#hi! its been a while. over a year and a half?

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Sugar”

No Outbreak!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Based on a request I got on my DMs

Summary: You return to your hometown to care for your ailing father and your brother with special needs, leaving behind your bakery—and your dreams. Overwhelmed and alone, you find unexpected comfort in your neighbor, Joel Miller

WC: 7k

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), fingering, undisclosed age gap, undisclosed illness mention, stress, references to behaviors commonly associated with ASD.

The screen door creaked the same way it did when you were a kid — rusted, unchanging, stuck in the same soft whimper it made when your mom was alive. It groaned under your hand as you pushed it open, the sound like an old ghost stretching its bones.

You were coming home with tired eyes and a back that ached from early mornings spent kneading dough. You had your name on the window of a tiny bakery four hours away, a reputation for sourdough that could make grown men cry. People used to line up before the sun came up. You’d smile, tuck flour-dusted hair behind your ear, hand over something warm and sweet and know, just for a second, that you were good at something. Needed. Steady.

But now, all of that had to be left behind.

Your father had taken a fall—nothing life-threatening, just enough to leave him limping, bitter, and suddenly in need of help. And then there was Caleb—your younger brother, your heart. Nonverbal, sweet, and sensitive to noise and touch, Caleb needed structure, softness, predictability. You didn’t trust anyone else to give him that. You couldn’t. So you packed up, closed the bakery temporarily—you told yourself—and came back.

You wiped your hands on your apron and nudged the oven door closed. Muffins. Your brother’s favorite. Blueberry, if you could swing it. The kitchen was too small and too hot, the ceiling fan rattling like it might fall down any second, and your hands were cracked from too much soap and not enough sleep, but at least baking made you feel useful. Like something still worked when everything else didn’t.

Later that day, you walked outside to look for your brother and glanced over just in time to catch a tall, broad man in jeans and a gray T-shirt looking your way. Arms crossed, one brow cocked. He nodded once.

You gave a half-smile, a shy tilt of your chin.

That was all.

You had enough to carry without adding neighbors.

…

It wasn’t long before you met him properly. Joel Miller.

He introduced himself a week later while helping you lift a sack of potting soil out of your trunk. You’d been starting a garden in the back—tomatoes, squash, something about it reminded you of home before everything cracked. Hoping the rhythm of planting, watering, tending might calm your nerves. Joel had said something about the soil being too clay-heavy and offered to help you mix in peat moss. He was quiet, observant. Lived alone with his daughter, Sarah—bright, friendly, called you “ma’am” with a little grin.

…

Joel Miller doesn’t mean to spy.

But when his truck rumbles into the driveway around 6PM each night, there’s always that moment where he glances across the fence and sees you. Bent over, carrying groceries inside, or pushing a wheelchair ramp into place. Once, he watched you chase your brother barefoot down the yard, laughing even though you were out of breath, even though your smile looked like it might crack in half from exhaustion.

He’s got a good eye for people. Years of working construction will do that to a man—you learn how to read a room by the way someone holds their shoulders. Yours? Always tense. Drawn up around your ears like armor. Always trying not to show how heavy it is.

He noticed the way your hands trembled by 10 a.m., the way you always carried two bags of groceries and never asked for help. He watched you gently calm Caleb when the trash trucks rolled by and overwhelmed him with noise. The way your voice changed—soft, steady, full of practiced comfort. He saw you clean up after your father, even when the old man snarled, humiliated by dependence, too proud to say thank you. He heard you mutter it’s okay, it’s okay, when you thought no one was listening.

He watched you wear yourself down to threads.

All for people who didn’t know how to say how much they needed you. Who probably didn’t even know how tired you were.

And Joel saw the cracks in your armor.

The nights when your lights stayed on too long. The way you sat on the porch after Caleb had gone to bed, face in your hands, shoulders trembling just a little too hard to be blamed on a breeze. He didn’t say anything. But he stayed on his side of the fence, porch light still glowing, just in case you looked up and needed someone to wave at. Just in case you needed to know you weren’t invisible.

He doesn’t say much. Not at first.

Just nods at you over the fence line, a muttered, “Evenin’,” as he wipes sweat off his neck. Sometimes he leaves an extra bundle of firewood near your steps. Pretends it just fell off the truck.

But Joel notices. Everything.

And he’s starting to realize—he can’t stop.

One Thursday, the heat finally breaks.

The air is thick and wet, but at least it’s moving, the storm that rolled through the night before cracked the sky in half and left the streets smelling like dust and ozone. You’re carrying too many bags of groceries for your arms to possibly hold, the plastic handles cutting into your fingers, sweat trickling down your spine when you hear a voice behind you — low, familiar, and warm.

“Howdy,” Joel says.

You pause, breath catching, a carton of eggs nearly slipping from your grip.

“Oh, hey…” you say, catching your balance.

“Joel,” he reminds you, offering a small, crooked smile.

“Joel, right.” You give him a polite smile in return, shy, a little breathless.

“You need a hand with that?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for you to answer. His hands are already reaching, already taking the heaviest bags from your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay, really,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction — and you don’t protest.

Joel just walks beside you, carrying the load like it’s nothing.

“Never seen you before around here,” he says as you both step onto the cracked walkway to your front door.

“No… I… I left a few years ago,” you say, shifting the bag in your hand. “But I’m back now. Had things to take care of.”

Joel doesn’t press. Just nods.

He steps into the kitchen and sets the bags down gently on the counter, like he belongs there, like this isn’t the first time he’s crossed the threshold of your life.

“Well, if you need help with… anythin’, I’m right next door.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

…

And it starts like that. Small things.

Joel changes the porch light when it burns out. You don’t ask—he just notices, brings his ladder over, and does it without saying a word. He helps you haul a busted dresser from the curb, his hands firm on the edges while you mutter something about termites and too many memories. He lets Caleb sit in his truck while you run to the store—“You like country music, bud?”—and doesn’t blink when Caleb claps too loud at a Willie Nelson song. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stare. Just grins when Caleb taps the dashboard like a drum.

And you?

You bring him pie. You bake too much when you’re anxious, when the world feels too loud and too full of things you can’t fix.

“Peach,” you say shyly, cheeks pink as you hold out the tin wrapped in foil. “Hope it’s not too sweet.”

Joel bites into it right there on his porch, standing barefoot in a white T-shirt that clings just slightly to his chest, sun catching the lines in his face. He groans, low and honest, the sound curling in your stomach.

“You tryin’ to kill me or marry me with this?” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

You choke on a laugh, startled and pink to your ears, trying to hide how much you’re blushing.

He just smiles — slow, warm, real.

Not the polite kind, not the distant one he gives most folks in town.

Just for you.

And suddenly, all those heavy days feel just a little lighter.

It happens on a Saturday night.

You’re sitting on your porch, elbows on your knees, the wood warm beneath your thighs even after sunset. There’s a half-melted glass of water by your side, untouched. Your body hums with exhaustion — not the sharp kind, but the kind that sinks into your bones after a week of taking care of everything and everyone but yourself.

Your eyes are half-closed when his voice rumbles through the quiet.

“You ever take a minute for yourself?”

You blink and sit up, startled. Joel’s leaning on the fence like he’s been there a while, two sweating bottles of beer in hand, the porch light catching on the edge of his smile.

“Sorry?” you ask, caught off guard.

“I said,” he smirks faintly, “Do you ever rest?”

You glance at him, then down the street like you’re looking for a way out of the question. “It’s not really about me.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of that. It’s too familiar. He’s heard it too many times—from women who carry the weight of the whole damn world on their shoulders and call it love. From people who forget they’re allowed to need.

“I see you,” he says, and his voice is lower now, softer. His eyes flick over your face, your slumped shoulders, your tired mouth. “Always runnin’ around. Cookin’. Haulin’ things. You look tired.”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Something in your throat tightens.

Joel scratches his jaw, like maybe he regrets saying it. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just… if you ever need a hand with somethin’. I’m around.”

You nod. A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thanks.”

He steps up to the porch with one of the beers extended toward you.

You take it. You’re not much of a drinker — never have been — but tonight, the cold glass feels like kindness. Like relief.

“Can I sit?” he asks.

“You brought me a beer,” you say with a weak laugh. “It’d be kinda rude if I just kicked you off.”

Joel chuckles and climbs the steps with that familiar grunt, the kind men his age make without realizing it. He leaves a respectful bit of space between you as he lowers himself down beside you. The wood creaks under his weight. He hands you the bottle. You take a sip, and the beer is sharp and cold and exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

He doesn’t say anything for a while.

You don’t need him to. That’s the thing about Joel, he doesn’t talk to fill silence. He lets it stretch, lets it breathe.

“I used to sit out here every night,” you say eventually, eyes fixed on the dark yard. “Back in high school. Pretend I didn’t live in this house. Pretend I was anywhere else.”

