adharmi talks

Yudhishthira's room is so pretty, but where is the bed? Where will he sleep? On the sofa?

Dhritarashtra is continuing the Kuruvanshi pratha of uncles manipulating their nephews

Sahadeva's sahadeva sense is working up again~~~~~

Sahadeva's wig is so fckin UGLY. Like my boy deserves better.

How to manipulate Yudi: just say "tum to dharm ke gyaata ho" and move on

I think Yudi knows that he is being manipulated.

"Jis ke putra jeevan kaal me hi mar jate hain uske jeevan me bhi nark aur mrityu ke pashchat bhi nark." YES. And Yudhishthira will be experiencing that feeling in some 20-30 years.

Oh God. Dhritarashtra is that one uncle who convinces you to name your share of property in his sons' name, because you are well settled and don't need it anymore.

Not Arjun and Sahadeva sneaking up on these two XD

Arjun pulling UNO reverse on Dhritarashtra heheheeeeee

I see. Arjun is doing Krishna's job before Krishna enters the picture. Then he will be a dumbass innocent lil sweetie for the rest of his life

Subhadra is such a dumb cutie

FINALLY. A room with a bed. I can die in peace now.

If only the makers had paid some attention to this couple T_T

Arjun has begun his dumb ways. This is the Arjun we know and love.

Arjun is an expert in household chores. EXCELLENT.

Arjun is a simpleton, hence proved. See what you have done. Poor Subhadra is in tears because of you.

Subhadra, you sneaky lil brat. I pity Balarama so much. He has to deal with two drama queen siblings daily.

Le Subhadra: a trip with Arjun? YAYYYYYYYYY PAWWRTYYYY

Ngl, this is one of my fav episodes in this show. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Krishna enters in this one.

No Kunti, there is no dharm in Dury's heart.

So....Kalyavan is a white male, going with the description?......

Arjun is having a laugh at Subhadra's expense, XD

oh GAWD. I am not prepared for this.

I can't believe that I will be simping over both Arjun and Krishna at the same time.

Arjun's earrings are so low quality. I swear I have seen so many like those for 50 Rs in Sarojini.

Arjun: tum swasth ho? Sweetie, I don't think she is fit or fine ATM.

Krishna has done a PhD in separating the water by putting his foot in it.

WHAT A GLORIOUS ENTRANCE. I am at a loss of words.

Not Krishna posing like a cool guy (as if he isn't jumping inside at the thought of meeting his mortal bestie for the first time.)

Arjun being awed by Krishna is their entire friendship summarized.

I didn't know that I needed to see Arjun with wet hair this badly.

That scene where baby Krishna collides with adult Krishna >>>>

Srsly, I feel so bad for him. Cons of being a God.

Honestly, Krishna's life has so many lessons to learn from. He knew how his loved ones would die, he had to abandon the people he loved, and yet he remained happy and loving through out all of this. He is seriously such a sweet and lovely God.

"Jagat me sabse sundar, Kaun Madhav?" "Mai Parth, aur kaun?" HAYYEEEEEEEEE

Arjun, that is THEEEE Rukmini's love letter you are laughing at :<<

Krishna broke the 4th wall, didn't he?

"Aur mai Madhav?" YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE GETTING INTO BOI

Yo Brihannala is such a cute shawty-

It seems as if Mahodaya has some questions about Brihannala's identity.

Krishna: I warned you don't blame me !!!!

Krishna sneakily taking aashirwaad from Rukmi for the first and last time in his life hehehe

How come Rukmi has no questions about KRISHNA touching the prasad? Only the bride and groom can touch it, no?

Damn Rukmi. You are such a fool.

Rukmini is so pretty *Sobs*

Arjun is going through severe existential crisis haha

YAASSSS KRISHNA SHAVE RUKMI'S HEAD-

what a joyride.

[inlovewithregencyera]

Elmsworth House, July 4th, 1818

After the proposal was made and the friends and family wished their congratulations to the new couple, the party migrated to the drawing room for some entertainment before the evening was concluded. Helena asked Aurelia to enchant their guests with her refined singing and musical talents. She was reluctant at first, mainly because she hadn't sung in front of Frederick in almost two years, but she did it anyway. As Aurelia's fingers gracefully danced on the harpsichord keys, the notes that escaped her lips left Frederick enchanted by the beauty of her angelic voice. It was like a melody had echoed through the chambers of his heart. All he could do was think of was their last summer spent together, as he tried to hold back tears from the bittersweet memories they shared.

♫♫♫!!!!

♪That now lie sleeping, softly, softly, now softly, softly lies sleeping♪

♪Sleep is a reconciling, a rest that peace begets♪

♪Doth not the sun rise smiling, when fair at evening he sets♪

♪Rest you then, rest, sad eyes♪

♪Melt not in weeping, while she lies sleeping♪

♪softly, softly, now softly, softly lies sleeping♪

*Loud applause*

Ashley: Lord Worthington?

Frederick: What, Mr. Ramsbury?

Ashley: I asked if you were alright-

Frederick: *sniffling* Why wouldn't I be?

Ashley: Well m'lord, it's just that your eyes are wateri-

Frederick: *wipes eyes* I have no idea what you were referring to Mr. Ramsbury.

Ashley: ....

Laurence: *whispering to himself* Dearest, sweetest angel, how come you've graced this earth with your talents along with my heart. For I know I can never have you-

As you belong to him.

Peregrine: Oh she's done excellent.

Helena: I know! Our dear niece has a voice that would make the angels in heaven weep.

Peregrine: And Lord Worthington...

Helena: *trying not to laugh* Oh hush old man!

Emma: Oh mama! How I wish I could sing like Lady Aurelia.

Elizabeth: You have other talents to make up for that my dear, do not fret. I'm sure your harp skills will have you married off by the end of May!

John: Don't say that.

Elizabeth: Oh John!

William: You should delight us next with your singing, my sweet Martha.

Martha: But I want to sit here and gaze at you and imagine our future together.

William: We'll have a nice little townhouse in the heart of Willowfax. But during the Summer, we shall move to a country house in Henford where our children can go and visit their grandparents every day.

