#cold fic

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

Cold ‖ DRW

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

CW: (spoilers) Mostly fluff!, roommates, (some money talk -it'll make sense)

{Author Commentary: stuck in during a snowstorm with your roommate Danny, everything is ok... right? for optimal emotions, listening to come out and play by Billie Eilish is an option}

The moment you woke up you’d curled into a tight ball. Your tired mussels protested, but the warmth of where your body had laid as you slept helped the almost numb coldness of your feet. Your nose was practically numb too, so you ducked under your covers. You let out a pathetic little groan to yourself, knowing it was only a temporary reprieve, and that you’d have to come up for air in a matter of seconds. ‘Why is there no efficient way to warm your face?’. Surely enough as your lungs began to protest you had to raise your head and decide how to face the cold of your apartment. Your apartment, where you’d planned to spend your day off doing various lazy, self-indulgent tasks, had a faulty air system at times. And while your landlord had promised to have it worked on before it got cold, the weather seemed determined to prove him wrong.

All you wanted to do was go back to sleep so you couldn’t feel the cold. You considered taking a shower, to feel the full body warmth. However, the thought of getting out, and dealing with wet hair would probably result in you staying in for hours. The resulting water bill was not something you’d want to have to explain to your roommate. ‘How was he coping with the frigid conditions? He's probably layered in his classic sweaters… the cold never seems to bother him as much as it did you, though he wasn’t one to complain regardless…’

The shower was ruled out, but the thought of warm steam on your face gave you another idea. A warm cup of coffee would definitely feel great. You took a deep breath and braced yourself before throwing off your blanket and getting out of bed. You hastily pulled on your thickest sweatpants and pulled a chunky quarter-zip sweater on over your sleep shirt. The oversized collar covered the mouth as you zipped it up. All that was left to to guard you from the cold was tugging on a pair of thick socks and stepping into your slippers. 

You hugged your sides, practically waddling down the hall. The warm smell of coffee broke through the cold. You shuffled over to the pot on a mission. You heard a small giggle from the kitchen table and darted a bemused glance at him as you picked up the pot and hastily filled a mug before making your way to the fridge for your coffee creamer. After splashing it in, you put it back in the fridge, briskly closing the door. You leaned against the counter with a huff, half tempted to slide to the floor and curl your legs in. With two sleeve-gloved hands, you raised the mug to your face, letting the steam curl up and blanket it. You took a deep inhale, finally regaining some sensation in your cold nose.

“Wow… they should put you in a coffee commercial.”, Danny’s playfully mocking voice interrupted your moment of relief. You deadpanned over the rim of your mug as you took a sip. “What? I’m just saying, I didn’t make it good enough to warrant those dramatics.” He grinned at you as he spoke, his head tilting slightly. He was trying to break through your sour mood, but you weren’t here for it. “Sorry, I'm kind of freezing cold” you snapped at him, feeling only half-regretful. "Hey, not my fault your body can't heat itself." He quipped back, his smile unwavering.  "You're the one with a freakish body, you walking furnace!" a smile began tugging at your lips as your voice raised. He laughed loudly, making you break and join him. 

You sighed and rested your forehead on the rim of your mostly empty mug. "I'm… so cold." "Yeah, I'm sorry. I called and all they said was they can't do anything about the heating today." You could hear a sympathetic smile in his voice. "Let's watch a movie or something, I can share some heat.", he offered consolingly. You lifted your head, staring at the window across from you as you considered the offer. It would certainly work faster than your plan of going to your room and burying yourself in blankets. You tilted your head, offering him a small smile and nodding. 

He got up and clapped an arm across your shoulders, giving your arm a triumphant squeeze.  As you walked with him to the living room, you grumbled again at his chipper mood -and thanked him for the coffee. He just ran his hand up and down your arm creating some warmth. You made your way to the basket of throw blankets. "Get the biggest one- that green one." You pulled it out and turned around to hand it to him. 

"-What are you doing?". Upon turning around you'd been met with his bare abdomen as he tugged his sweater off, pulling the hem of his long-sleeved t-shirt up with it. "It'll be warmer, -trust me." He pulled off his sweater and straightened the shirt before taking the blanket from you. He handed you the remote to the TV and draped the large blanket across his back, holding the sides out with his hands as he lay across the couch facing out with his arms extended. "C'mere." He beckoned you towards his opened arms. You pulled off your chunky sweater, not that he'd asked, but you understood the logic. The heat would travel faster through two t-shirts. 

You quickly settled alongside him, tucking your arms up so you could still work the remote. He adjusted your hair slightly so he could still see over your head, then wrapped his arms and the blanket around you snugly. You sighed at the warmth of his chest against your back already working its magic. You fumbled with the remote a little before managing to point it at the TV. Some corny medical drama lit up the screen, a familiar comfort watch for you. "This good?" "Yeah, fine by me. …You comfortable?" he lifted his head slightly to catch your eye peripherally, seeing the corner of your lips curl up. "Getting there. …Thanks, Danny."

He secured the blanket around you before beginning to run his warm palms along your upper arms, creating some additional heat. Your muscles, which had been tensed from the moment you woke up, began to relax. You pulled the blanket up over your nose for a moment, clasping your cold hands together against your chest. 

You inevitably huffed and pulled the edge of the blanket from your face. Another pitiful groan escaped you as you breathed in the frigid air. "Something wrong? Do you get out, make a run to the… ?" Danny's voice was soft and his hands had stilled. "Hah, no, I just…" You sighed again, feeling silly. "...my nose is cold. My entire face is- but I can't warm my nose without smothering myself.". He chuckled softly, the sound echoing through you.

"You can turn over, I mean all the heat's right here behind you." You giggled this time. You set the remote down and began shifting to face him. He raised his free arm, readjusting the blanket over you and leaning back slightly more. You rested the side of your face on his chest and his arm curled around you. His large hand spread across your back, trailing across it slowly. You were more focused on warming the tip of your nose, nuzzling slightly as you settled in. The warm, clean, sweet musk of him surrounded you as your eyes fluttered closed. You unfurled your hand, resting it against his chest. "Oh-" a small sound escaped him "-you are cold.", he said in a slightly teasing tone. "I’m sorry-" "Don't be. Here-" He took your hand and brought it to his hip. He tugged the hem of his shirt up so your hand landed directly against his warm skin. "Have at it." He chuckled as you hesitantly relaxed your hand so it was flush against his back. His arm draped over you again and he tucked his chin over your head. 

With your face tipped down he wouldn’t be privy to the color casting your cheeks. You adjusted your arm to a more comfortable angle, your cold hand coming to rest on the center of his back. Your fingertips found the dip in his back along his spine, absentmindedly tracing along it. A small shiver ran through him. His skin prickled and his back curved slightly as he adjusted. You were reminded of just how intimate you were currently being. But neither of you felt the need to acknowledge it. It helped that you weren't face-to-face. 

You were soaking in his warmth and your eyes had drifted closed. Your legs had become tangled in his somewhere along the way, keeping him locked to you. "D’you want to take a nap? You're welcome to…" The soft rumbling in his chest was so comforting. "Yeah, I might… could you keep talking?" You heard a small breathy laugh and a smile when he spoke. "Alright…" he paused to think. "Ooh- Lemme tell you about the coldest day in Frankenmuth…"

He rambled on in a lighthearted voice punctuated by the occasional laugh and his hand gesturing against your back when he got to an animated moment. The recollection entailed a story of a much younger him and his best friend Sam making bets about how long it would take for things to freeze, resulting in some ridiculous consequences for them both. You didn't catch all of it, as your consciousness phased in and out.

You didn't realize you'd fallen asleep till a particularly obnoxious ad on the TV pulled you out. Your face scrunched up in annoyance and attempted to burrow further. Danny was warm as ever, and his breaths expanded his chest in a slow even rhythm. Even his heartbeats were relaxed. He must've fallen asleep too. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mind wandered; Had you missed some hilarious twist ending to his story? Had there been other stories? how long had he rambled on till he was sure you were asleep?