Joel nods, slow and thoughtful, his gaze on the distance like he’s seeing it too.

“It’s hard,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Coming back. They don’t mean to… but they pull at me. All day, every day. I feel like I’ve been running on empty for months.”

You let out a shaky breath, the truth bleeding out of you like water through cupped hands.

“I know I’m strong. I’m not helpless. But God, Joel… sometimes I just want someone to tell me I don’t have to be so damn strong all the time.”

Your voice cracks on the end of it. You bring the bottle to your lips to hide the way your eyes burn.

Joel doesn’t speak right away.

Then, slowly, he shifts behind you. Closer. The boards groan under his weight.

“Here,” he says, voice low and rough by your ear. “Lemme see your shoulders.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re wound so tight I can hear your muscles beggin’ for mercy. Just let me help a little.”

You hesitate. But something inside you cracks. Not loud. Just a quiet fracture — a tired, trembling thing that gives way.

You nod. Set the bottle down.

Joel’s hands are large. Warm. Calloused from years of work. He starts slow, thumbs pressing gently into the stiff muscles behind your collarbones, and you suck in a sharp breath at the pressure.

“You carry it all right here,” he murmurs, his voice low, a kind of reverent hush. “All of it. Like if you let go, the whole world’s gonna fall apart.”

Your throat works around a swallow. “Feels like it might.”

He doesn’t rush. His hands move in steady circles, drawing out knots like they’re made of memory.

“Let it fall, then,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to hold everythin’ alone.”

Your eyes sting. You close them, head dropping forward slightly. The weight of his hands, his words, his presence — it grounds you. In a way you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

…

Later, Joel sits alone on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced.

The house is quiet. Sarah’s gone for the weekend with her uncle, and the stillness makes everything louder.

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far.

The massage — hell, it wasn’t even a massage. Just a gesture. A small kindness. A way of saying: I see you.

But the truth is, when his hands touched your skin, something in him shifted. Something broke loose. It wasn’t lust, not exactly. It wasn’t clean, or easy. It was older than that. Deeper. Lonelier.

He hadn’t expected the way your skin would feel — soft and warm beneath his palms, like something fragile trying hard not to break. He hadn’t expected the sound you made — that little sigh, that barely-there release, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected the way it would wreck him.

And then you’d leaned back. Not even thinking. Just trusting.

And that had been the end of him.

Now the bedroom feels too quiet. Too honest.

He knows what this is. Knows what it could turn into if he let it.

But he also knows what the mirror shows him every damn day. The years. The scars. The cracks that never healed right.

You? You still had time. A whole stretch of road ahead. And Joel… Joel had already walked through fire and come out carrying ash.

But still, he can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at him tonight. Like maybe you didn’t care about the years, or the scars, or the weight.

Like maybe you just wanted someone to sit with you in the dark and say, you don’t have to be strong right now. I’ve got you.

And God help him.

Because he wanted to be that person for you.

More than anything.

One evening, you were sitting on the porch steps again, your head bent over a cold cup of tea, fingers curled around the mug like it might hold you together.

The sun had gone down an hour ago, but you hadn’t moved. Not since your father slammed the screen door and disappeared down the hall, grumbling about the cable being out, blaming the weather, the neighbors, you, whatever he could throw his anger at without having to face himself. Caleb was inside, stacking soup cans like building blocks, humming under his breath. Happy, for now.

But you looked like you were trying not to cry.

You missed your old life, missed baking, you could almost smell the scent of fresh dough, yeast rising sweetly in the air, mingling with the rich, buttery aroma of pastries just pulled from the oven.

Baking had always been your escape, your way of shaping comfort and joy out of simple ingredients. There was something sacred about the quiet hum of the ovens, the soft clatter of mixing bowls, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time a batch of peach pies came out golden and perfect—just like Joel had said.

Your jaw was tight. Your shoulders hunched. The porch light painted shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago.

“Hey there, sugar.”

Joel’s voice was low, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. But it did. You looked up, eyes wide, smiling and blushing at the pet name—Sugar. There was something about the way he said that word that sounded both sweet and incredibly hot at the same time.

He stood at the edge of your yard in a flannel shirt and worn work boots, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands stuffed into his pockets. Like he’d just stepped off a shift. Like maybe he’d been watching for a while and only just worked up the nerve to speak.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

You blinked. Shook your head without thinking.

“I was thinkin’ of makin’ chili,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “Sarah’s got a sleepover. Too much for one.” A pause. “Come over if you want.”

Your stomach growled before you could answer. You hadn’t eaten more than half a sandwich all day. Maybe less.

Your voice came out small. “Okay.”

He nodded once, slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon then, sugar.”

You stood. Left your mug behind. And followed him across the lawn like it was the easiest decision in the world—though something about it made your chest ache. Like the gesture was too kind. Like it might undo you.

It was the first time in weeks someone had taken care of you.

Joel’s house smelled like cumin and garlic and something deep and rich simmering on the stove. It wrapped around you like a blanket the second you stepped inside. There was warmth here, not just from the food, but from the space itself.

Lived-in.

A coat hung over the back of a chair. Sarah’s sneakers kicked off beside the door. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. A photo of the two of them smiling under a Ferris wheel, framed and proud on the mantle.

It was a home.

You lingered in the entryway, awkward, hands clasped like a kid at someone else’s birthday party. Unsure if you should sit, take your shoes off, or run back outside and cry behind the steering wheel of your truck.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

You swallowed. Nodded. Your shoes stayed on.

“It ain’t much,” he added, already pulling bowls from a cabinet, “but the chili’s good. I promise.”

You sat at the kitchen table with your spine stiff, hands in your lap. Watched him move like he’d done this a hundred times—grabbing spoons, stirring the pot. There was a rhythm to him. Something grounding.

He ladled two bowls full, steam curling into the air. Grabbed a spoon. Then paused.

“Cheese or no cheese?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He looked up. “I always ask Sarah. She says yes. I say no. Figure I better ask you too.”

And that—that—made you laugh. Soft. Unbidden. Like a cracked window letting in the breeze.

“Cheese,” you said. “Please.”

He gave a small nod, grating sharp cheddar with slow, even strokes. Slid your bowl across the table. Then sat opposite you.

You ate in silence. But it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. You were too hungry to pretend you weren’t. And the chili—God—the chili was perfect. Spicy, earthy, just sweet enough to settle something hollow inside you. You scraped your bowl clean.

Joel looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just sat with you. Not pushing. Not prying.

It didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like patience.

Eventually, you broke the silence. Because the warmth in your stomach had spread to your chest. Because you were full for the first time in days and it made your guard slip.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

Your voice was quiet. Barely more than a breath. The spoon stilled in your hand.

Joel didn’t speak.

“My dad… he’s not a bad man. Just… proud. Stubborn. And Caleb, he—he’s good. He’s sweet. But it’s all the time, you know? Like my brain never shuts off. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear hit your wrist. You wiped it away fast, ashamed.

“I used to run this bakery,” you said, voice breaking around the memory. “My own place. I’d wake up at 3 a.m., roll dough, bake till noon. And I loved it. Every part of it. But I gave it up to come back here. I keep telling myself it’s temporary, but… I don’t know anymore.”

You looked down at your hands, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I just… I guess I needed to say it out loud.”

Joel leaned back slowly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t look away.

“You’re doin’ everything for everyone else,” he said, low and even. “And no one’s doin’ a damn thing for you.”

The truth of it hit like a gut-punch. You stared at him, stunned, not because it was harsh, but because it was true.

“You ain’t weak for bein’ tired,” he added, voice quieter now. “You’re human.”

You blinked fast. Tried to breathe around the lump in your throat.

“Sometimes I think about just packing Caleb up and leaving. Taking him back with me. Starting fresh. But that would mean leaving my dad behind.”

Joel frowned, jaw tightening. “And what about you? When do you get to matter?”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

And then he did something you didn’t expect.

He reached across the table. Covered your hand with his. His palm was big, warm, rough—like everything he’d ever built still lived in the skin of him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to carry it all,” he said, softer now. “Not by yourself.”

Your shoulders trembled. You nodded once. Fast. Because if you opened your mouth, you’d sob, and you couldn’t bear to fall apart in front of someone who had been nothing but kind.

But something inside you shifted.

Maybe it was the warmth of his hand. Or the way he didn’t fill the silence with empty words.

Maybe it was the first time in months someone looked at you—really looked at you—and didn’t expect anything in return.

Maybe it was the first time you believed someone might stay.

You still remember the first time you kissed him.

The porch had gone dark again—that same damn fixture that chewed through bulbs like candy, flickering out after barely a week, and you were up on a shaky old stool, arms stretched, fingers fumbling with the new bulb as dusk slipped toward dark.