Martha: Oh, how grand!

Patience: Grand indeed! *finishes wine glass in one gulp*

Ashley: My dear, that is your fifth glass! Shouldn't you retire the wine-

Patience: Only after I play my song!

Peregrine: Patience I'm not sure that is a good idea considering the state you're in. You can barely stand up straight.

Helena: Oh dear, please do listen to Mr. Ramsbury and your husband!

Patience: Oh but ma'am, my song will ease my nerves.

Ashley: Oh dear!

*Frederick starts rising from his seat*

Ashley: Oh dear cousin, please, take my seat. I believe I need to be up waiting for my poor wife in case she needs my assistance!

Frederick: *whispering* You sounded lovely.

Aurelia: *whispering* T-thank you.

Frederick: May I speak with you later tonight?

Aurelia: Yes, yes certainly.

Frederick: Meet me in the woods, behind the house once everyone is asleep. Bring Sarah, just in case someone sees us.

Aurelia: Alright.

This made Aurelia more anxious than usual as recurring memories came to her head once more. She and Frederick used to sneak out late during the Summer of 1816 when he was staying with their family at their summer home in Brindleton. They used to enjoy each other's company and stroll along the beach whilst holding hands. They of course could never be intimate or physical in public, as it was considered scandalous, so when they had time to themselves they would hold, and hug each other as long as they could. She had been craving his touch and embrace for the past two years, and truth be told, she still loved him. She never stopped loving him, and now that he was in her presence again she felt her love for him grow stronger than it had been once he was away.

♪♪♪

♪Did you not hear my lady, go down the garden singing♪

♪Blackbird and thrush were silent to hear the alleys ringing, oh saw YOU, not my lady, out in the garden there♪

♪Shaming the rose and lily, for she is twice as fair♪

William: Well she's slightly drunk, but this song is quite heartfelt! Her voice is exquisite, but nothing compared to your cousins.

Martha: Yes..indeed.

[the-genius-az]

Azula in this turns most of what she feels into anger, a quiet and cold anger, but anger nonetheless (she's taught that anger is what fuels firebending, and she needs to be the strongest firebender in history).

Azula is my blorbo, my little dragon, half of my fic ideas have her deeply traumatized, terribly injured or just actually dead.

Azula loses her pack, her destined mate and her cub. So she dresses up as the Kemurikage and basically goes out there taking orphan cubs and raising them with other people that lost as much as her. They're an unofficial pack (because neither her or the other alphas can claim a pack after their trauma), hurt adults taking care of children so these pups will never be hurt like them. See, I can make it heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time.

I'll send a different ask about the whole "Mai loves or doesn't love Azula" of this AU (and actually of all the AUs where Maizula is a thing but Mai still betrays her).

The Boiling Rock is the worst day in Azula's life, poor girl.

Here's the thing: it's as happy as I can give Azula in this context. Because she'll never be "normal", not with childhood trauma, war trauma, asylum trauma. She's inherently a tragic character, her happy ending can be bittersweet at best.

Mai is pretty hurt, but she can understand. She knows that Azula even giving her a chance is much, much more than what she deserves after the boiling rock. So then Azula marries her, is willing to have a couple of kids, be present and ask for nothing but the possibility of Mai not leaving her again. Despite her bad days, despite the past, Azula is a good parent, a good mate, and Mai is thankful that Azula is in her life.

The thing with Zuko is that even breaking the bond, there's still something there, deep down. Zuko was the first person Azula claimed, the first person she wanted to protect. She still loves Ozai, after everything. She still loves Zuko, after everything. It's unconditional, her love is unconditional. All you need to do is exist. And Zuko regrets for the rest of his life for not loving her the same way, for being the person that abandoned her pack twice and being the reason she's so closed to having a pack again.

Yes. In this Aang is the first to come around and understand what she feels, since he also lost his entire pack (I'm not sure what he is, but losing a pack does affect anyone). The circumstances are different, but it's the same sense of broken emptiness. They meditate together a lot, silently grieving together. Aang is the closest to someone she feels safe around. A less tragic version and they'd be platonic mates, bonding over loss and mutual peace.

(I just really like post-war Azula befriending Aang.)

My name's Ash with A of "Angst" ☺️

- Ash 🔥🍌

Azula is my blorbo, my little dragon, half of my fic ideas have her deeply traumatized, terribly injured or just actually dead.

I'm like you! I am the same! everyone can check it! 🎶

So she dresses up as the Kemurikage and basically goes out there taking orphan cubs and raising them with other people that lost as much as her.

I can already imagine the first time Mai saw her Alpha dressed as a kemurikage, maybe that was why they had a second puppy.

See, I can make it heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time.

I saw, shut up now. 🤧

Mai is pretty hurt, but she can understand. She knows that Azula even giving her a chance is much, much more than what she deserves after the boiling rock.

How did Mai feel when she saw how Azula accepted her again?

I bet in shock.

Despite her bad days, despite the past, Azula is a good parent, a good mate, and Mai is thankful that Azula is in her life.

What does Azula think of Mai? I know she loves him enough to accept him.

But I want to know about those good days, where both love each other regardless of the past.

After everything. It's unconditional, her love is unconditional. All you need to do is exist.

Ha! What does Iroh think about his niece and her OBVIOUS unconditional love that not even he and his beloved nephew have?

They meditate together a lot, silently grieving together. Aang is the closest to someone she feels safe around.

They meditate a lot together, they cry together in silence... they get drunk together while listening to bands, they almost get high on marijuana... it's difficult. 😮‍💨

A less tragic version and they'd be platonic mates, bonding over loss and mutual peace.

In this and that version Mai gets a little jealous, but she doesn't make a fuss because Aang is the other side of Azula's coin.

My name's Ash with A of "Angst" ☺️

Now I understand everything...Pay me for therapy, Ash! I'm not asking you, I'm ordering you!