Soon enough, you needed to come up for air. When you extended your neck, you ducked your head back so you didn't bump his chin. You blinked as a soft breath hit your face. His sleeping face, merely an inch from yours, came into focus. 

Dark, dense lashes rested against his high-peeked cheeks. God, I'd kill for those lashes… why do boys always get pretty lashes… the apples of his cheeks were dotted with scattered freckles that trailed across the strong bridge of his nose. They're so random… they don't even follow a normal freckle cluster pattern… he had one on his lower lip too… just at the bottom, slightly to the right, from your perspective, right where the brighter pink that ran down the center of his lips curled over the edge. Your fingertip trailed along his chin, just under the slightly darker edge of his lip, landing near the freckle. Danny’s lips pursed briefly, causing you to freeze. He seemed undisturbed otherwise. 

When you pulled your hand away his lips twitched again. His face inched closer in search of the lost warmth. Your hand hovered for a minute before you laid your warmed palm on his cheek. The tip of your pointer finger grazed over his earlobe, soft, peach-fuzzed, and surprisingly cool to the touch. You imagined warming it between your lips, but of course, dashed the thought nearly instantly. 

You hadn't been this close with anyone in a while. You were content being single, no one you’d met had sparked any interest recently, but that didn't mean you didn't feel touch-starved at times. All your thoughts paused as he shifted again. The bridge of his nose aligned with your brow bone, his lips resting on the tip of your nose, warm and soft. Oh, how you wanted to melt into him and press your lips to his. It was just the sleepiness and rare instance of physical comfort, you knew that. And he was asleep, probably thinking about someone else as his lips puckered slightly to peck at your nose. ‘Was he seeing someone?’ You hadn't seen anyone over a lot or noticed any repeat names that would allude to it. It's just unconscious. And as nice as it was, you felt yourself pulling away. You didn't want it if it wasn't his intention. You held his face gently as you shifted yours away.

His eyes began to flutter. A sleepy smile began to form but faded as his eyes fully opened. He'd registered your recoiling, and your hand braced on his cheek, tied together with your eyes widening slightly as he'd opened his. He shifted his head back to give you room to breathe, since you'd apparently been sharing the same air. He cleared his throat, "You feeling better?" Even his first thought being to check on you made it that much harder. You offered a small smile "Yeah, much better." His smile spread as his hand smoothed up and down your back relaxedly. "Good, m'glad." "Thanks for spending your morning on me, 'm sorry if you had things you planned to get done…". His lips pulled to one side as he shook his head, waving off your apology. "Any plans I'd had for today went out the door with this storm and our aptly timed heating malfunction. Besides, there are worse ways to spend a day…" his voice was light and humorous, and you giggled with him briefly. "Yeah, maybe we should do this more often…" You replied in the same unserious tone. 

He let out a soft "hmh", simply smiling at you. His hand shifted from your back, moving between you. He reached to gently graze his knuckle across your cheek, shifting a few hairs that had landed there. It surprised you, despite you remembering your hand was still resting on his cheek. “Yeah… we can do this again.” Your heart was pounding in your chest. You hoped he couldn’t feel it.

You cleared your throat. "D’you… have any thoughts about lunch? I should make something -haven't had anything other than coffee yet." “Hmm… I’ve been wanting to try and make that soup from that tiktok you sent me.” Aw, he’d saved it. “The creamy cauliflower and roasted garlic one?” You could practically feel your stomach about to grumble. “Yeah, I think the person also had a grilled cheese with it?” he recalled. “Oh god. Yes. Kitchen. Now!”. He laughed and nodded. “Let's get on it.” You remembered your body was barricading him from leaving the couch. You dropped your hand from his face, bracing it on his chest briefly as you untangled your legs. The bone chilling air of the apartment outside your little cocoon had not changed. When he retracted his arms to allow you to get up it swarmed you, quickly permeating your t-shirt. You got up and quickly tugged on your sweatshirt hoping to lock in some of his heat. Another layer of warmth enveloped you as the large green blanket was draped over your shoulders. Danny stepped around you without a word and proceeded to don his sweater. You watched him for a moment before closing your mouth and heading toward the kitchen. 

You secured the blanket around your arms before getting out your large soup pot and placing it on the stove. Danny preheated the oven before getting out a baking tray and beginning to prepare the cauliflower and garlic for roasting. You connected your phone to the speaker and queued a few songs before placing the phone on the counter next to him as an offer to add his own. Once his tray was in the oven the two of you began prepping the rest of the stock ingredients. You usually cooked and ate separately to accommodate your different schedules. But you both loved cooking, and recipe sharing was commonly mixed into your regular texting. It was a pleasant but unfortunately infrequent occasion when the two of you got to cook together. And these days he was gone for longer and longer stretches of time with his band having taken off. 

The stove had warmed the kitchen slightly and the smell of roasting cauliflower and that delicious melting garlic filled the air. Danny was standing at the stove stirring the pot as you buttered some bread and sliced the cheese for your accompanying sandwiches. When the oven timer dinged he removed the the tray and emptied the roasted items into the soup. You got the hand blender and plugged it in before handing it to him to blend the soup together. The sandwiches only took a few moments and soon enough you were both filling your bowls and grabbing your sandwiches. 

“Back to the living room?”, he offered, looking to you. “I’m kinda tempted to just stay here, the oven’s still warm…” you looked down at it. He paused for a moment, biting his lip, secretly endeared. “...Sounds good.” He started gingerly sitting down, with his back against one half of the stove door, and his plate in his lap. You practically beamed, before sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You giggled a bit at the ridiculousness of the situation as you both took your first bites. The soup was amazing, creamy, savory, and instantly warming you from the inside out. Danny had dipped his sandwich in his soup and made a pleasured groan upon taking a bite. You smiled at him. 

“...Thank you.” He turned his head to smile back at you, “Thank you, great recipe find!”. You chuckled, “Not just for the soup, and all your help today… thanks for being here, really.”, you looked down at the food in your lap. Danny’s smile softened at your shifting tone. “Ofcourse I’m gonna be here, where else would I be?” he leaned his knee into yours playfully. “Well I- I know you could afford to live somewhere nicer… and yet you- you continue to stay in this shitty place, god knows why, and basically pay half my rent, since you’re away so much these days…” “Do you… miss me?”, Danny broke his attentive silence. “What?” your eyes snapped up to meet his, that hadn’t been where you intended that to go. “When I’m gone all the time...”, he offered for clarification. His eyes had a noticeable earnesty to them. “Well, yeah of course, but that wasn’t- that’s not the point- I mean, like why are you still here?”. It didn’t come out right, you realized that immediately after the words left your mouth. Danny blinked, before averting his eyes. “Hard to find good roommates,” he shrugged, his voice casual once again. 

He resumed eating his lunch like nothing happened. Well, nothing did happen. Not that you could put into words. But you felt the weight of a rock in your stomach. And the questioning, which had started as an expression of gratitude, was intended to ease your guilt of him taking care of you, and staying in this shitty broken apartment with you. All the interesting places he got to go now, but he was always practically giddy to be back after a long stretch. Like he somehow missed this... 

Oh.

“Danny…” His name left your lips in a soft, sympathetic tone. He lowered his spoon to look at you. “You miss me…” it wasn’t a question, but he slowly began to nod yes. You'd already said your part; 'Well, yeah of course', but maybe it warranted a rephrasing. "I miss you too… I know I don't exactly show it, but I just… don't want you to feel bad. I'm so glad you're out there living your dream- I don't want you to feel any pressure to tie yourself down…" "I don't feel tied down. I just wish- I don't know, I wish you could be there for all of it sometimes… but I don't want you to feel any obligation either. I was thinking about us getting a better place, but I don't want it to seem like some power trip if I'm paying… you know I've thought about flying you out while I'm on tour, like a million times- but I didn't know if you'd accept, and it felt kinda selfish, ‘cause… I just wanted to see you." 