You were just tightening the last turn when the stool wobbled—a sharp, treacherous lurch of one leg off the uneven wooden plank.

��Shit—”

Your breath caught, heart leaping into your throat.

And then strong hands caught you.

Warm. Steady. Unmistakably Joel.

One arm braced firm around your waist, the other coming up beneath your thigh to guide you gently down. You didn’t fall—you landed against him, your feet scrambling awkwardly to the porch floor, your whole body pressed to the solid wall of his chest.

“Careful, sugar,” he muttered, breath hot at your ear, voice rough and close and a little too soft for your thudding heart. “You tryna give me a heart attack?”

You let out a breathless laugh, more surprise than humor, your hand still clinging to his shoulder. Your face tipped up automatically, and the porch light, freshly fixed, cast a glow over both of you. Warm. Intimate. Like a spotlight on something neither of you had dared name.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, quieter than you meant. Maybe because he was still holding you. Maybe because you didn’t want him to stop.

Joel didn’t let go. His hands lingered low at your waist, thumbs just brushing the edge of skin beneath your hoodie.

“Still,” he said, voice steady but heavy, like he was trying not to say more. “Lemme do this kinda thing next time.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He hadn’t shaved. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his chest from yard work, and the ends of his hair curled slightly where it stuck to the sides of his face. But it was his eyes that got you—soft, warm, focused entirely on you, like you were fragile and rare and he didn’t want to break anything.

And suddenly, the lightbulb didn’t matter at all.

You climbed down slowly, but your hand, deliberately or not, brushed against his chest on the way down. And neither of you moved.

It was a moment suspended in air. Like standing at the edge of something tall and dangerous and beautiful. A quiet hum beneath your skin.

Joel’s voice dropped, barely audible. “I been tryin’ not to look at you like this.”

Your breath hitched. “Like what?”

He reached up—so gently, so slowly it felt like your body moved before your brain caught up—and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. His thumb skimmed your cheekbone, a soft drag that made your whole face warm.

“Like I want you.”

Time cracked open.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because you did, you wanted him, had wanted him for weeks. Longer, maybe. Longer than you were ready to admit.

The kiss, when it came, wasn’t fire—it was smoke. Slow and curling and inevitable. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, like he didn’t believe you’d let him. But when you leaned in, just a little, he deepened it, his hand sliding into your hair, the other anchoring you to his chest like he needed to feel all of you at once.

Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into damp cotton, needing to hold on to something, anything.

His arms came around you fully then, pulling you in until you could feel every line of him—broad chest, firm stomach, the barely restrained tension coiled beneath his skin. The kiss shifted, turned warmer, messier, like a need finally slipping through the cracks.

You broke away just to breathe, lips still brushing his.

“Joel…” your voice was a gasp, a question, a plea.

He kissed you again, slower now, like he was savoring something he’d been denying himself for a long time.

His hand drifted lower, beneath your hoodie, callused palm sliding across the bare skin of your waist. You shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer tenderness of it.

He groaned low into your mouth, the sound tugging at something deep inside you. You pressed closer, hands sliding up beneath his shirt, seeking skin. His breath stuttered. His hips shifted—just slightly—but enough that you felt him, hard against you.

And then—he stopped.

Abrupt. Breathless.

His forehead stayed pressed to yours as he sucked in air like he was drowning.

“Shit.”

You blinked, disoriented. “What—what is it?”

Joel’s hands were still on your waist, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. His eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back just enough to see you.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, voice tight and raw.

You froze. The words hit like a slap. “Oh.”

He saw it—the flicker of hurt in your eyes—and rushed to speak.

“It’s not you, sugar,” he said quickly. “Jesus, it ain’t you. It’s just—” He stepped back fully, ran both hands down his face like it hurt. “I don’t wanna start somethin’ with you just to make your life more complicated. You are too young f’me, and you already got so much on your shoulders, and I—fuck, I care about you too much to be one more thing you gotta manage.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. “Joel…”

He looked at you like it broke him. “You’re…” He shook his head. “You’re incredible. And I want this. I do. But you deserve somethin’ else. Somethin’ that’s not me.”

You stood still, the air between you suddenly cooler. But you understood.

This wasn’t rejection. It was protection. Restraint sharpened by care.

And that, somehow, made it ache even more.

Because he meant it. And you believed him.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

But it made you trust him more.

It was past nine when you showed up at his door.

No call. No warning. Just you—hoodie zipped halfway, face pale, eyes dull from the weight of the day. You didn’t even knock properly. Just a soft, hesitant tap of your knuckles, like you weren’t sure you deserved to be there.

Joel opened the door in a T-shirt and sweats, hair mussed, a faint line of exhaustion on his brow. His eyes widened, not in surprise exactly, more like fear. Like he thought this might be a dream.

“Hey,” you breathed. Barely audible. Fragile. “You alone?”

He nodded. Didn’t ask a single question. Just stepped back silently, let you pass, and shut the door with a quiet finality that felt like safety.

You stood there in his dim entryway, fingers twitching at your sides, tension radiating off you like static.

And then—you cracked.

“It was a bad day,” you whispered, like admitting it made it real.

Joel didn’t move. Just listened.

“My dad fell again. Caleb lost it in the store because they moved the cereal aisle and I didn’t know. He screamed and sobbed while people stared like he was a fucking exhibit.” Your voice broke, trembling. “I cried in the car after. Not because of them. Not even because of him. Because I didn’t know what cereal he wanted.”

You let out a laugh that was more of a sob—wet, broken, raw.

Joel’s face—God, the way it fell when he saw you hurting like that—was almost too much to look at.

“I haven’t had one goddamn second to myself, Joel. Not to bake. Not to read. Not even to shower without someone banging on the fucking door needing something. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.”

Your breath caught, and you looked up at him, eyes wide, glassy.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

And that was it. The unraveling. The surrender.

Joel stepped forward so quietly you didn’t hear it, just felt it. His presence. Solid. Grounding.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I need you,” you whispered. “And I know we aren’t… anything. Not really. But I need the way you look at me like I’m not some empty shell holding everyone else’s bullshit together. I need you.”

That shattered him.

He gathered you into his arms like he couldn’t stop himself, like the second he felt your body hit his, he knew he wouldn’t survive letting go. You collapsed into him with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a sigh—just something deep and painful and desperate.

He didn’t say much. Just held you. Tight. Warm. Real.

“I’m here, sugar,” he murmured, mouth against your hair. “Right here.”

You nodded against his chest, shivering in his arms. “I don’t wanna do this alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Joel said thickly. “Lemme help. Lemme be here f’you.”

Your eyes lifted to his, swollen and rimmed with tears. “Even if it’s messy?”

His thumb brushed your cheek, slow and careful. “Especially then.”

And when he kissed you—fuck, there was no going back. No restraint. No apologies. Just need. His mouth slotted over yours with aching tenderness, but his grip on your waist was possessive, like he needed to feel your bones under his palms, needed to know you were real.

He kissed you until your lungs burned, until your body arched into him without thinking, until you couldn’t remember why you were crying in the first place.

A rough, needy sound escaped his throat—low, primal, like he was holding something back and failing.

Then he walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. You gasped when you dropped onto the cushions. He followed—a heavy, hot presence between your thighs, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly up beneath your hoodie.

“I tried to stay away,” he rasped, mouth brushing your throat. “Told myself you had enough goin’ on… that I was too damn old, too broken for you.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, voice trembling. “Joel—”

“But then you show up at my door,” he growled, “and all I can think was how fuckin’ stupid I was for leavin’ that night on your porch with your lips still warm on mine.”

He tugged your hoodie up, his hands reverent, like he was peeling back something sacred. You let him. Raised your arms. Gave him permission. Gave him you.

And when he looked down at you—bare under the soft glow of the lamp—you saw it in his eyes.

Worship. Hunger. Need.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re fuckin’ divine, sugar.”

You pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his, wanting more. Needing more.

His hand dipped past your waistband, calloused fingers skimming hot and slow over bare skin. You whimpered against his mouth—a needy, broken little sound—and he swallowed it whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Say the word, baby. I’ll pull back.”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Please… don’t stop.”

That was it. That was all it took.

Joel groaned—a filthy, desperate sound—and kissed you harder. Rougher. His hand slipped lower, fingers dipping into your slick heat, and the moan you let out damn near broke him in two.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped. “You come over here wantin’ me like this, baby?”

You nodded, hips grinding shamelessly against his palm. “Needed this. Needed you.”

Two fingers pushed inside —slow, steady— filling you with a stretch that made your eyes flutter shut. He curled them just right, and your back arched, thighs trembling as your breath stuttered out in ragged little gasps.

His fingers worked you open, pressing deep, curling, teasing your walls. The wet, obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the room, only broken by the soft, strangled cries you kept trying—and failing—to hold back.