I cried for two hours! and I wasted a lot of paper! My face hurts from crying so much, ash! 😭

[i05wook]

Hi sorry to bother you…but could you possibly do an nct dream scenario where the members really appreciate it when their s/o scratches their back? Preferably with extra fluff^^

Scratch my back?? - NCT Dream

pairing: bf! dreamies x gn! reader

genre: fluff, romance, established relationship au!

summary: the members really appreciate it when their s/o scratches their back.

wc: 848

author’s notes: Thank you so much anon for this request!! Requests like this never bother me!! If anyone had any requests I am more than happy to write them <3 I’m so sorry it took so long though, I was really suffering from writers block.

Lee Mark - 이마크

Sometime our Mark Lee has no filter, as soon as he feels an itchy sensation, he makes some sort of noise, which makes you very confused at first. It’s only when you see him, both arms behind his back, one over his shoulder, and one around the back of his waist, both aiming for the same goal: the middle of his shoulder blades. At this sight you can’t help but laugh at your silly little boyfriend. It was at the sound of your laughter that Mark turns around wondering what began your laughing fit, however the confused look on his face causes yet another fit of laughter to erupt from deep within your stomach. Once your laughter has calmed (only after seeing Mark pouting), you decided to finally help him scratch his back, before hugging him and kissing his still pouting lips.

Huang Renjun - 黄仁俊

Renjun loves lying face to face with you in bed ever since the start of your relationship. He loves brushing your hair out of the way and rubbing your nose with his hand, and even counting your freckles (if you have them). In return, one day you started to rub your nails gently up and down his back, and it was then he knew he was in love with you. It may have only been something small, but he loved it. To him, it felt almost romantic. However, the next time you lay face to face, you never did it, in fact you lay with your hands resting on the sides of his waist. He was so displeased that you weren’t giving him the attention he wanted that he stopped rubbing your nose, grabbed your hands and placed them at the top of his back, by his shoulder blades. He looked at you with his puppy dog eyes and asked for you to do what you did last time. Instantaneously, you let out a small chuckle before satisfying the poor boy.

Lee Jeno - 이제노

Jeno is so incredibly shy about asking his s/o to scratch his back, sometimes even shyer than Jisung and Mark put together. Even after months or years of you being in a relationship, he still gets somewhat flustered asking you to scratch his back. It’s definitely something he’d only ask though in the privacy of your own home, or away from anyone else, worried that the other boys may tease him over something so trivial.

Lee Donghyuck - 이동혁

Haechan ain’t got no shame. If his back is itchy he’ll tell you to scratch it. Even from the beginning of the relationship, he doesn’t care. His comfort is more important than any embarrassment that the others might have felt asking that question to their s/o. However, he doesn’t like asking you around the boys… he feels slightly weird that he enjoys the feeling of you soothing his itch, but he doesn’t want the boys to know.

Na Jaemin - 나재민

Jaemin has no shame, but similar to Renjun, it’s not when his back is itchy that he appreciates you scratching his back, but when he is tired after a long day or week of practice, and he gets the chance to just feel peace in your presence. It became habit after a couple of months being together, that after his promotions or practices, you would head over to the dorms and spend a night just pampering your boy. He loved it when you massaged him, removing any knots in his muscles, but his favourite thing was at the end of the massage, you would always run the tips of your fingers up and down his back. He just found that there was something soothing about the action, that he often drifted to sleep before you’d even finish, accepting the position of small spoon for the night.

Zhong Chenle - 钟辰乐

Similarly to Haechan, he doesn’t care about his pride(???) If the itch is that uncomfortable he would rather ask you to deal with it than to suffer in silence. However, he would be a little more shy about it if it’s at the beginning of the relationship. If it happens in front of the boys and any of them try to tease him, he will threaten to revoke their privileges.

Park Jisung - 박지성

At the beginning of your relationship, Jisung feels really awkward asking his s/o to scratch his back, so awkward in fact that if his back does get itchy whilst he is with his s/o, he would much rather suffer with the itch until he is writhing from the uncomfortable sensation on his back. It would be this that caught your attention and immediately you’d place your hand on the centre of his back and lightly scrape your fingertips in the right spot on his back to satisfy the itch. Since that day, Ji has no issues in asking you to scratch his back, even if he doesn’t have an itch, he still asks you to do it because there’s something so weirdly affectionate and soothing when you do it.

requests: open

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @enhacolor @acaiasahi @duolingofanaccount @hyukapufff

[weirdsht]

Imagine Cale falling for someone the opposite of him. They're poor, live alone, and have never told a lie. They have a shack in the woods with a garden and some animals, pretty much self-sustaining and living in peace. But, unlike him, they may look like an average person yet have the strength of ten men. They have a bad reputation, because they kinda fit the whole "evil witch that lives in the woods" vibe. And even though they're honest(blunt), they can't get a long with people. Just imagining their dynamic is hilarious and amazing.

1) i went overboard, 2) cale is ooc in some parts, me thinks, 3) messy asf. im sorry

Cale's thought upon the first meeting is probably "oh wow they have my dream life"

except for the poor part. we all know Cale doesn't speak broke

s/o not being able to lie is good for him. he wont need to play the guessing game all the time unlike with other people

but at the same time he thinks they wont make it far in life with that

but not that it matters much. he has confidence he'll be able to protect them for they are one of his people

speaking of s/o becoming one of his people. i really think that's the only way for Cale to fall in love

the man is closed off so if you aren't in his circle you wont stand a chance

luckily for s/o Cale saw their strength and deemed that it would be beneficial

and the rest after that is history

now them as a couple!

one word: intimidating

they're that power couple everyone admires but are to scared to approach

how can you when you're dealing with a natural intimidating aura and a leader aura fueled by an ancient power purely for domination?

so when they look at each other and then proceed to whisper everyone doesn't know if they find the scene hot or scary

what they don't know is that s/o is actually super anxious

"Cale i think they're looking at me weirdly... I want to go home"

"if i ask one more golden plaque from hyung-nim you can use it to blind them"

"why are you asking for another one? dont you still have 20 more?"