His words were echoing around in your brain, namely the ‘us’ of it all… He’d said it, like you were a package deal, like a single indivisible unit. And his fears weren’t unwarranted, paying a fraction of his rent to stay in what would be his apartment wasn’t ideal. Being at his will when it came to housing, despite knowing he’d never use it against you, was a nerve-wracking thought. But he wanted you, the two of you, somewhere better. Knowing his character, you knew he truly wanted it for you, not just his own comfort. Or maybe it kindof was, maybe he’d at least feel better knowing you were in a better apartment while he was away. The thought of him worrying about you was… unfamiliar, and some unhealed part of you wanted to reject it. Moving together seemed like some sort of promise, certainly a commitment. But just a commitment to remaining roommates. 

“...Where were you thinking? -If we were gonna move.”, you finally spoke. His face formed a tentative smile, “Wherever you’re comfortable, could just be a different part of town, closer to your work? -since mine’s always moving.” You let out a small laugh at the last comment, and his smile widened. You felt the warmth of his words fill you and took another bite of your food while you considered. He smiled down at you from your peripheral, leaning his head towards yours. “So, …you’d consider it?”. You let your head lull to the side, resting against his as you smiled down at your legs stretched out side by side. “I’ll consider it.”

~

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!

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[fuckin-sick-bih]

I'm Your Rock, Baby. I won't back down.

Fandom: Stranger Things (honestly in my head I was thinking of Tattoo and Florist AU but it's kinky Eddie instead of kinky Steve this time? idk food for thought!) Summary: Steve's been sick and Eddie's been enjoying playing Caretaker. When Steve wakes up from a nap, they watch a movie together and cuddle. CW: cold sneezes, sneezing on partner's neck/shoulder, mention of nose blowing/wiping but really low mess fic for me! Word Count: 1,259 MINORS DNI Author Note: little drabble i did just writing in the tumblr text post thing bc for some reason writing in the tumblr text box makes it easier to write rn? idk, man, don't ask me how my brain works i just live with this traitorous electric meatball

Eddie swayed his hips to the beat of the song as he hand-washed the few items they had that weren't dishwasher safe in the sink, rings sitting on the counter beside him. His phone was softly spitting out one of his current favorites and he was mumbling along, trying to keep quiet so Steve could rest.

Poor Steve had been down for the count the last few days with a nasty cold that had left him utterly exhausted. He scrubbed at the pan he'd made breakfast this morning in as he mulled over the last few days of meds, tissues, sleeping, soup, meds, and more sleeping.

Of course, Eddie was over the moon at getting to take care of Steve. Anytime he got to take care of Steve was a win in his book. His boyfriend was like a walking poster child for hyper independence and Eddie secretly blamed the Harrington parents for that.

Pulling the drain and letting the sink water gurgle down into the abyss, Eddie sighed. He paused his music only to hear sniffling from back in the bedroom. Straining his ears, Eddie swore he heard a catch of breath just before-

"HeNX'T!"

"Don't stifle!" Eddie called out instantly, though his tone was fond as he dried his hands.

As he headed back to the bedroom, Eddie spoke again, "You want a sinus infection? That's how you get a sinus infection." He crossed his arms and admired the sight of Steve sitting up in bed with a tissue folded over his nose.

There was a light blush over Steve's face, skin still lightly tanned from summer. "Sorry. Habit. Snf! What were you doing out there? I thought you fell asleep with me?"

The quiet softness as well as how his voice seemed to grate against his throat, making Steve wince a little had Eddie moving over to the bed to sit with him. "Aw, I'm sorry. I woke up and started cleaning up a little is all. Thought I'd let you sleep as long as you could. Seemed like you needed it. How you feeling now, handsome?"

One of Eddie's hands was coming up to brush Steve's bangs back up out of his face, carding lovingly through his hair as well as pressing to his forehead. "Better than I was, honestly, but I th-hih-! ohh no... heh-ih!"

It was like Eddie's whole world was slowing down as he watched and felt Steve's expression crumple into a pre-sneeze show. His brows rose then collapsed into a pleading sort of pinch while his nostrils flared, mouth hovering open.

"E-ehhddieh-! EhX'TSHH! ID'SHuh! Hh...! ugh d'noh..." Steve collapsed forward, head jerking downward to sneeze towards their laps as his face flushed with color. He was scrambling for a tissue, but Eddie was already plucking and handing him several.

"Bless you, sweetheart, jeez." Eddie leaned forward to kiss Steve's forehead and then the top of his head. "You sure you're feeling better?" He teased, trying not to squirm as Steve blew his nose into the wad of tissues.

A little sniffle came from Steve as he finally pulled the tissues away from his face. "Uh-huh. Just think it's moved to my head. I'm all-" He gestured vaguely to his face and head with a pointed finger and sniffled again. "What's that word you use?"

Eddie made a strangled little sound and rested a hand on Steve's knee. "Stuffy?" He suggested helpfully, praying his boyfriend was searching for a more vanilla term.

"Sure. That." Steve replied with an amused little grin and Eddie knew right then and there that Steve was feeling better if he was getting one of those smiles.

Without warning, Eddie leaned in to press a soft kiss to Steve's lips before pulling back. "Brat." He took a moment to pretend to examine him, going so far as to thoughtfully tap his chin for dramatic effect. "You feel up to watching a movie on the couch with me?"

Steve looked amused at first, but he was quickly looking more and more distracted. "Yeah, I... I think I can manage- that..." His eyes went unfocused as he tried to respond to Eddie's question and Eddie knew pretty quickly what was going on as his eyes flicked to Steve's cherry-red, chapped nostrils that twitched and flared.

"Hiih... IXX'TShhuh!" Steve lurched forward towards their laps again with his powerful sneeze that had tears springing to his eyes. "Ugh, sorry. That might end up happening... more- heh...ihh-hh! ISSHHuh! God, sorry." 

. . .

Twenty minutes later found Steve curled up in Eddie's lap on the couch with Princess Bride playing on their television. Eddie was playing with Steve's hair as his head rested on his shoulder, legs sprawled over his lap.

They were both covered in a blanket and Steve had the box of tissues in his lap, one in his hand which he kept dabbing at his nose with. Eddie was doing his best to pay attention to the movie, but if he was being honest with himself he could quote the whole thing from start to finish just by where in the musical score they were.

So instead he doted softly on Steve who was sleepily watching the movie. Not much energy to do anything else as Eddie pressed soft kisses to his forehead, hair, eyebrows, and even the bridge of his nose once.

Though that had made Steve's eyes well with ticklish tears and his nostrils flared as his breath hitched softly, "E-Ehhddie, that's gonna... huh-! m-make me s-sneeze..."

"Oh, is it?" Eddie practically purred as he lifted a hand to gently tap the pad of his pointer finger against the side of Steve's nose. "Hadn't noticed."

"IHIshhiiew! IXt'Hue!" Steve exploded moments after the tap like that was all he needed to be set off. Eyes watering, bright red nose twitching and shining ever so slightly around the chapped rim. "Ugh, snf! you're a menace, Munson. Absolute snff! menace. Those good for you? Or should I nix the tissues and use you instead?"

A shudder ran through Eddie at Steve's words and he groaned, letting his head tip back. "That's playing dirty, Stevie, and you know it. You can't dirty talk me while you're sick and sneezy." Then came the soft feeling of plump lips traveling over his throat and the subtle brush of a damp nose tip against his Adam's apple.

Eddie would deny at all costs the noise that garnered from him.

It did get Steve to chuckle, though. "Like you tapping my nose isn't playing dirty. You made me sneeze. That- hhh... oh h-hang on... gonna- hihh..."

This time Eddie didn't get to watch Steve's build up, but he could feel it. Every stuttering inhale pressed up against him, the way his fingers curled against Eddie's shirt ever so slightly, and how Steve tucked into his shoulder with a final wavering. "Hihh-ih!" Before finally pressing his face into Eddie's neck and shoulder as he sneezed, "IHHxT'Shuh! Ohh- snf! shit, I forget what I was saying." He admitted, chuckling a little again as he pressed a tissue to his running nose.