Each stroke was deliberate, meant to pull every sound out of you. He didn’t just want you wet, he wanted you trembling, messy, ruined for anyone else.

“Please, Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Don’t stop—feels s-so good—”

“Tonight is all about you. About making you feel good, just like you deserve. You work so hard… let me give this to you.” His voice was low, reverent, like prayer—like worship—and every word seemed to sink into your skin like heat.

He watched every twitch, every gasp, like it fed something primal in him. His thumb dragged over your clit, a single, devastating swipe, and your whole body jolted, your hips bucked helplessly. A strangled sob ripping from your throat as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did. And the way he held your gaze—steady, reverent, hungry—made your whole body tighten with want.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he murmured as he kissed down your chest, then your belly, pausing to mouth gently at the soft skin above your hip. “How you’d feel. How you’d taste. How you’d fall apart if someone just… took their time.”

You whimpered, breath shaking. “Joel…”

“Gonna take care of you, sugar. Gonna make you feel worshiped.”

Then he moved, sliding down between your thighs, kissing over your belly, your hip, his beard scraping your sensitive skin in the best way.

He spread your legs with steady hands, thumbs grazing your inner thighs like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something sacred.

“You smell like fuckin’ heaven,” he growled. “Bet you taste even sweeter than that peach pie you make.”

His breath ghosted over your skin, so hot it made you squirm, your thighs instinctively trying to close—until he spread them open again with a low, possessive growl.

“You deserve to be worshipped, sugar. Deserve someone who sees nothing but you, someone who lives to make you feel good.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, devastating.

You gasped when his tongue met you, soft and slow at first, just a gentle press, then firmer, deeper. He groaned like he could live off the way you tasted. Like he needed it—your slick, your heat, the way you melted under his tongue.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, steady, while his mouth worked—kisses, licks, teasing sucks that made your hips jerk before he calmed you with a firm hand to your belly.

“Easy now, sugar,” he muttered, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision. “Let me take my time with you.”

That tongue was sin itself—warm, deliberate, unforgiving. Every flick felt like it rewired your nerves. Every slow drag had you twitching, clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

His tongue licked a slow stripe through your folds, then circled your clit until your back arched and your fingers clawed at the cushions.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t give you a single breath to recover.

You were panting, whining, rutting up against his face without shame. He didn’t even blink, just held you wider, lower, like he wanted to drown in it.

He fucked you with his mouth like he meant to memorize every twitch of your body, every whimper, every desperate moan that spilled out of you.

His mouth worked in tandem with his fingers—two thick digits fucking deep, curling just right, pressing to that spot that made your toes curl.

Every push dragged another broken sound from your throat, and the slick, wet squelch of your body around him only made him growl harder.

“Lemme feel you fall apart, sweetheart,” he groaned into you. “Lemme drink you in.”

You sobbed. Literally sobbed. The pleasure was too much, too deep, like he’d reached inside and touched something you didn’t know you were allowed to feel.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he rasped. “Look how good you take it. Like you were made for this. Made to be loved like this.”

His fingers pumped faster, his tongue relentless, and you were unraveling so fast you couldn’t even think. All you could do was feel the rhythm of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the drag of his beard catching slick against your thighs.

He sucked your clit harder, just once, and your whole body seized. A tremor ran through your thighs like a live wire.

You couldn’t speak. Only moan, high and breathy, fingers threading into his hair, hips lifting into his mouth before he pinned them again with a low, warning growl.

“Uh-uh. Lemme. Lemme have this.”

And when you came—it was loud, wild, wet—a cry tearing from your throat as your whole body spasmed under his mouth. He held you through it, murmuring your name like a prayer, even as you trembled and gasped, your body giving out beneath his hands.

Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop—licking through your release like he’d earned it, like it was his right.

Joel moaned like he was coming too, grinding against the couch, keeping his tongue on you, licking you through the aftershocks while you trembled, boneless and wrecked.

When he pulled back, his beard was slick with you, lips swollen, eyes dark and wrecked.

But he didn’t reach for himself. Didn’t demand more. He just hovered over you, brushing hair back from your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw, thumb tracing your thigh.

You nodded, dazed. “No one’s ever… no one’s ever made me feel like that.”

Joel leaned in, kissed your forehead. “That’s the only way I know how to touch you now.”

You looked up at him—face flushed, eyes glassy—and whispered, “Can I have you now?”

He stilled. Blinked.

You reached for him. “Please. I want to feel you. All of you.”

“You don’t gotta ask me twice,” he rasped. “But I need to hear you say it again. Need to know you want this.”

“I do,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his. “I want you. Not just tonight. Not just because I’m tired or broken. I want you because it’s you, Joel.”

His control shattered.

He kissed you again, rougher this time, like he’d been holding back and finally let himself feel how badly he needed you. His body pressed down over yours, the heat of him unmistakable through the fabric still between you.

He tore his shirt off in one motion, sweatpants shoved down to his thighs, cock heavy and thick, flushed dark with need. It slapped against his stomach, leaking already, pulsing with need like it was aching to be inside you.

You opened for him, no hesitation. Just yes—in every movement, every breath, every inch of skin you offered.

Joel braced over you, gaze locked to yours.

“Still okay?”

You nodded, chest heaving. “Need you inside me.”

He lined up and pushed in—slow, careful, so fucking deep—and you gasped, arching, clutching at him as he filled you inch by aching inch. Thick, hot, unrelenting, he opened you up with the kind of stretch that made your whole body seize.

The stretch burned in the most perfect way, your walls gripping him tight, pulsing around him like your body didn’t want to let him go. Your cunt clenched like it already knew who he was, like it belonged to him.

You’d never felt anything like it.

Like being claimed. Possessed. Worshiped.

He bottomed out with a broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours, like he never wanted to leave.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel like—fuck—like I’ve been waitin’ for this my whole fuckin’ life.”

He stayed there for a second, buried so deep you could feel the throb of his cock against your cervix, like he was trying to become a part of you.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, voice catching in your throat as he sank in deeper, stretching you open with agonizing, delicious slowness. “S-so big.”

“Can you take it, sugar?,” he growled, voice rough and ragged against your ear. “I want you to feel good.”

A helpless sob spilled from your lip. “I-I am,” you gasped, barely able to breathe.

He thrust deep and slow, grinding his hips with every roll, letting you feel all of him, every thick, perfect inch. His cock dragged against your walls just right, pulling wet, slick sounds from your body that had him groaning like he was losing his mind.

Your nails dug into his back, mouth parted in soft, breathless cries.

The drag of him was obscene, slick and hot and thick, your body clenching tight around him every time he pulled back.

You were soaking him—dripping down his length, soaking the base of his cock, the couch beneath you a mess of heat and sweat and need.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Never,” he promised. “Not with you.”

Joel groaned like it hurt, like being inside you was too much, too good. “You feel—Christ, sugar, you feel like heaven.”

His thrusts turned rough, frantic, filthy—skin slapping, couch creaking, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest as he fucked you like he meant it. His balls slapped against your ass with every stroke, the wet, messy sound of him slamming into you filling the room.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, hips grinding into yours. “So fuckin’ tight, sugar… can’t believe I waited this long—”

You clung to him, breath coming in soft, desperate moans. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back to pull him even deeper, faster.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I want it—want you all the way. Please, don’t stop—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing your plea with a growl as he drove into you faster, deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“Not stoppin’. Can’t. Not when you’re takin’ me so good—fuck—look at you.”

“I’m close,” you whimpered. “Joel—please—” You were trembling, cunt fluttering around him, desperate for release.

You cried out, hands scrambling to grip his forearms, needing something—anything—to anchor you while he drove into you with slow, punishing thrusts. Each one landed deeper, harder, until it felt like he was carved into your core.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide and desperate. “Look at me. Want you to see me when I cum inside you.”

You did. You looked at him and it was all it took for your second orgasm to explode inside your body, ripping through you like a fucking firestorm, your whole body locking around him, crying out his name like it was the only word you remembered.

And when he came, he let out a deep, broken moan, thrusting hard, grinding into you with everything he had—his seed spilling deep inside you, filling you, claiming you. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, every spurt making your walls flutter, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck… fuck, baby…” His voice went ragged, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you like he meant it.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him through it, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

You felt full. Claimed. Loved, even if neither of you had said the words yet.

He stayed there for a moment—still inside you, skin against skin—like he couldn’t bear to leave that closeness.

He kissed your temple, murmured your name low and warm. And then, quieter still: “You don’t gotta carry everything by yourself anymore.”

Your breath hitched, and he pulled you closer.

“You hear me, sugar? You don’t have to be strong for everybody all the time. Not with me.” His lips pressed against your hairline, voice like gravel wrapped in honey. “I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re gonna figure it out. Together.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just wrapped your arms around his broad back and held on like your life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

Joel’s hand stroked slow, soothing patterns across your spine. “You got me, sugar. All of me. Always.”