"but thats for shopping with you and the kids"

yes Cale is the type to spoil their s/o openly, i will take this hc with me even after u get buried 6ft underground

as i said cale doesn't speak broke so ofc his s/o have to get the best of the best

meanwhile s/o likes to live a simple life

cue many arguments that occurs everyday while everyone else in the villa watch with popcorn

dont get me wrong, Cale admires their self-sustaining, simple life and he supports it

but he also thinks you can't be wealthy enough yknow

the more riches the better

thats cale's motto

meanwhile s/o is probably

the simpler the better

THE KIDS LOVE THEM SM

ofc we have the fact that if cale loves them then the whole fam will also love them as long as they dont have bad intentions

but the kids love them for

is it because of their natural affinity with animals? are they really just that good with kids? is it both?

Cale honestly doesn't want to think about it

all this man knows is that while they make look ethereal while interacting with kids and animals, it annoys the hell out of him when they go bother him early in the morning

the villa doesn't even have pets

most of the time its just random animals (specially birds) knocking on his bedroom window wanting to see his s/o early in the morning

but grumble as much as he want he wont rlly do about it when they see how happy they are playing with those annoying little things

moments like that makes Cale think how you dont get along with other people outside your circle much

but then again outside Cale's safe clutches is the filthy world of high society

and he knows how they dont like hearing the truth, something s/o always deliver, but instead prefer empty praises

oh well, Cale could care less about those greedy nobles. he also make sure to remind his s/o that they are trash and its not worth it getting along with them

cue more argument about how this is why Cale would probably die friendless

overall its safe to say they are intimidating in public and act like an old married couple in private

they may have different values and morals from Cale but he wouldn't trade them for anything

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 30: By Candlelight

Geode pushes themself a little too hard; thankfully their partner Swiss knows exactly where to find them.

Thanks so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together and to @ghuleh-recs for making us the dividers <3

So, to preface this, I decided to pull out the oc I wrote for day 30 last year, because this is my birthday present to myself, and we do a little oc x canon here, as a treat. Fair warning, this one got long.

The archives are the quietest parts of the Abbey, nestled deep in the library. It's often a peaceful respite from the hustle and bustle of regular Abbey life, but not today. The yearly inventory is due soon, and it feels like there are countless registers to update, reports to fill out. Geode's bent over their desk, filling out what feels like the thousandth piece of paperwork. They love their job in the library, just not right now.

The light in here is dim; one high, narrow window letting in a little bit of late afternoon sun, and one candle that's on the far corner of the desk, pushed away far enough from the excessive amount of paperwork that they feel safe lighting it without risking it all going up in flames. The room smells like old paper, the candle tinging it slightly sweeter, apples and spices, and the warm air makes their eyes heavy. Their back aches, poor posture taking its toll on their short frame. They take a moment to shut their eyes, resting their elbows on their desk, head in their hands.

There's a knock on the doorframe, and Geode jolts upright, eyes wide. It's incredibly rare for them to get a visitor down here, and if they do, it's usually Imperator.

"Sister, I can expl-" They stammer, trailing off as they see who's at their door. Their entire frame relaxes as Swiss steps into their little "office." "Hi."

He smiles, easy and warm, and Geode slumps back in their chair as he comes up to their desk. "Hey, babydoll."

"I don't think I've ever seen you down here," Geode says, reaching under their glasses to rub their eyes. "I mean, I don't blame you, it's a labyrinth at best. What can I do for you?"

The smile doesn't leave Swiss's face, but he sighs heavily through his nose. Geode sits up straighter as he props himself up on their desk. "Feels like I haven't seen you in days, sweetheart," he says, hands curled around the edge of Geode's desk as he leans back, mussing up their already disorganized piles of paper. "Have you eaten today?"

The earth ghoul sighs, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose. "I've got to get these reports for Imperator finished or she'll have my other horn," they say, not quite answering. They glance up at him and take a deep breath, squaring their shoulders as they face the mess of paper and ink on their desk.

"I know," he hums softly, reaching out to run a finger over the jagged edge of their broken horn, tucking back a strand of grey-white hair that had slipped out from their braid, pinned up tight at the nape of their neck. "At least let me make you something nice for dinner, Geo," he says, and their eyes meet his, grey on gold. "I don't want you running on fumes."

"You're too nice to me," They laugh halfheartedly, leaning into his hand for just a moment before straightening. "It's a date," they say, smiling up at him. "Let me get a couple more things inventoried and I'll be there."

"I could never be too nice to you." He smiles, his teeth glinting in the low light. "Do you wanna meet me in the band ghoul commons, or do you want me to meet you here? I'm not picky."

"I'll meet you there, no need to make the trek down here again," they joke, fiddling with the pen in their hands. "I'm serious, it's a fucking maze."

He laughs, almost melodic like the bells in the main chapel, and they smile for real at the sound. "Alright then. Meet me in the band commons in, hmm, an hour?"

"You've got a deal," They say, his smile contagious. "Thank you."

Swiss's gaze softens and he cups their cheek. "Of course, babydoll."

Geode leans into his touch for a moment, lets themself shut their eyes for just a second before straightening. "I'll see you in an hour."

"I'll see you in an hour." He smiles, one last kiss to their temple before he steps out of their little office, and Geode turns back to their paperwork with a sigh.

They don't know how much time passes. The letters are all starting to blur, and no amount of focusing their eyes through their glasses is helping. The room is warm and their head hurts and their back aches and they have time, and they rest their head on their arms. They can shut their eyes for just a moment...

The next thing Geode knows is a gentle weight at the small of their back, something hard and sharp at their temple. "Babydoll?"

Geode jolts upright, gasping in a breath as they snap to awareness. The candle's burnt down to a puddle of wax in its holder, and the sky out the tiny window is dark. Swiss stands next to them, his big hand rubbing their back gently, eyes almost glowing molten gold in the dim light. "Hey, sweetheart," he hums, hand not slowing its motions. "Have a good nap?"

They frantically fix their glasses from where the frame had been digging into their forehead, a violet blush starting to spread across their grey cheeks. "It's been more than an hour, hasn't it," they breathe, unable to make eye contact with him.

"A little longer than that, yeah," he says with the same low tone. "Got a little worried when you didn't show, but this was the first place I checked."