Meanwhile, Eddie was getting his heart rate under control and running his fingertips lovingly along Steve's back up and down. "Bless you, pumpkin. Okay, I promise-" And Eddie made a little X over his heart with his free hand. "No more teasing my poor boyfriend's nose unless he asks or he's all better, deal?"

And then Steve gave him a wicked smile. One that only meant one thing. "I never said it was a bad thing, Eds."

[secretobsessionstuff]

Madix taking care of Dakota when he gets sick while their hanging out. Romantic caretaking is nice and all but I love a good bromance.

Thanks for the requests! For some reason my brain really wanted to add some cold/flu symptoms and the result is this inaccurate fic that also has emeto. Enjoy! And I used prompts from THIS post to help me beat writer's block:

62. "Shh, keep your voice down. ____ is sleeping."

43. "He's too stubborn for his own good."

-------------

Madix sat on the floor with his back up against the couch. There was nothing wrong with the couch—other than it currently being taken up by Dakota’s sleeping body—but Madix preferred to sit on the floor to play video games. Maybe it was a habit from his childhood, sitting closer to the tv than necessary, but he swore it helped him win. Plus, this way he could better reach the bowl of chips on the coffee table. 

He really shouldn’t have been eating chips just then considering that he and Dakota were meant to go to the movie theatres in less than an hour. There would be popcorn there, but he couldn’t stop himself from snacking. Like sitting on the floor, barbeque chips were an essential element to the Saturday afternoon gaming session. As a kid, he’d been limited to two hours of play time on the weekends. As an adult he could play for as long as wanted, if his schedule was free.

Technically, they would need to leave for the theatre in half an hour, but Madix didn’t think that was going to happen. The congested snoring from behind him told him that they would be better off staying home. 

Dakota had said earlier that he felt fine enough to keep their plans, but Madix had been skeptical. 

“You don’t sound good,” Madix had said after Dakota coughed into his elbow for the umpteenth time since arriving at his house. It was a wet, rattling cough that worried Madix. He kept looking back his friend, watching Dakota’s energy drain away the longer they played video games, like an avatar’s health dwindling with every strike. 

Dakota sniffled and answered without taking his eyes off the game. The screen was split down the middle for two-player mode. “I might be getting sick. My throat is kinda scratchy.” 

“Do you still want to go to the movies later today?” 

“Yeah of course,” Dakota insisted. “It won’t totally hit me until tomorrow anyway. That’s what Sundays are for.” 

“Right…” Madix said slowly. He was going to say more but Dakota started coughing again. Madix could hear phlegm crackling in Dakota’s lungs when he inhaled sharply. He waited until Dakota was finished to carry on. “I really don’t mind rescheduling. You don’t want to be coughing like that during the movie.”  

“Mads, I’ll be fine,” Dakota said after clearing his throat. “Try worrying instead about the fact that I just obliterated you.” 

Madix frowned and looked back to the tv in time to see his HP drop to zero.

They played for a while longer, switching to a cozy game when Dakota said that intensely staring at the screen was hurting his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to make the burning go away. Dakota’s sniffling and coughing took away from the peaceful background music, but Madix didn’t mind. He had already decided—even before Dakota fell asleep—that they’d skip the movie. As much he didn’t care about the constant coughing and throat clearing, an entire theatre of people surely would. 

At some point, Dakota had gotten up from the couch. Madix could hear him in the bathroom, clearing his throat and blowing his nose. The boy came back to the living room with the tip of his nose tinged red and glassy eyes that shone in the light. He seemed to have forgotten that they were playing a game together, leaving his controller on the table. 

“Ugh, fuck.”  He fell back on the couch with a huff, stretching his legs out and taking advantage of the fact that Madix sat on the floor. He clasped his hands together atop his belly.

“Are you alright?” Madix asked. 

“I’m a bit nauseous. It’s kinda weird.” 

Madix shrugged. “It’s not that weird to be a little nauseous if you’re swallowing a lot of phlegm.” 

Dakota grimaced. “‘A 'bit' might have been an understatement.” He groaned, massaging his thumb and index fingers into his eyes. “I really don’t need my stomach hurting on top of everything else.” 

“Still think it hasn’t hit you yet?” Madix asked, rhetorically. It was obvious to him that Dakota was properly knocked out from this bug. Dakota let out an exasperated sigh as his half-assed reply. 

Eventually, Madix found himself playing alone. Only the sound of snoring kept him company as he roamed the digital terrain of the game. The movie time came and went, and Dakota stayed asleep. Madix did not wake him. There were many times that Dakota sounded like he was drowning in the mucus that coated his airway. Madix had to stop himself from shaking Dakota awake whenever his worries got the best of him. Sleep was good. Sleep was the best thing for him. 

That sleep was almost shattered when the front door opened, and Riley came in from the rain, dripping wet and squeaking his soaked shoes on the tile. He was singing whatever song had been playing in the car, unaware that he was not home alone. Unaware that Madix was not at the movies with Dakota like he said he was going to be. 

His singing came to an abrupt stop when he saw Madix in the living room. “Oh hi, love. What are you doing here?” 

“Shh, keep your voice down. Dakota is sleeping.” Madix said quickly, wincing at Riley’s outdoor voice. His boyfriend must have been singing his heart out in the car. Riley only slid across the floor in his socks when he had Harry Styles stuck in his head. 

Riley looked to the couch, noticing for the first time that Madix wasn’t alone. Thankfully Dakota was still asleep. Riley covered his mouth. “Ah sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t think you guys would be here. Or, you know, asleep on the couch for that matter.” Riley frowned, still watching Dakota’s chest move up and down. His breathing was shallow and ragged. “Is he okay?” 

Madix shook his head. “He’s sick. He just passed right out.”

“Aw, wouldn’t he rather be at home?” 

“Probably.” Madix nodded. “But he’s too stubborn for his own good.” 

“Is it just a cold, you think?” 

“Maybe,” Madix said, chewing on his bottom lip as he listened to the crackle of Dakota’s lungs.  “But he did say he was nauseous, so I’m not sure.” 

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m only here to shower,” Riley said, slowly making his exit. 

“Oh yeah, text me when you’re coming home.” 

 “Sure.” Riley answered. He spared one last look at the sick boy on the couch. “Please try not to catch whatever he has.” He gave Madix a knowing look. “I know you. You’re going to fuss all over him when he wakes up, and before we know it, you’ll be snoring like that.” 

“Excuse me, I’m a very careful caregiver. I wash my hands.”

“Oh, thank God you wash your hands. Not many people know that trick.”  

“Alright,” Madix said with a laugh. “Go shower before you wake him up with your sarcasm.” 

But Riley was right. Even before Dakota was awake, Madix couldn’t help himself from fussing over him. The grey tint to his skin worried Madix. Dakota’s face was knotted with tension even at rest. 

But the thing that worried Madix the most was the way Dakota shivered. He shivered under the blanket that Madix had draped over his body when he first fell asleep. Now Madix wondered if that blanket wasn’t such a good idea, not if Dakota was running a temperature.

Madix peered down at his friend (the video game long forgotten) and sighed. Dakota really didn’t look well, with his cracked lips and skin that shone with cold sweat. Madix placed his hand on Dakota’s forehead. He was not surprised by the heat he found. He was however surprised when Dakota’s eyes opened suddenly. 

“Sorry,” Madix said, taking his hand away from Dakota’s face. “It looks like you have a fever.” 

“S’okay,” Dakota mumbled, letting his eyelids droop once again. “Do I?” 

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Madix said frankly. “You are a very stubborn person who should be at home right now.” 

Dakota took in a long breath. The exhale was more of a drawn-out moan. At the end of this slow cycle, he didn’t’ even respond to Madix’s comment, instead choosing to say, “I don’t feel good.” 