And in his arms, for the first time in too long, you believed it.

A/N: Thank you to the person who requested this for your patience. I loved the idea and hope it meets your expectations🫶🏻

Thank you too to everyone reading this for supporting my work and for your nice words🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[hannie-bees]

Pieces of you || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, domestic, romantic, comfort

WC: 1.9K

Theme: Its your 2nd anniversary and you gift your bf a jar of 100 reasons why you love him. 

Song Recommendation: 10000 Hours

Two years.

You’d been with Vernon for two whole years.

And yet, somehow, when your anniversary rolled around, your brain decided to take a vacation. The “what to get him” panic had set in early—weeks of browsing, scrolling through Pinterest boards titled “Anniversary Gift Ideas for Your Lowkey Emotional Musician Boyfriend", and endless Etsy deep-dives later, you caved and bought him a Rolex.

Now…

You were this close to a breakdown.

It was two nights before your second anniversary with Vernon, and you were dramatically sprawled across the living room carpet, surrounded by Google tabs, half-finished card drafts, and a fancy black velvet box from the Rolex boutique that now made you want to scream.

“Why did I do this?” You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “It’s so low-effort boyfriend-gift-core.”

To be fair, you’d panicked. Vernon had mentioned once in passing that he admired classic timepieces, and your brain short-circuited into: oh my god, fancy anniversary = man + watch = love. But the more you stared at the sleek, expensive thing, the more you hated it.

Because Vernon wasn’t a Rolex kind of boyfriend.

He was the boyfriend who saved the last bite of every snack for you even if he was starving. The boyfriend who left you post-it notes with doodled hearts on mornings he had early schedules. The boyfriend who wordlessly held you until your anxiety stopped clawing at your throat. Who remembered you liked your toast golden brown and your strawberry milk with extra ice cubes.

A watch didn’t cover all that. He deserved more.

And that's how you found yourself in your sweats, surrounded by crumpled sticky notes and a half-eaten box of cookies, trying to figure out how to tell him what he meant to you.

That’s when it clicked.

Words. Words were always the answer.

He’d once told you that you had a way of making ordinary things feel important, and maybe—just maybe—writing them down would remind him how much of your life he lit up.

You counted out a hundred sticky notes. Soft pastels in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens. And you began writing.

Your gummy smile. The first thing I fell for. It’s unfair. You smile, and I forget how to function.

The way you think. You process the world so gently and deeply—it makes me fall in love every day.

The way you love. Not loud, not flashy. Just right. Just… you. You don’t say it often, but you show it, always.

You understand me—even when I don’t make sense. Especially when I don’t.

You’re patient. With my bad days. My weird moods. You never make me feel wrong for needing time. You just… get me. You listen between the words.

You never make me feel stupid. Not when I forget things. Not when I panic. You just hold space.

You’re weird. The good kind. The dancing-in-the-kitchen, talking-to-cats, doing-a-fake-British-accent kind. The I’m-gonna-marry-you kind.

You send me memes when I’m upset. Usually cursed ones. It works.

You’re honest. Always. Even when it’s awkward or hard.

You give me the aux cord without even asking.

You laugh at my bad jokes like they deserve Oscars.

You kiss my forehead when I overthink.

You listen. Like, really listen. Like, “remembers things I said 4 months ago while half-asleep” listen.

You let me take the first bite of your food even when you’re starving.

You say, “Text me when you get home,” even if I’m just going to the convenience store.

You kept going, hour after hour. You wrote them curled up on the couch, with lo-fi playing and your legs tangled in a blanket you stole from his side of the bed. You wrote them the next morning, stirring pancake batter with one hand and scribbling thoughts with the other.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail back through your relationship. The quiet mornings. The messy fights. The making up. The comfort.

The you-and-him-ness of it all.

27. You let me warm my hands on your stomach in winter, even though you hate it.

39. You rap under your breath when you’re concentrating. I pretend not to notice. You pretend not to see me smiling.

41. You never let go first during hugs.

57. You carry my bags without making a show of it.

69. You tell me “I love you” like it’s a fact, not a performance.

72. You say “I got you” instead of “it’s okay.” And somehow it feels like both.

88. You’re just… you. And that’s more than enough.

99. You remembered I always wanted to be seen. You saw me. Even when I couldn’t see myself.

100. You’re my safe place. My home. My favorite person.

You folded each sticky note carefully into a tiny square, dropping them into a clear jar one by one until it was full—your love made tangible, note by note, word by word.

___

Anniversary Morning

You woke before Vernon did, still tangled up in the shared comforter. His hand was loosely curled on your waist, chest rising and falling in that steady, sleepy rhythm that always grounded you.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His features were soft with sleep, lips parted just barely, hair tousled and flopping into his eyes. Your eyes trailed down to the tiny mole near his cheek—the one he always forgot he had until you kissed it and your heart squeezed.

Happy anniversary, you whispered in your mind. To the boy who doesn’t need to say much to make you feel everything.

___

You gave him the Rolex first.

He blinked at the box, then at you. “...Babe.”

“What?” you said with a grin. “You love watches.”

He opened it slowly, then whistled. “Okay, I do. But this is—this is a lot.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You deserve nice things.”

He leaned in, kissing your cheek with a quiet, “Thank you, really,” but you could tell from the way he pulled you into his side that he knew something was up.

___

Later that Evening

The sun was setting, casting honey-colored light through the apartment windows. You stood awkwardly in the living room, the jar tucked behind your back, your stomach flipping.

He was lounging on the couch in a hoodie and sweats, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bowl of cereal in his lap even though it was almost dinner time. He looked up when you stepped in.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly.

Then, without a word, you walked over and placed the jar on the coffee table in front of him, before diving onto the couch, grabbing a throw pillow, and hiding behind it like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

He stared at the jar. Then at you. Then back at the jar decorated with little cloud stickers and a label that simply read: 100 Reasons I Love You (and Counting)…

His brow furrowed slightly as he set his cereal aside and picked it up. “What’s this?”

Your voice was muffled behind the pillow. “Read it.”

He opened the lid and pulled out one of the tiny folded notes, unfolding it carefully.

1. Your gummy smile.

The reason I fell for you. It makes everything else feel softer.

You peeked out from behind the pillow.

He blinked. Then pulled out another.

2. The way you think.

You have such a beautiful way with words; I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.

And another.

 3. The way you love.

Not loud, not performative. But steady, gentle. I always feel it. You don’t need to say a thing.

By the time he’d reached the fifth one—

5. Your patience.

You’ve never made me feel stupid for not knowing something. You make me feel safe enough to ask.

—His hand had slowed.

He looked over at you, eyes glassy.

“YN… What is this?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your chest. “I felt like a Rolex wasn’t enough, too boring. So I made this too. It’s one hundred reasons why I love you.”

Vernon stared at the jar in his hands like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

Then he laughed softly, almost breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “You wrote me a hundred love notes.”

“Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

You mumbled from behind the pillow, “It was either that or a custom rap verse about how hot your hands are. I figured this was less embarrassing.”

He laughed, soft and disbelieving, and then took another.

 12. You send me random memes in the middle of the day, and somehow they’re always exactly what I needed.

Like, you just know.

18. You never force me to talk when I’m not ready. You just sit next to me. That’s more comforting than anything.

29. The way you rub your thumb over the back of my hand when we’re holding hands. You probably don’t even notice you do it.

He swallowed, and his voice came out a little choked. “You remembered all these things?”

“Of course I did,” you whispered. “They’re pieces of you. How could I forget?”

38. You tell me you’re proud of me—even when I haven’t done much.

43. Your hoodie always smells like you, and I secretly steal it when you leave for the studio.

52. You once offered to watch a horror movie just because I wanted to, and you ended up hiding behind my pillow. Adorable.

 68. You once said, “You’re my favorite place to be.” I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

He pulled another one out, smiling through teary eyes.

Then he got to one that made him pause.

 73. That night you thought I’d leave you… I wish I’d told you then how wrong you were.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here.

He paused at number 73. His hands stopped moving. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of his breath.

He looked at you then, completely undone, the kind of emotion that Vernon rarely let the world see.

Gently setting the jar aside, he leaned over and tugged the pillow away from your face.

“Babe,” he whispered. “Come here.”

You climbed into his lap with a shy smile, arms looping around his neck.

His hands cradled your waist. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

You tucked your face into his neck, grinning. “Only when it comes to you.”

He laughed, pulling you in tighter. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Like, ever.”

You pulled back slightly, brushing his hair out of his face. “I just needed you to know. In case I don’t say it enough. I love you. A lot.”