"'M'sorry," they whisper, shutting their eyes and focusing on his hand on their back, melting into the gentle touch.

"Don't be sorry, Geo," he says, leaning in to nose at their hair. "I know how much you've been working. Besides, you looked real cute when you were asleep."

They take a deep, shuddering breath through their nose, soaking in the cinnamon warmth of his scent. "Quit teasin' me," Geode mumbles, even as they lean over to tuck their face into the crook of his neck.

"Oh, this is nothing, babydoll," He croons softly in their ear. "I had one other surprise planned for after you ate, but if you just want to go to bed, that's no sweat off of my back."

Geode chirps curiously, pulling back from his neck to look at him. "What were you planning?"

He laughs, leaning back and offering them his hand. "Would it be a surprise if I told you?"

"Fair," they snort, letting him help them to their feet. He leads them out of the archives, their hand locked in his, a comfortable silence coming over the two of them. Geode takes a deep breath, leaning close enough to rest their head on his shoulder, tail swaying until the spade taps against his. "Out of curiosity," they hum. "What'd you make for dinner? Or is that a surprise too?"

Swiss lets go of their hand, wrapping his arm around their shoulders and pulling them even closer against his side. "Made those sandwiches you really like, the ones with prosciutto and balsamic? And the strawberry spinach salad. Mount brought them in fresh when he was taking care of the greenhouse this morning."

"Lucifer, I fucking love you," Geode blurts out, their stomach growling and cheeks darkening. Swiss laughs, melodic and echoing like bells in the empty hallway.

"Love you too, gemstone."

He takes them past the door to the Abbey ghoul dens, leading them farther down the halls until he reaches another set of doors. "Sorry, babydoll, need my hand for a second," he laughs softly, taking his arm off from around their shoulders to fish a key out of his back pocket.

Geode sways on their feet as he unlocks the door, leading them into the band pack's den. It's oddly quiet, and Geode can't help themself but look around for the other members of Swiss's pack. No one's in the common room, which, every time Geode's been in here, there's been at least one of the band ghouls lounging about. They don't have much time to think about it before Swiss is leading them to the kitchen, two places set at the table. He pulls out one of the chairs for them, a big hand at the small of their back as they sit down.

"Thank you for doing this for me," they whisper, staring at their plate of food. Swiss looks them in the eye, a dead serious expression on his face.

"Don't thank me, Geo," he says. "You do so much for me and the Abbey, this is literally the least I could do."

They smile a little, and his serious demeanor crumbles, revealing the grin they know and love.

Once the two of them finish dinner, Geode moves to clear the table. Swiss tries to stop them and do it himself, but they level him with a lighthearted glare. "You cooked, let me at least put the dishes in the sink," they say. "I'm tired, not dead."

He raises an eyebrow curiously. "Are you too tired for the surprise? It's fine if you are, it can wait."

Geode turns, looking at him over their shoulder as they rinse the leftover vinaigrette from the salad bowls. "Depends. Is it a surprise like, 'let's have a chase out in the woods' like we did last autumn?"

Swiss laughs, standing and sidling up behind them, a hand gentle on their upper arm as he ducks down to rub his cheek against their unbroken horn. "No, Geo, it's not a hunt, as much fun as that was."

Their cheeks darken at the memory, leaning back against his chest, feeling his voice rumbling through his body. "Something quieter then?"

"Much quieter," he affirms. "It's in my room. You ready?"

They finish up, stacking the dishes neatly in the bottom of the sink. "Yeah."

He takes their hand in his again as they step out of the kitchen, fingers interlaced. Geode's been to Swiss's room before, spends more time there than they do in their own shared quarters, they know how to get there, but they let Swiss lead them. The exhaustion's starting to sink in, feet heavy against the tile floor.

They come to Swiss's door, and he murmurs an apology as he lets go of their hand again to find his keys. The door gets unlocked, and he holds it open, gesturing dramatically for them to enter. Geode laughs, nudging his shoulder as they step into his room.

Geode looks for the surprise Swiss said he had in here, but everything is the same as it was the last time they were in his room. A string of purple lights over his double bed, his records sorted alphabetically by artist and then chronologically, his guitar mounted over his desk. Nothing's changed, nothing's here.

They turn to Swiss, mouth open to ask, when he puts his big hand on their shoulder, guiding them to look to his adjoining bathroom. The door's open, lights already on. Geode steps into the bathroom, Swiss right behind them. He slinks around them, reaching to the candles on the vanity, running his fingertips over the wicks in a facsimile of a caress, using his fire to light them.

"You didn't," Geode breathes. "Swiss." They stare at the full bathtub, steam curling off the water that smells sweet and floral.

"I did," he shrugs, reaching for the dimmer on the lightswitch. The room darkens some, the low light much easier on both of their eyes. "You need to take some time and relax, I know how ragged you're running yourself, gemstone. Will you let me help you?"

They take a shaky breath in, feeling their eyes getting misty as the glance between him and his bathtub. "Swiss," they breathe again. He looks up, concern written in the furrow of his brow.

"Baby, you can say no," he says, stepping softly in front of them and resting his hands on their tense shoulders. "I'm not going to be mad if you do. Just want to take care of you."

"That's kind of the thing," Geode says, not looking at him, watching the candles flicker over his shoulder. "Nobody's ever- Not since I was a little kit."

His hands slowly sweep up the back of their neck, deft fingers finding the pins that keep their braid pinned tight to their head. "I'd be more than happy to. All you've gotta do is say the word."

Their shoulders slump, pressing their forehead to his collarbone. "Please?" they whisper, taking a deep breath as he ducks down, kissing the crown of their head.

"Of course," he murmurs. "Turn around for me?"

They turn, fingers clumsily unbuttoning their uniform shirt. He pulls the pins from their hair, gently unweaving the braid they had put their hair up into that morning. They keen softly, the tension pulling at their scalp finally easing.

"Yeah, that better?" he hums, watching their ear flick against the side of their head as he cards his fingers through their hair, untangling the grey-white waves.