“What’s bothering you? I have cold medicine. Tea if your throat hurts. Pain relievers. What do you need?” 

Dakota’s brain lagged with all the information thrown at him. Everything felt wrong. Most concerning though was the strange way that his belly gurgled. “I guess…” he started slowly, “my stomach hurts.” But then talking hurt his throat and the sound of his own voice hurt his head. “Mmh no, actually everything hurts. 

“Right, so a magic pill to fix it all then, coming right up.” Madix went to the kitchen, keeping an eye on Dakota as he did so. “We’ll start with Tylenol and see if that helps.” 

He came back with pills and a glass of water. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing the couch and his poor friend who was lying on it. Dakota’s eyes were closed again. Madix touched his arm. “Sit up for a minute, Kota,” he said gently. 

Dakota groaned and fought against gravity to get up. Madix’s hand on his back helped a lot. As soon as he was sitting upright, he slouched over while a wave of vertigo and nausea lapped against his senses. The living room shifted as if he were seeing it through a kaleidoscope. He put his head in his hands in an attempt to stop the world from spinning. 

“Come on, Dakota.” Madix said, resting his hand on his friend’s knee. “You can lie back down once you take these pills.” 

Dakota did not lift his head. That simple movement felt like a herculean task. The gurgling in his stomach got worse as he thought about opening his eyes. “Madix…” he whined from within the darkness of his hands. His heartbeat pulsed in his temples. “I don’t feel right.” 

“I know, man. I’m sorry.” Madix gave his knee a squeeze. 

Madix had but a millisecond to think about the implications of what Dakota just said. He said right. He didn’t say good, like before. ‘I don’t feel good’ meant something very different compared to ‘I don’t feel right’. The exact difference became very clear to Madix when suddenly Dakota was heaving up the contents of his stomach onto the floor. 

Vomit spilled between Dakota’s legs in a stream of sickly greenish-yellow. The immediate next wave followed a deep gurgle that clawed up his already sore throat. He let out a moan as his belly spasmed painfully. 

“Oh my—okay,” Madix muttered quickly as the carpet got covered in sick. He had since moved his hand from Dakota’s knee to his shuddering shoulder. That body part wasn’t in danger of getting hit. Madix rubbed small circles with his thumb. 

Dakota choked up a mouthful of lingering sick from that last wave. “Guh, oh God. I’m sorry,” he said before gagging again. His shoulder rolled forward with the next bout. His voice was incredibility thick from the congestion and now the nausea. 

“It’s okay,” Madix promised. “You’re fine.” Well…

Yeah, Dakota was not fine. He coughed up the next sludge of sick that fell passed his lips. 

It was a small gush because there wasn’t much in his stomach other than cereal from breakfast and mucus from his lungs and nose. Vomiting it up was still hell. It came out of his nose, mingling with snot that dripped from his lips. 

“Oh, Kota,” Madix cooed, seeing the strings of bile and mucus hanging off his nose. Luckily there were napkins on the table that he passed to his friend. “Here, wipe your face.” 

Dakota took the napkin. He blew his nose, almost gagging again at the feeling of chunks coming out. “Fuck, that’s gross,” he said, throwing the napkin on the floor. In the splatter of sick. He sniffled and cleared his throat. And he cleared his throat again. Then he coughed. And cleared his throat. 

“Will you take this water now?” Madix asked, picking up the glass that he hastily set down when Dakota started vomiting. He did not offer the pills. “No use taking the Tylenol just yet.” 

Dakota took small, but grateful sips of the water. It soothed his raw throat for but a second. He wiped his mouth and moaned. Madix took back the glass of water, so it didn’t spill in Dakota’s hands. 

“Okay,” Madix began slowly, trying to catch his friend’s eyes, but he wouldn’t look up. “Kota? Are you alright?” 

Dakota sniffled. “What do you think?” He still didn’t look up. 

“I’m sure you feel like crap, but are you done throwing up?”

Dakota shrugged and didn’t offer anything else. 

Madix just sighed. He was used to unhelpful answers. “Would you rather the bathroom or the bedroom? You can’t stay here,” Madix said, looking down at the mess on the carpet. “I have to clean this up before Riley gets back.” 

That was when Dakota looked up. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I should have moved. I—I just felt so…I don’t know…weird. My head hurts and—”

“—Dakota,” Madix interrupted, putting his hand firmly on his friend’s back. The fire was still raging beneath his skin. “There’s no need to apologize. You’ve got a fever. You’re sick. It’s not your fault.” 

Dakota sniffled and looked at Madix with wet, bloodshot eyes. “So, you’re not mad?” 

Madix chuckled incredulously. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not mad. How could you think I’d be mad?” 

“I dunno.” 

Madix just laughed. It was nervous kind of laughter because none of this was in Dakota’s nature. He was clearly in need of sleep and fever reducers. “Anyway, it seems like you’re done throwing up. Let me help you to bed.” 

“Okay…” Dakota said lazily. He let Madix guide him to the second bedroom, dragging his feet on the floor. As they walked down the hall, Dakota spoke sloppily as if he were drunk. “Please don’t leave when I’m asleep.” 

“This is my house. Where do you think I’m going?” 

“Just stay here. Promise.” 

Madix sighed. “I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Good,” Dakota mumbled as he crawled to the top of the bed. He quickly brought the blankets up to his chin. He coughed and coughed, until Madix thought they’d have to burn the duvet. 

Madix made sure there were tissues on the nightstand and a bucket on the floor. He took Dakota temperature with a thermometer this time. It wasn’t good. “I’m gonna check on you an unhealthy number of times, just so you know,” he said, setting down a water bottle on the nightstand. 

“How many times?” Dakota mumbled, his fevered mind latching onto the word ‘number’ for some reason.

“Fifty-seven.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay, Kota,” Madix mumbled in a laugh. “Get some rest.” 

He left Dakota to his fever dreams, and immediately washed his hands. 

[angstyaches]

what about 36. tissues for felix?

100 Word Drabbles

CW: cold (sickness).

___

Felix tried to laugh when he saw the shopping bag in Elliott’s hands. His achy lungs shuddered into a weak cough. "How much did you buy, darling?" 

Elliott scowled and sat at the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know what you needed.” 

Felix sniffled softly as he sat forward and peered into the bag. “Haven’t you ever had a cold?” 

“Not in modern times.” 

Felix happily fished a packet of cough drops out of the bag, and then frowned. “You got four different types of tissues?” 

“I assumed you had a preference, but I didn’t know what it was.” 

[emperorsfoot]

For @annameowbooks1878

Beastman notices that Skeletor is a little under the weather after their last mission and tries to take care of him.

I’ve never actually written a sick fic or “one character takes care of another character” fic before, so I don’t honestly know how they should go. I’m really much more of an angst writer and only recently got into fluff in the past 3 years on account of the pandemic. I realize this is short, but I hope it wasn’t disappointing.