His eyes searched for yours, warm and shining. “You show it in a hundred ways every day. I just have proof now.”

He kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then, finally, your lips—slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

___

Bonus:

He started carrying one note in his wallet every day like a lucky charm.

Whenever he traveled, you’d get a photo—your jar of pastel notes sitting right on his nightstand.

And six months later, you opened your laptop to find a document named Reasons I Love You: Draft Version 1. He never let you read it. Not then.

But a year later, he printed it out. Bound it like a book. Gave it to you on your third anniversary.

The title?

Chapter 1 of Forever.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

[mister0ctopus]

Silly Guy [a drabble from We Are All Sinners] ⛧ JJK

Pairings: We Are All Sinners couple (Jungkook x Reader)

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

Summary: “So sorry for leaving a mess… look what I did to you.”

Can be read as a stand alone.

Warnings: jungkook being a little jealous, him being silly, them being horny, jimin being done, your boyfriend cleaning the mess he made before the party, bathroom sex kinda, yn being fawked raw (please wrap it up), oral sex (both receiving), cumplay, cum being mentioned 100x, idk probably corn with a little plot

Word Count: 1.6K

⛧ MAIN MASTERLIST

a/n: a short drabble while chapter 7 is taking too long to finish (its a long one, and a little heavy to write, forgive me). please accept his as an apology? thank you all and love you all so much mwah mwah mwah <3

THEN

It’s been a while since you dragged yourself out to one of these house parties – you know, the kind overflowing with cheap booze, sweaty uni kids, and the collective goal to relax or to fuck, or both.

You’re in your sophomore year now, and Jungkook, like the charming, cool bastard he is, somehow got even more friends. He’s got them from every pocket of campus now – not just his bandmates. Engineering kids, sports bros, the science crew, the party crew.

Even some of your classmates.

You? 

You made two close friends from your major, until they switched last semester. Now it’s just you again.

Technically not alone – since being with Jungkook means you always have a table, always have a ride, always have people pulling you into hugs or offering you a drink.

He leads the way inside, hand gripping yours so tightly, like he’s afraid someone might snatch you. Every few steps, he stops to dab someone up or pull them into those bro hugs. You trail behind, offering nods as well to people who greet you automatically as soon as they see him.

Everyone knows by now: Jungkook doesn’t come to parties without you.

And honestly, you were shocked you still pushed through with the party tonight, albeit a few hours late, because when Jungkook came to pick you up and saw you in that black mini dress, he didn’t even let you finish whining about your uneven eyeliner.

And maybe, you stopped talking too – mid-sentence – when you saw him standing there, stupidly delicious in that oversized gray shirt and jeans that hung just right off his hips.

He just locked the door behind him, grabbed you by the waist, spun you around, bent you over your tiny dorm couch, and yanked your dress up – no panties, of course, you (kinda) knew this was going to happen.

He fucked you hard, moaning as he folded you in half and broke you open like a starved man.

And if that wasn’t enough, he flipped you after, carried you to the bed, and fucked you in a breath-stealing missionary – your mini dress now bunched at your stomach, bralette pushed up and doing nothing to hide your tits.

He started a little gentler this time, kissing you slow, hips rolling deep – but the second you whispered “harder” against his ear, his hands wrapped around your throat without hesitation, and your legs were over his shoulders as he pounded into you to fuck the air out of your lungs.

And maaaybe – just maybe – you wanted more of his delicious cum.

So you begged for it, whimpering, “Come inside me again, please,” as you clenched around him, choking his delicious cock with every squeeze, milking him for everything he’s worth.

And now, you’re playing card games, nodding along to whatever inside joke Jimin just said – all while your head’s fixated on the sticky cum leaking down your thighs, your soaked panties being useless at this point.

You feel filthy, and still horny.

And across the room is your boyfriend, doing absolutely nothing to help except be a fucking tease – laughing while playing beer pong with Namjoon and Yoongi, his gaze flicking over to you from time to time, offering a wink or a smirk, hair damp with sweat, looking like a goddamn snack in that shirt and jeans.

And underneath it all is the same dick that pounded you two hours ago.

“Oh wow, YN, you’re so good at these card games – is this, like, a rich people thing?” Jimin teases, nudging you as you wipe the floor with everyone in a game everyone just learned but somehow became an instant party staple.

You flash him a grin, collecting your winnings.

It’s a game built on strategy, luck, and not giving away too much – things you’ve been dealing with since childhood.

So technically, yeah. Jimin’s not wrong.

“Who taught you these, YN?” the guy from your class asks – you’ve forgotten his name, but you’ve seen him around often – leaning in a little too close as he flicks one of your cards with a smirk.

You just smile politely, keeping your cards close to your face.

“Jimin taught me. It’s not that hard to learn, the rules are super straightforward.”

He chuckles, eyes dragging down your face.

“Easy for you to say. You’re smart. Bet you pick up anything quick.”

“Nah, it’s not that hard once you get the gist,” you say with a grin, placing down a pair of matching cards on the coffee table. Everyone groans.

You’ve been dropping combos all night – and with every turn, your cards keep getting fewer.

Which only means one thing: you’re about to win. Again.

“I actually don’t get it,” the guy says with a soft laugh, leaning closer like there’s not enough room at the table – which there absolutely is.

“You could probably teach me sometime... I learn better one-on-one.”

He nudges your knee with his again – subtle, but not really. He’s been trying to do that for the past hour.

You scoffed. “You’d probably get it faster if you actually focused on your cards, you know?”

He grins, tilting his head. “Can you blame me? I mean—” he gestures to your face. “How am I supposed to concentrate when that is sitting beside me?”

“I suggest you stop whatever you’re doing, Niki. Jungkook’s been glaring at us since you sat down – give YN a little space,” Jimin mutters, bored, like he’s not saying it out of concern for anyone, just out of truth, fanning out his cards after losing that round.

“I’m not doing anything.” He shrugs. “Just trying to be friendly with YN. She doesn’t usually come to these, right?”

“Yeah, say that to him,” Jimin scoffs, already dealing the cards to the five players gathered around the coffee table, his eyes flicking toward Jungkook.

And when you glance over, Jungkook’s already walking towards your table. Long strides. Smile gone. Jaw tight. Eyes glued to the guy sitting a little too comfortably next to you.

Seconds later, he’s behind you, leaning.

One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into a warm, possessive bear hug.

His other hand slips under your hair as he angles your neck to press a long kiss to your skin.

You bite your lip to suppress a giggle – which, unfortunately, he takes as encouragement.

Because now his mouth is on yours, sucking your tongue like it’s the sweetest thing to ever exist.

It’s quick. But it’s deep.

And it leaves you very, very bothered.

And as the very bothered girlfriend, you figure it’s only fair to share the suffering – so you lean in close, lips brushing his ear, and whisper low enough for only him to hear:

“Your cum is dripping on me. You wanna fix your mess?”

And as the very good boyfriend he is, he doesn’t waste a fucking second.

His hand slides into yours, gentle but firm, pulling you to your feet calmly.

“She’s done playing for the night,” he says to Jimin.

Jimin doesn’t even look up – just sighs, shakes his head, and mumbles, “Yeah, figured,” while his eyes stay locked on his cards.

You both weave through the crowd upstairs, ducking past sweaty bodies, ignoring everyone, as he tugs you down the hall and into the one bathroom that, somehow, is miraculously empty.

And as soon as he locks the door, in less than a second, he’s on his knees.

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t waste time undressing you.

He just shoves your dress up, yanks your panties to the side – and there it is – the mess he left inside you earlier, still glistening between your thighs.

He drawls a long, low “Fuuuuuuck,” then adds, politely:

“So sorry for leaving a mess… look what I did to you.”

And then that polite mouth is on your thigh, tongue tracing the sticky trail of his cum, lapping it up, reclaiming every drop.

He moves higher, hungrier – and when he finally reaches your core, his tongue devours.

“Messy little hole… still leaking for me,” he mutters between licks.

And maybe – just maybe – you need it more than he does.

Because your fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling tight, grinding his face deeper against your soaked pussy like you’re trying to fuse him to you.

And maybe he takes that as encouragement, because now he’s hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up wider, giving himself more room to feast.

And he feasts.

And after you come, he kisses you deep, makes you taste yourself on his tongue, before you unbutton his pants and pull out his leaking hardness, stroking him hungrily.

And maybe – just maybe – someone bangs on the bathroom door, probably needing to piss or puke or who knows.

But it’s hard to yell “occupied” when your mouth is already full – stretched around Jungkook’s thick, throbbing cock, your throat working to take him deeper, your jaw aching just the way he likes.

You look up at him through watery eyes, and he wipes your tears with his thumb – soft and tender even as he holds your head in place, telling you gently, between hisses and pants, how good of a girl you are, how you’re made just for him.