"Much," they sigh, shrugging their shirt off of their shoulders and tossing it into his laundry basket. They regrettably extricate themself from Swiss's arms to wrangle their binder over their head, exhaling in relief before setting their glasses on the bathroom counter. Geode undresses methodically and steps into the bath. The water's perfectly hot, and they sink into it with a groan, eyes fluttering shut.

Swiss suddenly gets a little bashful, tail flicking behind him. "You, uh, I can go, give you a little privacy, if you want."

"No!" Geode sits up frantically, water sloshing against the sides of the tub, their eyes wide. Both ghouls freeze, staring at each other before bursting into tired giggles. "I mean," they say, clearing their throat after a while. "Please don't go. I've been alone in that office all week."

He doesn't say anything, just nods. The tub's too small for the both of them to fit, but Swiss sits at the far end, watching with a stupidly fond smile on his face, one knee drawn up to his chest, resting his arm on the lip of the tub. Geode blinks over at him, their tail lazily wrapping around his wrist.

The two of them sit in a content silence, the candles on the vanity counter flickering, casting long shadows along the bathroom. The water is warm, and sweet smelling, and he's rubbing his thumb against the spade of their tail, tension draining from their body.

Geode blinks slowly, their eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Their chin hits the surface of the water as they nod off, and both ghouls startle awake at the loud splash. Swiss's eyes go wide, and he scrambles to his knees.

"Alright, no drowning in my bathtub, that is very much not relaxing," he says, laughing a little nervously.

"Shit, sorry," Geode says, pushing strands of wet hair from their face. They bite their lip, cheeks dimpling as they laugh with him. "You got me too relaxed, fell asleep again."

"Don't apologize," he hums, eyes crinkled. "You want your hair washed?"

Geode shakes their head. "I washed it this morning," they explain, "Besides, if you washed my hair I'd just drift off again and get dunked."

He laughs, reaching into the tub and pulling the stopper. "Wouldn't let that happen, gem," he says as the water drains, helping them to their feet.

"Hooray, chivalry isn't dead!" Geode teases, letting him dry their hair with a soft towel, wrapping it around their shoulders as they step out of the tub.

"The things I do for you, gemstone," Swiss grumbles, but the crinkling by his eyes tells a completely different story. He leads them back to their bedroom, and they slyly steal a hair tie from the top of his dresser as he shrugs off his own shirt, changing into sweats and grabbing a change of clothes for them.

Geode takes the clothes, a pair of clean boxers they had left in his room and an oversized shirt, chirping softly in thanks as they get dressed. He eagerly takes the towel from them, tossing it back into the bathroom hamper and blowing out the candles.

He steps back, a warm smile growing on his face as he looks over at his bed; Geode's curled up over the comforter, the crystal growth in their broken horn catching and scattering the light from the string lights above them. "Quit lookin' at me like that. Better place to sleep than the bath or my desk," they mumble, blinking slowly up at him as he pulls the comforter and top sheet out from under them.

"Lookin' at you like what?" Swiss hums, laying down next to them. Like they're magnets, Geode drifts closer until they're resting their head on his chest, listening to his heart beat steadily underneath their ear.

"Like, fuck, I dunno," they mumble softly, eyes flickering shut. "Like you love me or something."

Swiss laughs softly, rumbling through his chest, and he ducks down to kiss their forehead. "Yeah, like I love you."

[most-likely-shadowhisker]

The Hypocrisy of the Spacians (or, why worries about Kessler Syndrome are bullshit)

So, a number of things happened in the latest episode of G-Witch. A number of them were, uh, traumatizing. For both the cast and the viewers. To keep myself distracted, I'm going to focus on a little detail mentioned in episode 12. (Spoilers under cut!)

Specifically, this line. Now, a lot of people have pointed out it's perfectly reasonable to ban kinetic space weaponry in favor of lasers; lasers don't leave behind any bullets or casings that can drift through space until they hit something and cause a Kessler Syndrome. And this is reasonable- until you look deeper.

Norea here immediately points out the first layer of hypocrisy (the Spacian military-industrial complex being more than happy to pollute Earth while at the same time worrying about the pollution of space). But there's something more that undermines the kinetic weapons ban and it's stated reasoning entirely, that being that guns aren't the only thing that leaves behind space debris.

Every laser that misses and hits a building or asteroid or whatever, every limb of an enemy MS that's sheared off, all that sends little shards and particulates of material flying off into space, where they'll keep flying until they hit something, normally at high velocity.

For an example, let's look at the Vim/Bob fight in they very same episode:

The elder Jeturk is more than happy to shear off limbs and leave them drifting, not to mention his using very fucking physical cluster munitions. (How are ordinary guns banned but cluster bombs aren't?! Or is this a case of Vim's money allowing him to get away with flaunting the rules? Either way, more Spacian hypocrisy.)

And that's before we get into what happens to defeated combants; the mandatory post-kill explosion. That explosion doesn't atomize the defeated mobile suit to take care of resulting space debris, it just sends that space debris flying in every direction, making it all the harder to clean up. Here's a couple shots of Vim's MS blowing up:

Look at how the Dilanza Sol visibly bulges outwards before the explosion completes, and the debris field left behind afterwards. A few weeks, years, decades, I dunno how long, but one day those little Dilanza Sol bits are going to drift into just the right position to ruin some freighter's day.

Now, one could argue that all this is just Vim's flaunting of the rules, or a result of Benerit Group being confronted with someone who doesn't obey the laws of war anyway. Problem is, they left behind plenty of space debris in other conflicts. Look at the aftermath of the Vanadis Incident:

Or, hell, the duel between Suletta and El4n, may he rest in peace.

Benerit Group and it's subsidiaries are more than okay with leaving behind fields of space debris from all sorts of sources, as long as those sources aren't guns. Even fore something as petty as a duel among students.