[zosanbrainrot]

fanarts for the cute fic by Hazel_Athena where Sanji gets turned into a cat and Zoro is very much a cat person

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

[starrystevie]

"what are you doing," eddie mumbles in confusion, hair fanned out on steve's pillow, the moonlight streaming in giving him a hazy halo.

there's a hand on the side of his face and it's cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin. it's soft, so soft, too soft. another hand is trapping his against the mattress, fingers trailing over his forearm before tangling into his own and squeezing tight. it's gentle, so gentle, too gentle.

eddie isn't soft, eddie isn't gentle. eddie isn't making love in a full size bed with wallpaper that matches the drapes. he isn't fluttering kisses in time with fluttering heartbeats and the fluttering wings of butterflies trapped in his stomach like the most lovely cage.

eddie is fucking at 2am when there's enough intoxication to make him look like he's worth it. he's rough and wild, quick and easy. a means to a barely wanted end because he's there and willing and with long enough hair to let people imagine he's someone else.

he should be caged instead of the damn butterflies. he bares his teeth and thrashes his limbs just to fight and see what he can get away with. he laughs loud and brash in the face of sweetness just to see anger, just to see hurt.

he has half a mind to think he's a feral animal that's hardly been trained, performing in some fucked up circus that charges two bucks to see him snarl and hurl insults at anyone who passes by. he bites at the hands that try to touch, try to feed, proving to the onlookers that he's only worth the pocket change they pay to see him.

but steve. he's holding his face like he wants to, holding his hand like it's the most important thing in the world. he's pressing kisses along eddie's jaw without any hurry, without any rush, kissing just to kiss. feeling just to feel. he's like a ray of goddamn sunshine even in the darkness that midnight provides, warming eddie from the inside out.

eddie wants to run. he wants to scream. he wants to feel like he's allowed steve's soft and gentle but he's-

"is this not okay?" and now steve's looking at him with all of whatever he's trying to give him lacing into his face, his eyes and spit slick lips sparkling in the moonlight like a shiny new toy. "do you not like it?"

concern and care are different sides of the same steve shaped coin and if eddie looks hard enough, he can see them blurring together in his frustratingly beautiful sparkling eyes and those damn butterflies start to come back.

"no, it's-" he let's out a sigh, relaxing his tight muscles and sinking into the bed, sinking into whatever steve is willing to give him. "just different, is all. good different, i think."

steve smiles and eddie shakily mirrors it back, before he's ducking his head again and slotting their lips together, fingers still holding tight to eddie's, still cupping his face like it's something precious.

eddie's come to terms with the taste of the metal bars of his cage, teeth wearing down as he tries to bite his way to freedom. maybe this time he'll let himself get used to the taste of soft and gentle smiles if it means loving steve.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Art is always escapism, even the art about terrible, brutal things. Art is pinning down a feeling and that - the act of quantifying the human experience- is inherently escapist.

So "nobody dies, everybody lives" is equally valuable as that grimdark journey to adulthood when it comes to "real" media

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

how deep is your devotion? ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank u to @softgirlgonehaywire for having the biggest brain in the world and infecting me w this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading u can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself. awfully amused.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise your brow. unimpressed.

satoru steps back. inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“.. fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily.

his chest is heaving. lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire.

”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

a questioning hum. “do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing.

enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from the faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[blighted-lights]

@holographic-mars has me thinking about them,,, agh.

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

IM SO EXCITED TO READ COLD OMGGG i'm at work rn but i saved it to my drafts so i could have it as SOON as i'm home

That makes me so happyyy! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

I'm currently debating if I should write more parts, like in my mind they obviously end up going somewhere, but if anyone's interested in reading a danny roommate slowburn, lmk

[fuckin-sick-bih]

not to be a slut or anything but UGH i am in such the mood to write about my OC Hale stuck with a wretched cold in the most insufferable town meeting he can't get out of

i will be going feral about this under the cut

can't focus on anything with how badly he needs to sneeze, and can't leave because that's not very Future Head Alpha Of The Town of him. PLUS his dad Morgan, the notorious asshole running the town, is watching like a hawk from across the table while also keeping the meeting running through every sniffle, stifled sneeze, and uncomfortable shuffle/shiver from Hale.

poor thing is just so stuffed up, can barely breathe so he does his best to breathe quietly through his mouth only it just makes his lips chapped and hurt. every stifled sneeze sounds horribly congested now. pinched off and squelching when he pinches his nose to try and keep them contained.

he just can't do it without using a hand anymore. usually he's great at stifling, could do it all day long, but now he can only just barely hold back the messy, coldish sneezes that threaten to tear through him.

he's exhausted from all these food rationing meetings and it's only just the start of winter. when he pauses to rub at his temples or his eyes, maybe even at his sinuses a little, he can feel Morgan's eyes boring holes into him. glaring him down. so he slumps as much into his seat as he's allowed and powers through.

when it's all finally over and he stumbles home into his drafty, musty little apartment to curl up on the couch he drops right to sleep.

i'm torn between hurt-no-comfort or hurt-then-comfort

[ohhgingersnaps]

I'm seeing some frustration over fandom creatives expressing anger or distress over people feeding their work into ChatGPT. I'm not responding to OP directly because I don't want to derail their post (their intent was to provide perspective on how these models actually work, and reduce undue panic, which is all coming from a good place!), but reassurances that the addition of our work will have a negligible impact on the model (which is true at this point) does kind of miss the point? Speaking for myself, my distress is less about the practical ramifications of feeding my fic into ChatGPT, and more about the principle of someone taking my work and deliberately adding it to the dataset.

Like, I fully realize that my work is a drop in the bucket of ChatGPT's several-billion-token training set! It will not make a demonstrable practical difference in the output of the model! That doesn't change the fact that I do not want my work to be part of the set of data that the ChatGPT devs use for training.

According to their FAQ, ChatGPT can and will use user input to train itself. The terms and conditions explicitly state that they save your chats to help train and improve their models. (You can opt-out, but sharing is the default.) So if you're feeding a fic into ChatGPT, unless you've explicitly opted out, you are handing it to the ChatGPT team and giving them permission to use it for training, whether or not that was your intent.

Now, will one fic make a demonstrable difference in the output of the model? No! But as the person who spent a year and a handful of months laboring over my fic, it makes a difference to me whether my fic, specifically, is being used in the dataset. If authors are allowed to have a problem with the ChatGPT devs for scraping millions of fics without permission, they're also allowed to have a problem with folks handing their individual fics over via the chat interface.

I do want to add that if you've done this to a fic, please don't take this as me being upset with you personally! Folks are still learning new information and puzzling out what "good" vs. "bad" use is, from an ethical standpoint. (Heck, my own perspective on this is deeply based on my own subjective feelings!) And we certainly shouldn't act like one person feeding a fic into ChatGPT has the same practical negative impact, on a broad societal scale, as a team using a web crawler to scrape five billion pieces of artwork for Stable Diffusion.

The point is that fundamentally, an ethical dataset should be obtained with the consent of those providing the data. Just because it's normalized for our data to be scraped without consent doesn't make it ethical, and this is why ChatGPT gives users the option to not share data— there is actually a standardized way (robots.txt) for website servers to set policies for how bots/crawlers can interact with them, for exactly this reason— and I think fandom artists and authors are well within their rights to express a desire for opting out to be the socially-respected default within the fandom community.

[gutsby]

Wingman

Pairing: Himbo!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Warnings: 18+. Period crackfic starring Himbo!Joel—don’t take it too seriously. R has a uterus that hates her. Mentions of blood, cramps, & hangover-induced puking. Dirty talk, f!masturbation. One (1) Mean Girls reference.

Word count: 1.7k

You were fucked ten ways to Wednesday if you didn’t get your hands on some soap, a steamer, and a supersized box of maxi-pads in the span of the next eleven minutes.

Joel Miller moved like molasses on a flat slab of granite.

“WILL YOU HURRY— THE FUCK— UP?”

Your cheeks were hot. The night air was cold.

Every other word that managed to claw out of your throat was punctuated by a breath—your stomach clenched, and the sex organ below it was in hysterics.

Joel continued to lace up his loafer, clumsy as ever.

“O-kay, okay,” he hummed, “Steamer, soap, and, uh…”

“Pads!”

“Uh-huh. Right. So what kinda…blood stuff is it, again?”

The words were like an aspersion on his tongue. At the ripe old age of forty-seven, Joel still hadn’t quite learned to jibe with the menstrual product lingo, and it showed.

“Heavy flow. Any brand. With wings,” you hissed.

“Boneless or traditional?”

And if he hadn’t been standing outside the truck, foot propped up against the driver’s seat while he tied his shoe, you likely would’ve smacked him upside the head. The glare you gave him was sufficiently vicious to extinguish the smirk, though. Your hand made a fist in the front of your dress, and you groaned, leaning inward.

Joel got the picture and finished his bunny ears quick.

“Sorry.”