And maybe – just maybe – you love the thought of all your holes being filled with him, so you beg him to finish inside your mouth.

And when he does, you proudly show him what you earned on your tongue, before swallowing it all, never breaking eye contact.

And maybe – just maybe – that makes him short-circuit.

Because after he fills your mouth with his white, sticky cum in that tiny, humid bathroom, he drives you back to your dorm so he can properly fuck you.

And this time, he has you face down, ass up, his cock buried deep inside your swollen, tight little pussy – with his thumb in your tight little ass – making you feel completely full of him as he pants

“Mine, only mine.” over and over again.

As if he needs to say it.

As if anyone could actually compete.

As if anyone could take you.

What a silly guy, this guy, this Jungkook. ⛧

taglist: @softhaes @investedreader @whoa-jo @mageprincess7 @daskewl

a/n: hey, if you liked this one, reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated :) thank you, love u! 💌 send me an ask or feedback

[ballsandbabes]

Dad!Haikyuu x reader

authors note: y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

pairing: kuroo, ushijima, daichi, bokuto, atsumu, kenma, sugawara, iwaizumi, tendou, oikawa x gn!reader

summary: Few short dad aka. marriage stories, each capturing a cute moment of domestic life with them + dad tropes

genre: family, chaos, fluff and pure sweetness

Kuroo Tetsurō// Dad Trope: The Science Fair Savior

Your six-year-old daughter Roji was in tears, her baking soda volcano was refusing to erupt the night before the school science fair. She had been working hard on it for the past two weeks and now…it wasn't working??? Your child was on the verge of bursting into small, round tears.

“Ouwe...she’s so heartbroken,” you murmured to Kuroo, watching her try again with trembling hands. Kuroo squatted beside her with a confident smirk. “You know what this calls for? Dad’s secret weapon.”

That night, your kitchen turned into a mad science lab (Much to your demise, you had only just cleaned). With goggles, giggles, and a bit too much vinegar, the volcano came to life—splattering red foam all over the ceiling. Your daughter shrieked with laughter. Seeing them like that made your heart swell with love and pride.

Later, as you two lay in bed, snuggled up, you smiled at him. “You’re her hero, you know.”

He pulled you close, smirking, kissing you on the forehead. “I live to impress my girls.”

Hinata Shōyō// Dad Trope: Pure Chaos

Saturdays in the Hinata household were sacred: pancakes, cartoons, and a living room turned jungle gym. it was an unwritten rule in your home. Sunday was your day to relax, at least Hinata had made that a routine. He wakes you up with kisses and or breakfast and then it was dad time. So you could take care of yourself. You loved your husband for things like this. He was so attentive and always gave his all.

You shuffled into the kitchen to find your husband flipping pancakes while wearing your toddler son on his back like a backpack. Hachirō hung there as if he was living his best life, the smell of fresh pancakes in his nose and the warmth of Hinata around him, what could be better?

“Look, Mama!” Hinata called (Him calling you mama too, was his way of making sure, the kids would adopt this name for you quickly). “We’re training! Core strength!”

You blinked. “You’re what?” Afraid that your kinf could fall to the ground at any second. Dad time was always something…well special, not to say reckless. You were always a little afraid, but you trusted your husband.

“Raising the next Little Giant, obviously,” he grinned.

After breakfast, the three of you cuddled on the couch. Hinata pressed a kiss to your temple. “This... this is so much better than any gold medal.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi// Dad Trope: Quiet but big heart

Ushijima wasn’t a man of many words, but his love was loud in the little things. It was like that when it was just the two of you. In the years that the three of you had been together, not much had changed…except that your husband's heart seemed to have gotten even bigger. He lived for the little moments in your family life. Unfortunately, due to all the training in the professional league, there weren't as many of them as he had hoped. And you loved him for that, for how he made every second worth it.

Like how he always took your daughter to the farmers market on Sunday mornings. She came home proudly carrying her “flower of the week,” chosen just for you.

"Oh, thank you sweetie. Its so pretty", you said accepting the flower. “Papa says you’re the prettiest flower,” she said, handing you a sunflower half her height. You met Wakatoshi’s gaze across the room. His lips twitched in a rare, soft smile. “It’s true,” he said simply.

And in that moment, with your daughter spinning in circles and sunflowers in your hand, you felt like the luckiest person alive.

Daichi Sawamura// Dad Trope: Dependable Dad

You walked into the living room to find Daichi asleep on the couch, your toddler curled up on his chest, both snoring softly. Toys were scattered everywhere—a clear sign of the chaos that came before the peace. You had been away for work for a long time and had only just found your way back home.

Chaos had been in your life for a long time, all the sports clothes, equipment and the stressful everyday life of an athlete didn't leave much time for a tidy home. But since your daughter Chiri was there, there wasn't even a second in which the house was tidy.

Leaving your pumps at the front door, you crept on your tiptoes to the couch, slowly pulling the blanket over your husband. It must have taken a lot of effort for him to try to tame the chaos.

He stirred slightly as you covered them with a blanket. “I tried to clean,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “I see that, sweetheart....you did your best” you smiled, kissing his forehead. “I hope you married me for my good looks, not my cleaning skills,” he mumbled. You laughed. “I did...and your cute dad naps.”

Bokuto Koutarou// Dad Trope: Super Hype

Bokuto’s cheers could be heard three blocks away. He loved being a father, so much so that he had been nagging you about having a second child for months. You had also already thought about it, otherwise your son Kaori would grow up to be a total daddy's boy.

Koutarou was a great father. He was always there, motivated and ready to make the best of everything. Same today.

“That’s my boy! WOOO! NICE CATCH!,” he screamed happily across the pitch. Kaori had tried volleyball, but after a wasted effort ended up with baseball and so you, Koutaro, the picnic blanket and a lot of equipment spent Saturdays next to the field.

You cringed a little as other parents turned due to your husbands screams, but your son beamed from the baseball field, feeling proud his dad would see his efforts. Bokuto was practically vibrating with pride. Later, as you buckled your kid in the car, he whispered, “Dad’s so loud... but it makes me feel brave.”

You caught Bokuto’s eyes in the rearview mirror and gave him a wink. “You make us all feel brave, Koutarou.”

Atsumu Miya// Dad Trope: Soft Dad in Denial

It was a long day for all of you, but especially for you and your husband…days without much sleep had haunted you because your daughter Aira had entered the phase of refusing to sleep. It took a whole hour and a lot of effort from your husband to get your daughter to sleep. He would never admit it, but he was such a softy to his girls.

“Babe, you didn’t see nothin’, okay?” Atsumu whispered, holding your daughter as she slept, her tiny fingers clutching his hair.

“You said you weren’t gonna spoil her,” you teased. Smiling at the sight in front of you.

“‘S not spoilin’,” he mumbled, “It’s… well...emotional support... for me.”

You sat beside him, brushing hair from her face. “Ah I see...she’s got you wrapped around her pinky.” “Damn right. And I ain't even mad.”

You kiss him, still engaged all these years like you were on the first day.

Iwaizumi Hajime// Dad Trope: The Gentle Protector

Your daughter Mimi, was afraid of the storms that often wreaked havoc in the summer. Especially the storms that arise in summer, when heat and cold collide, were not without their effects. You once spent an entire weekend cleaning up the garden.

The thunder cracked, and your daughter bolted into your bedroom, crawling between you and Iwaizumi like it was a practiced escape drill.

“I hate storms....can I sleep with you?,” she whispered, clinging to Iwa’s arm. He rubbed her back gently. “It’s just loud clouds, little bee. Want me to tell you a story until its over?”

As he started a quiet, made-up tale about a brave dinosaur who protected his family, you felt her breathing slow. Arms wrapped around her dad and legs stretched like a starfish over the rest of the bed and you, the little dinosaur blanket snuggled up somewhere in between.

You kissed Iwa’s shoulder and whispered,“You’re the bravest dinosaur, you know that?”

He smiled without looking up. “Only for my girls.”

Oikawa Tooru// Dad Trope: Royal Drama

Your son Touma was now officially grown up. His first school trip to Okinawa was coming up. He had been looking forward to it for weeks and asked you to drive him there because "Dad would embarrass me otherwise." You just laughed when you heard your 10 year old's wish. But your husband was already there with a glittery shirt and camera to capture this important moment.

“Papa, your glitter shirt is too much,” your son said, frowning at Oikawa’s fashion choice for his schooltrip drop-off.

Oikawa gasped like he’d been mortally wounded. “Too much? Sweetheart, I am never too much—I am exactly enough.”

"Ugh, i will be so uncool, when you stay like that, dad," Touma said slightly, but humorously annoyed.

You handed your kid his lunchbox, vacation bag and kissed your overly offended husband, “He’ll appreciate your sparkle one day and if not, I do.” “Or he’ll write a tell-all,” Oikawa muttered, fixing his hair in the car mirror.