In conclusion, the ban on physical weaponry in the Ad Stella timeline isn't out of any genuine sense of care for the cleanliness of space, or worries about a Kessler Syndrome. The true reason is most likely moral grandstanding, similar to Imperial Germany kvetching about American shotguns in WW1. Alternatively, it could be as simple was wanting to deny what I assume are cheap, easy to manufacture weapons that could prove comparable to lasers to the poors/revolutionaries/poor revolutionaries most likely to buy and/or make them. Either way, the hypocrisy of the Spacian military-industrial complex is on full display here. The solar system of the Ad Stella timeline won't see someone fully dedicated to keep space clean and safe until the military industrial complex is dismantled- preferably in favor of a dictatorship of the proletariat that incentivized to care about the safety of freighter crews and so forth, instead of the corporatocracy incentivized to care about profit, damn everything else.

[the-fiction-witch]

Maidenhead

Media Game Of Thrones

Character Jojen Reed

Couple Jojen X Reader

Rating Sexy

I smiled as I headed inside the little wooden room inside the Greywater Watch, I headed to the fire and took off the boiling pot from the rack that held it in the flames, I carried it over to the side and poured the water onto the little towels, I let the steam rise up as I returned the boiling pot to the flames. I then sprinkled some flowers and dried roots into the water, and let the towels soak. 

I heard his whines so I rushed to his bedside. 

Seeing the pleasingly carved wooden bed, with the dense leafy sheets and pelts that filled the bed, inside the bed the poor boy laid. 

Jojen. 

Sweet Jojen. 

He laid, his body twisted in the sheets, as his visions tore through his mortal body like an army through a field of flowers. His skin was bare as the covers loomed around his waist, his skin had a sheen to it where he had been sweating, his eyes sealed, his breaths staggered and troublesome. 

He had always had troubles, been a frail and fragile boy. And now even as he is grown his body at times will fail him. A fever threatened to take him from our world not long after his birth a moment many call his bridge into the other world where his visions emanate. But he was sick, and had been for a good few weeks, many in the marshes had given up on him, and even his sister did not visit him any longer. For fear, he would slip beyond this world. 

But I refused to give up on him, even if many had told me I was foolish for wasting my time and energy on a dying little lord. But I could not leave him. Jojen was born in Greywater Watch only a few months before I was born in the Marshy Keep, and Hawlon was not the type of father to restrict his children just because of their lordship, Jojen and Meera plaid with us, hunted with us, much like any other child in the area, But Jojen and I due to our closeness in age had a particular closeness. I'm sure helped by his weakness and sickness given I love to heal those around me. 

My mother was the Marshes healer and when I was a young girl I was brought into the Greywater Watch along with my mother almost as replacements for medical maesters as we here in the marshes did not some old town rat sniffing about in our business. And I very much just became a maid and nurse for Jojen through his many sicknesses and his battles with his greensight visions. 

I sat at his bedside and rung out my little cloth from its bowl, I then gently patted his head with the cloth in the hope of calming him into a sweet peaceful sleep.

"Y/n..." He muttered,

"Shhh It's alright Jojen, I'm here," I whispered, 

"You should be in bed Y/n."

"Well, I'm here to take care of you." 

"You can go y/n. Everyone knows I'm dying."

"What do you think? Do you think this is your end?"

"... I don't know," He said, "My visions are becoming less and less clear," 

"Rest Sweet Jojen, I will take care of you," I told him,

He took my wrist in his hand, "I cannot ask you to nurse me into death's icy embrace." 

"You're not asking, I am doing it. Defiantly of your request, and I will sit on this bed and I will nurse you to fight back death's cold hand until my last breath if that is what it takes,"

"Why would you do this for me?"

"You know why Jojen," I cooed as I leant down and pressed a delicate kiss to his forehead, 

"You have no duty to me as the lord's son."

"I do not. I do not care about your position, your family or your blood, I care only that it is you. And I will not let you wither away without at least my attempted intervention," I told him, "Now rest your little head and let your nurse take care of you," 

"You're too sweet to me," He cooed and brought my hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss, "May i ask something of you?"

"Of course," I smiled, 

He simply tapped his chest, so I blushed set down my things, and climbed into his bed. I laid down with him my head against his chest, I let him wrap his arms around me, to hold me close to him. His hands settled on my arm and in my hair. My own on his chest. 

"Will you truly never give up on me?" He asked, 

"Never,"

"Until I die?"

"Even then, there is simply another world beyond this one I must still care for you even if we do not share a world." I smiled setting my chin on his chest to look up at him, "I will light candles for you, leave you sweet surprises still."

He smiled and peacefully stroked my face, "And I would for you, but I do not want to imagine a world without you in it."

"Neither do I." I smiled I moved up and rubbed my nose on his which he happily did back, I went to kiss him but he stopped me, "No?"

"No, I don't want to get you sick."

"I'll be sick," I smiled as I leaned in and kissed him sweetly, I felt even in his illness his lips were so sweet and soft. "You feel a little better?"

"I do," he nodded, 

"Good," I smiled as I rubbed my nose on his, "I did have a little surprise for you actually," I smiled as I climbed out the bed, "As you're feeling so much better?"

"Oh?" he asked, "As much as I love your swamp mushroom soup I'm really not in the mood to eat right now." 

"I didn't bring soup," I smiled as I unbuttoned my dress, turned back to face him and slowly let it slip down to the floor. 

He sat up in his bed, mouth agape and eyes wide. He looked at every inch of me his face read of a thousand reactions but all that arrived to his lips was simply "Uhhh Hi y/n."

"Hi Jojen," I giggled, 

"You uhhh... Uhh you're dress..."

"I know."

"Ohh." He nodded, "So this is uhhh intentional?"

"Very much so."

"Uhhhhhhhhh Why?" 

"I thought as you're feeling better I could, give you something."

"Give me something? uhhh you uhhh you sure becuase you don't exactly have much, there."

"I have something," I smiled as I climbed onto his bed and sat myself over his stomach,

"What uhh what is it can I ask?"

"Something I've wanted to give you an awful long time Jojen." I smiled as I leaned down and gave him a sweet kiss before whispering in his ear, "My Maidenhead."

He froze up and gasped, "You- You're- Really?"

"Yes." I nodded, 

"Wh- Why would you give me this?" 

"I cannot think of anyone I would rather have take it," I smiled, "So?"

"Yes." He gasped, "Yes." He nodded, "So long as this is what you want."