Then, a little more sheepish as he straightened up,

“I’m goin’. Be just a minute.”

And he was off.

Your body curled into a ball as soon as he left. It cried in pain, to nothing and no one around but that fugly slut, the nastiest skank bitch you’d ever met, your uterus.

There was no way you and Joel were making it to this rehearsal dinner. You needed to be at the venue by 7:00, the clock on the dash read 6:11, and you were, currently, twenty miles shy of Fredericksburg with a rag between your legs and your best friend scouring the local H-E-B.

That afternoon you’d been running late, so of course you’d thrown on your thin, satin, pre-wedding-ready dress before you left—and forgotten a change of clothes. Joel had been hungover from all the batshit bachelor party antics, so of course you’d had to stop three times along the way just so he could throw up on the side of the road. And, though your friend was many, many things, discreet was not one of them, so of course he’d told you, point-blank, when he saw you reaching for something in the backseat with your butt sticking up:

“You been pissin’ tomato juice or somethin’?”

And you’d looked back in abject horror.

Of course your period had come a week early and made you bleed straight through your bright yellow dress.

Maria was your best friend. You were her maid of honor. Tommy’s groomsmen happened to be the most fuckable bunch you’d ever seen—save for Joel—so there was no way you’d be caught dead at that dinner with the flag of Japan on your ass. And Maria had bought the dress just for you, so you felt like you had to get this bloodstain out.

You lifted your head to peer out the window. Even with the help of a fistful of ibuprofen, you could barely move.

6:29

“Dude, where are you?!”

It was like your phone and the FaceTime call to Joel had just materialized on their own. The man on the screen was blinking slow. Ogling something in front of him.

“So ‘L’ stands for…long?” he said after a beat.

“No, that’s light, Joel, I need a heavy one.”

“This one’s got cardboard in it, I think.”

“That’s a tampon applicator, dipshit.”

In a blink, Joel’s eyes flitted to his phone. His nostrils flared, and he met your gaze with a scowl of his own.

“Well how the hell am I supposed to know that? Only stuck two— three things in a pussy before and it sure as fuck wasn’t cotton,” he griped, and if he were any less mature he likely would’ve rolled his eyes. Drama king.

You winced as another cramp rolled through you. You shook your head and tried to regain your composure.

“Just find a heavy-flow. pad. with wings. for me. Please.”

Joel sighed and turned back to the shelf, eyes searching.

It shouldn’t have been this hard, but it was. You had no doubt Joel had never willingly touched a pussy product before in his life, so the road ahead was treacherous. Silently, you felt the urge to tell him he had no business being in pussy at all if he didn’t bother to learn what came out of one every month, but you let him cook.

His dark, greyish brows drew together in concentration. He leaned forward and reached for a box. Then stopped.

Went low to grab another, before pausing to show you.

“Very close, Joel. That’s a pantyliner.”

You felt somewhat like a mother showing a headstrong four-year-old how to copy shapes onto paper. No, darling, that’s a diva cup—and be careful with that crayon. Joel stood and he stewed and, by the look in his eyes, you’d already resigned yourself to another ten minutes of this back-and-forth rummaging at least.

Then you shifted in your seat, pushing your legs down a bit. They rubbed, of course. In spite of the pain that had seized your whole lower half, you felt a sweet, dull pulse.

You stared hard at Joel’s face on-screen to make sure he hadn’t seen it in yours, but damn that friction felt nice.

Sensitivity elevated with the influx of hormones, no doubt, you sat tight and tried to enjoy the feeling on purpose for a moment. You slowly sucked in a breath.

“Aw, hell, there’s just too many’a these damn boxes.”

You flexed your thigh muscles and let out a sigh.

“I don’t know how y’all do it,” Joel grumbled.

Keep looking, Miller. Just keep looking.

Slowly, your hips began to stir, and one small grain of pleasure gave way to a jolt—a twist in the pit of your belly that made the pain less grating. You leaned into it more.

Holding your phone, you could feel when Joel let out a frustrated groan. The sound low and almost enticing.

Wait.

Wait.

“Gross,” you said out loud, half-whispered.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was one of your closest friends; a man who loved beer die, Pall Malls, and Keith Whitley like nobody’s business and gave suffocating bear hugs whenever he was sweaty just to gross you out. You weren’t supposed to find men like that attractive.

But when the grit of his voice was just so nice…

“What?” Joel stopped to look down again.

“What?” you shot back, instantly.

A frown tugged at his lips.

“What’s ‘gross’? Me?”

Not…exactly, no.

More disgusted with yourself than anyone else, you clamped your legs together and shook your head. You tried to swallow, as if the action might suck the pleasure down with it, but the hot, throbbing sensation only grew.

You were practically grinding into the towel that had been stuffed between your thighs when you heard:

“Wings!”

An exceptionally proud Joel displayed a box of extra heavy-duty maxi-pads, with wings. He was grinning.

You weren’t sure if you thanked him next, congratulated the man, or what. You probably strung some words together and tried to return the smile as best you could, but who knew? The next thing you saw was that the line had gone dead, the truck was silent, and all that could be heard above the hum of the engine were your moans.

You braced yourself against the seat and rolled your hips even harder. Out of habit, you caught your lip between your teeth to prevent a louder sound from escaping, but then you remembered there was no one to hear you but you—for now. Your palm pressed flat on the dashboard, your knees squeezed even closer, and your vision flooded with soft, minuscule pinpricks of an all-too-familiar hue.

The only thing new to you here was Joel—the thought of him had never crossed your mind in moments like these.

But now you were closing your eyes, humping the seat with nothing between your body and the old, weathered upholstery but a scrap of fabric. And you were moaning his name. Imagining a face that was littered with coarse, grey stubble—you might’ve teased him for that once or twice before—and lips that were soft. So soft against your own that you wouldn’t think twice if he tried to slip his tongue inside and hold the sides of your face as he filled your cunt to the brim. In fact, Joel’s mouth would be a welcome distraction. Knowing how foul he was in even friendly confab, he’d undoubtedly be whispering the most vile things in your ear while he fucked you.

Reminding you, quietly, that you made such a pretty cocksleeve for him—why didn’t we try this sooner?— and how you’d be the sweetest thing if you just gave his cock another squeeze and made yourself cum all over it.

The mental image of that alone was inducement enough.

You felt a hot, euphoric band of something start to give way inside you. It tightened up, twisted—then snapped. Your mouth fell open and your thighs clenched tighter, grinding desperately in tandem with a pace you’d hoped Joel might’ve set if he were laying there underneath you. You clung to one last thought of him gripping your hips and bruising your walls with the force of his cock driving in and out, over and over again until, eventually, his cum was leaking out through each fluid thrusting movement. It was all your body could take, conjuring thoughts of his load spilling into you and onto him in warm, wet, sticky—

Whistling.

Someone was whistling outside. Walking up to the truck.

You were still coming down from the staggering heights of your climax when the driver’s side door swung open. You blinked furiously, as though to drive all the filth and depravity and need from your eyes before he could see.

It didn’t matter.

Joel was too amped up off a white plastic baggy to be concerned with much else as he plopped down beside you and smiled—beamed, really. Completely oblivious.

Your extremities were still twitching with the residuum of bliss when he reached for your hand. His eyes somehow warmer than they’d been all that day, they sparkled and shone and crinkled at the corners in a way that seemed to say the words before his mouth had uttered a sound.

“I got three boxes to be safe…”

Joel was really too sweet.

“…and some chocolate for your cramps…”

Always so considerate.

“…and you look real pretty when you cum, by the way.”

This motherfucker.

[tightjeansjavi]

the feel of coldness only water brings

A/N: so this is the unplanned part two of this Joel drabble I wrote called wildflowers. I just woke up this morning to some lovely reblogs on it, thus inspiring this piece 🥺 oh, and I also thought of @beefrobeefcal and her beefy, fat! Joel fics that are so so good while I was writing this!

~word count: 1.6k~

Summary: you convince Joel to join you for a swim in a lake while on patrol despite his insecurities

Pairing | joel x f!reader

Warnings: implied smut, fluff, angst (so sorry) non specified age gap between Joel and the reader, body insecurities(Joel), self deprecating thoughts, real bodies, natural body changes with age etc, language, teasing, flirting, body appreciation/worship, peepaw!joel, grumpy!joel, sunshine reader, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of wearing a bra and panties) +18 minors dni!

Sweat beads and drips down from the base of his hairline and slowly seeps into the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric naturally. His steel toed boots stop at the water's edge, soft ripples lapping at the worn leather with a soft audible swish. The lake is crystalline, and beneath the glass surface he sees a million different rocks, all shapes and sizes and textures. The mountain air is crisp, refreshing as he inhales deeply.

The high noon sun blinds his vision momentarily, but he welcomes it. The fabric of his shirt is beginning to grow itchy, scratching at his skin from the beading perspiration. He kicks a stray rock into water, watching as it sinks into the shallow depths.

“Joel.” Your voice carries over the water, your head and shoulders bobbing like a cork in the middle of the glistening lake. “You said it yourself, there’s no infected out here, and the water is so refreshing. Won’t you join me?”

His shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his shirt, his jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He squints, bringing his hand over his forehead to block out the blinding rays, “M’fine here, darlin.’” He chuffs out, “Besides, one of us has to be on alert.” He added, rationalizing his decision.

“Is it because you can’t swim?” It was a safe assumption to make.

He shook his head, kicking another rock with the toe of his boot. “It ain’t that.”

“Okay, so you can swim? Well, then what’s the issue? C’mon, baby. You’re practically sweating right through your shirt.” You said teasingly, hoping to see the corners of his permanent set frown quirk upwards, just for you.

“It’s silly.” He wavered, eyes casting downwards to his boots. “M’just—insecure s’all. Don’t want you to uh—see me like that.” He was never the best with communicating, but he tried with you, and that’s all you could ever really ask for.

“Joel, it’s not silly. If it makes you feel any better, you can keep your clothes on? It doesn’t matter to me because I think you're handsome, and your real body isn’t gonna suddenly make me stop feeling the way I do for you.” You reassured him with a soft smile.

“If I keep my clothes on m’gonna sink like a fuckin’ rock.” He forced out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with a huff. “Y’say that now…” he trailed off, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “But ‘m littered with scars, baby. Got grays on my chest and—m’barely fittin’ in my jeans these days. Should probably hold off on extra—”

“Joel.” You sighed, “I’m gonna stop you right there. Cause everything you just described to me?” You lifted your hands up from under the water in emphasis, “is a real fucking body. More importantly, it’s your body. You’re a healthy man, Joel. Your jeans ain’t fitting the same because you’re no longer in survival mode. You’re getting to indulge in a way that you weren’t able to in over 20 years. You're strong, but you're also soft in the right places.”

He doesn't believe you, of course. He would argue that it was because he had grown old and lazy like a house cat. You didn’t give him the chance, however.

“I love how soft and squishy your stomach is. You know why?”

He shook his head, feeling a flush creep up his neck and face,

“Because it acts as the perfect pillow for my head when we’re napping, and I love to grab onto your love handles when we’re cuddlin.’ Love to feel the way it presses into me when we hug. Or when you’re takin’ me from behind.”

“You’re just sayin’ that.” He scoffed.

“Am I?” You challenged him as you pulled yourself out of the water, dripping wet in just your flimsy pair of bra and panties.

“Don’t.” He warned you, taking a step to the side when you reached out to touch him. As if he was a frightened animal shying away. “M’jus’ a fat old man, darlin.’ Don’t gotta lie to me, sweetheart. I can accept the truth.” He was on the edge of snapping, nearly baring his teeth.

“Joel.” You said softly, “stop that. I ain’t have a reason to lie to you. Never have, never will.”

“You don’t have to protect my heart, darlin.’ S’okay. I ain’t deservin’ of your kindness. Don’t know why you even waste your time with a man like me—”

You looped your thumbs into the worn belt loops of his jeans and yanked him towards you swiftly despite his faint protests. “Would you shut up, please?”

Loose pebbles crunched beneath his heavy boots when you pulled him towards you and his hands naturally found your waist, big palms splayed across your damp skin. “Don’t you think you deserve yourself a real man? Someone who—isn’t like me?”

“You are a real man, Joel.” You gently remind him and slowly slip your thumbs from the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re beautiful, and I just wish you could see what I see.”

“Beautiful?” He scoffed, nose twitching when he felt your hands slowly slide up the expanse of his covered chest, “that ain’t me, sweetheart.” He rasped, tilting his chin downwards so he could watch your fingers gently toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“It is you, Joel. And one day you’ll wake up and realize it. And when that day comes, you’ll look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful, and you are loved, and you are deserving of kindness and softness for as long as Mother Nature lets me have you.”

He could feel himself slowly begin to cave from your words, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, and he would claim that it was just from the blinding sun and the irritating sweat dripping from his brow. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you, darlin.’ Don’t think I’ll ever understand it. You could have your pick of men in Jackson, and you choose me?” He stifled a chuckle, dipping his chin down further so he could kiss the edge of your fingertips.

“You’re worth more than the whole damn bunch, Joel. Stubborn ass of a man, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Undress me.” He murmured, swallowing the lump rising in his throat, “M’yours.”

You smiled, dragging your thumb against his jaw and slowly tilted his chin upwards so your eyes could meet, “Remember, it’s just you and me out here. Nothin’ but miles and miles of wilderness.”

“Kiss me.” He whispered, tightening his grip around your hips, pulling you in closer.

Your lips brush, testing the waters before you fully kiss him. Tasting the sweat from his brow that had trickled down his lips. Soft, chapped, warm and familiar against your own.

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his skin to the warm rays from the sun. You pushed the strained fabric down his shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the pebbles below. You traced his scars with delicate movements, detaching your lips from his so you could follow the path your fingers created. You nipped at the softness of his bicep, pressing open mouthed kisses that trailed down his arm to his hand. You kissed each knuckle, each callous with your eyes staying locked on his.

You squeezed the soft plump flesh of his love handles, imagining yourself using them as an anchor when you would ride his cock in the early morning hours when neither of you could sleep.

You dragged your nose against the swell of his belly, feeling him tense up before melting into your touch like a pad of butter on a hot pan. You inhaled his musky scent, dragging your lips southwards through the dark hair of his happy trail, pressing a kiss there, too.

Your fingers moved in muscle memory as you undid his belt, tugging his too tight jeans over his hips and strong thighs, letting them pool at his ankles.

He watches your every move, brows furrowed together at the sight of you on your knees between his thighs. He hopes to god there is no danger lurking nearby. He wants this memory etched into his brain for the rest of his days.

He breathes out a strained puff of air from between his parted lips when you press the tip of your nose against the underside of his heavy cock, and the drag of your hot tongue through the strained fabric.

A groan bubbles up his throat, spilling over and he presses his hips into your face, the swell of his belly brushing against the crown of your head.

You giggle, nipping lightly at the fabric, feeling his cock twitch and harden. You watch his eyes roll back, words tumbling out in tandem.

“Do. Not. Tease. Me.” He growled and you giggled at his response.

“If you want more…you’re just gonna have to catch me!” You rose from your knees before he could grab ahold of you, stepping back with that glint in your eye.

“Hey! That ain’t fair and you know it!” He huffed, already struggling to unlace his boots so he could pull his jeans off completely. He cursed under his breath when he watched you dive back into the refreshing waters.

“Gonna get you back for this.” He grumbled to himself, fighting the urge to grin at the warmth that he felt flooding in his chest.

You heard a loud splash just as you resurfaced, and two dark brown eyes locked onto you like a target as you playfully swam away.

Your giggles and his deep, raspy laughter filled the hot summer air like a song that you would play on repeat, over and over again.

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