"More than anything," I cooed as I pulled him into a kiss and he eagerly kissed back and wrapped his arms around me. 

[yeastinfectionvale]

May he rest in peace (Mr Fluffy McButt-Face)

A little fic based on this ask I sent to @romeo-the-homeo where Ash lies to Guy that his Dog is dead.

It all started when Asher started that stupid diet.

“No meat for a month!” the healer told him as Marie stood beside him, patting his shoulder. They both left the office, Asher kicking the floor like he was 15 and banned from T.V. With a kiss on the head and a threat from Mama Marie herself, Ash left for his apartment disheartened and hungry, Max’s pizza on his mind.

Guy was stuck in a rush hour shift, stressed as hell. He had a shit delivery where a customer basically slammed the door in his face with no tip after spending five minutes shouting into his phone about the ‘asshole driver who had pizza in his front seat’. Guy cursed David Shaw and planned to spit into his pizza for the next two weeks. The phone rang and he picked up quickly, recognising the number belonging to the Talbots, a friendly couple with a huge dog. He listened to the man, Asher, order his usual deep dish four-veg pizza (funnily enough without any spicy chicken). Guy was slightly confused when Ash didn’t order any chicken wings, but got to making the pizza.

He jogged to the door, pizza in one hand, dog biscuit in the other, ready for their dog (whose name he was too scared to ask). Asher opened the door, sadness swimming in his eyes and no dog in sight. Guy couldn’t help but ask “hey what’s wrong? Where’s your dog?” Asher paused for a second eyes wide as he took the pizza from Guy. “Oh god yeah he- he died” Guy gasped, dropping the dog biscuit on the floor, “oh i’m sorry for your loss,” he said, patting Asher’s arm before hurrying back into his car. 

Guy doesn’t remember when the tears started flowing, but there he was, sobbing into his steering wheel in the carpark of Max’s. The pressure of work with the asshole customer and the death of the dog all came crashing down on him. He dialled Honey’s number and got out of the car making a bee-line to Rosa who stood outside the shop, cigarette in hand. He leaned his head down, resting it on the little italian woman’s shoulder. Honey picked up, quickly stating that they didn’t have much time between meetings. “The dog died.” Guy told both with a sniffle. Honey sighed, sad that Guy was emotional while not near them, they mentally planned a relaxing evening for Guy before ending the call. Rosa threw her cigarette on the floor and stood on it while she wrapped arm around Guy’s waist and gave him a kiss on the cheek before the two of them went back to work.

It had been a week since the pizza incident and Christian and Milo were not planning to let Asher live it down anytime soon. “We should hold a funeral! Get some pizza to mourn the poor pooch” Christian said in between laughs, grabbing onto Milo for support. Milo nodded enthusiastically as David sighed, the idea of pizza boiling his blood slightly. Christian ordered three pizzas and a selection of sides (but no wings) and drinks, leaving a note that the order was ‘funeral food’. Milo washed some plates and began to tidy the apartment, not wanting to face the wrath of Angel, Babe and Sweetheart combined again. Last guy's night was bad enough and he wasn’t in the mood to rake the backyard at midnight. 

Guy noticed the note in the order to the Talbot residence and showed Rosa who pouted slightly before moving to start rolling out dough. Guy slipped to the bathroom and changed into the emergency tux (it was a t-shirt with a picture of a tux but the thought counted) he always kept at work. Grabbing the Talbot order and another one for a Blake Seer, Guy got into his car and drove off. Reaching the Seer house, Guy was greeted by the smell of fresh lilies in the front yard. Something in him snapped after Blake opened the door and slammed it in his face after snatching the pizza box out of his hand. Guy stomped through the manicure grass and grabbed a handful of lilies, yanking them out of the ground, roots and all. He walked to his car, flipping the Seer house with one hand and stuffing the flowers into the car with the other.

Guy got to the Talbot house and grabbed the order, hesitating before grabbing the flowers as well, shaking dirt all over the inside of his car. He rang the doorbell to see not Asher but the man he knew as ‘Double Anchovy, stuffed crust’. Double anchovy took the pizza’s from Guy and handed him two $20 notes. Asher appeared behind Double Anchovy as he closed the door and Guy thrust his arm out, handing Asher the flowers, dirt falling on the floor. Asher took them confused and Guy cleared his throat, “for the funeral.” Another face Guy recognised as ‘Cheesy Potato Wedges and Garlic Bread’ nodded in approval before looking down at the dirt and groaning, head thrown back. “Do you want to come in?” Asher asked Guy who paused and shugged, “yeah why not I’ve got 10 minutes and I want to leave my condolences to the lil guy.”

Double Anchovy introduced himself as Christian and pointed to Cheesy Potato, who was on his knees, sweeping the dirt into a dustpan and introduced him as Milo. Guy said his hellos and froze, pointing at David in anger. “You’re the asshole who slammed the door on me without a tip last week! I know where you live David Shaw and I will spit in your pizza.” Milo stifled a laugh as David scratched his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” he started, handing Guy a $10 note. “I didn’t mean to slam the door on you, forget your tip and call you an asshole. I was having a really shit day after this dickwad driving a green miata threw a slice of pizza out his car and into mine. It landed on my face while I was driving.” The two of them shook hands and Guy refused the money, waving it off as he asked David, “did the miata have a blue driver's door?” David nodded as Guy leaned in, stage-whispering, “I didn't tell you but this guy, Blake Seer drives the miata. I stole the lilies from him.” David nodded his head knowingly, clasping a hand on Guy’s shoulder in gratitude.

Guy looked at the clock, realising his break was about to end. He turned to the mantle, standing beside Christian who handed him a dog biscuit. David joined them, raising a biscuit in the air, “To Fluffy McButt-face, the best pooch.” Guy, Milo and Christian copied him, all placing the biscuits in front of a picture of Milo wrestling Fluffy into a sailor’s suit. Guy said his goodbyes, exchanging numbers with Asher before leaving the house. 

Milo and David watched Guy drive off, turning to see Asher sit on the sofa, head in his hands as Christian bit into a slice of double anchovy pizza.