You whispered, “I��ll read it with wine.”

Kenma Kozume// Dad Trope: Quiet but very caring

With cozy slippers on and a dressing gown on, you stumbled in the living room. The lovely, bitter smell of your favorite cafe wafts past you from the kitchen. Following the scent, you looked for your husband in the kitchen when soft noises came from the corner of the couch in the living room. You found Kenma and your son Kenji huddled under a blanket fort, two sets of headphones, one handheld console, and a lot of snacks.

“Morning luv, what’s going on in here?” you asked sleepily. Kenma looked up, blinking slowly. “Morning kitten, he had a hard week. We’re decompressing.”

“By... co-op gaming with sour gummies?,” you asked teasingly. Kenma nodded. “He feels better now, you know.”

Your heart melted. “You’re really good at this dad thing.”

He shrugged. “I just do what I needed when I was little.”

"Exactly, luv", you said while kissing him.

Sugawara Koushi// Dad Trope: Soft-Spoken Chaos

You entered the kitchen and froze. Flour on every surface. Pancakes shaped like animals. Your twins wearing aprons… and whisking the air. What had happend, while you were out with your friends for a coffee??

Sugawara beamed, covered in batter. Looking super sexy in his "best dad" baking apron, child in the right arm. Completely ignorant about the mess in your kitchen that he and your daughter Amira left behind. A reminder why marrying this wonderful man was the best decision.

“Surprise! Saturday chaos pancakes!,” he smiled apologetically.

You blinked. “Wasnt this supposed to be a calm family "morning".”

He winked. “You had a clam morning with your girlfriends soooo....besides calm is for the weak.”

You sighed… then laughed. “Ah is that so? Then I assume clean-up is for the husband.”

His grin faded. “Wait—what?”

Tendou Satori// Dad Trope: Unexpectedly Amazing

The last thing you expected on a Sunday morning was your daughter in a knight costume and your husband, completely unimpressed, on the couch, the national team's volleyball game playing in the background. Your daughter waddled into the living room wearing a cape and a colander on her head. Looking super proud.

“Why....Who made our daughter....a knight?” you asked confused, sipping on your coffee. Tendou leaned back on the couch with a smirk. “Well, she did. I just told her, that the dragons under her bed, are scared of girls with imagination.”

"Oh," you simply said. He was such a good father. He had made her use her imagination to defend herself against the monsters under her bed, you loved this man. Suddenly, you daughter charged the couch with a cute little war cry. “ARGH....FEAR ME, DRAGON DADDY!”

Tendou dramatically flopped to the floor. “Alas! I’ve been vanquished by cuteness!”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried. “You’re unreal.”

He winked. “She gets it from both of us.”

[goldfades]

𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ' 𝐒 𝟔𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⟡

✿ ꕀ hello!!! welcome to my 6k celly! first off, i just want to thank everyone who has ever interacted with me or my work, and and hit that follow button because something i made meant enough to you, it seriously means the world. i remember first starting off my blog with my nhl fics, where we would all just fangirl over adam fantilli and luke hughes. it was an unhinged time, and if you told me that i'd be reaching 6k ever, let alone almost two years out, i'd laugh in your face. seriously. 1k, let alone 6k, seemed so impossible and now that i'm here, it leaves a weird feeling between nostalgia and pure joy.

i don't wanna pull the random influencer "i wouldnt be here without yall" bs cause i'm not like that, but i have to cause thats the only other way i'd be able to convey my gratitude for every single one of you, whether you're here because of hockey, basketball, or joe burrow, i love you sooooo much!

and i'd also like to encourage anyone who's ever thought of starting a writing blog (or any kind of blog) to DO IT! like i said, creating such a friendly and kind community so impossible to me in the beginning, but now here i am! its such a rewarding feeling! and if anyone ever wants to and if anyone ever wants to take that leap, just do it!!! seriously!!! make the blog. post the fic. talk about the unhinged sports crush you think no one else will get (spoiler: someone absolutely will). i promise it’s not as scary as it feels at first, and there’s room for everyone here — whether you're writing 10k word epics or just screaming in the tags. if you ever need someone in your corner, consider me there, aggressively cheering you on like a hockey mom in the stands with a cowbell 🫶

✿ ꕀ ASK RELATED CELEBRATIONS (MAY 27TH THROUGH MAY 31ST)

all requests need to be send with a prompt to make it easier for me! any prompt is okay (whether you made it up or found it online, it's okay!) here is a list of prompts if you can't think of any! also make sure to be specific which exact prompt you want, i would prefer you to copy and paste it!

fluff prompt #1

fluff prompt #2

fluff prompt #3

fluff prompts #4

intimacy #1

angsty prompts #1

angsty prompts #2

💐 send this & i will write a short fluffy blurb for you!

🫧 send this & i will write a short angsty blurb for you!

🎲 send this & a number 1 -- 10 & i’ll spin a prompt wheel and give you a drabble!

more unique ones . . .

🍓 send this & your fave & a soft thing you love (blankets, smoothies, etc) & i’ll give you a love language moment!

soft hands. sleepy kisses. "you left this in my car"

🪩 send this & a player & i’ll give you your rom-com meet cute!

ice cream line in the summer. half-court shot challenge. mutual friends with beef

⏰ send this & a player & i’ll write a timestamp scenario! (ex. 3:07am, 10:32pm)

short, atmospheric and slightly deranged if needed

🧲 send this & a character & i’ll give you their most toxic trait… lovingly

petty? jealous? secretly self-destructive but charming? let’s unpack

✿ ꕀ FICS I WILL BE POSTING

★ day one with DEVIN BOOKER ★

includes: angsty off-season routines.

summary: you’ve been with devin for a while now. long enough that off-season means slipping into shared routines: grocery runs, gym days, lazy movie nights. but lately something’s been off — his distance, your deflection, tension thick enough to crack. neither of you say it out loud but the silence is starting to sting.

★ day two with LUKA DONCIC / CRASH OUT COUPLE ★

includes: toddler chaos, parenting teamwork (barely) & retired hothead energy

summary: you and luka were never supposed to be the blueprint. you are both fan favorites — technical fouls, postgame quotes, highlight reel meltdowns. that’s how it started. a mutual respect forged in chaos. now? you’ve got a toddler who won’t wear shoes, sunscreen in your eye and a suitcase full of tiny swimsuits that no one’s wearing. it’s your first real vacation as a family and it’s… a lot. she screams over juice flavors. luka forgets the stroller. you both fall asleep at 7:30.

but when your daughter belly-laughs at the waves and luka wraps his arms around you from behind with that “we’re doing it” smile, you realize this was never about being perfect.

★ day three with PAIGE BUECKERS ★

includes: wnba chaos & "i don’t know how to be soft out there but i’m trying for you"

summary: dating paige means learning to share her — with fans, cameras, the league. you’re used to being in the background: her pregame text, her airport pickup, the face she looks for in the crowd. but when she finally has a bad game — one that leaves her jaw tight and chest guarded, you’re the one she lets fall apart.

and maybe that’s what love is: not fixing it, just holding her together until she can breathe again

★ day four with JUJU WATKINS ★

includes: public vs private selves & forehead kisses before shootaround

summary: you and juju have been solid since last spring — late-night drives, gym dates, matching hoodies kind of solid. but the season’s about to start and she’s got something to prove. suddenly she’s sharper, snappier, locking herself in the film room and brushing off your touch. it’s not about you. you know that. but when she finally sits next to you on the bleachers, hands shaking a little, you don’t say "i told you so."

★ day five with JOE BURROW ★

includes: off-day domesticity & farmer’s market joe

summary: it’s his first real day off in weeks and all he wants to do is spend it with you. no press. no cameras. just overpriced fruit and holding your hand in public like it doesn’t mean something. you trail through the market with a smoothie in one hand and his hoodie in the other, watching him pretend he’s not overly invested in picking the right sourdough.

thank you again for 6k!!!!! i hope you guys enjoy!!!

tagging some mutuals:

@wanderlusturous @v6quewrlds @snoopyhughes @emilysprentisss @wbb4l @softburrow

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 skywatching rookanis enjoy 🪶

"Ah, here you are."

Rook barely turns towards him, knowing from the deliberate sound he pushes into his steps that she has nothing to fear.

She leans casually against the banister of his - their - small en-suite balcony, her toes gripping so hard onto the old, softened leather slippers that the nails may as well make dents in the tiles beneath.

"Sorry," she says, shuffles to the side a little, to make some space for him, between the planters and lanterns, the datura and nightphlox turning their buds away from the Veilfire light.

"For what?"

Rook shrugs. The motion makes her dressing gown slip from her shoulders into her elbows. The collar drapes over the datura's pointy leaves.

"First time in a while we get to sleep here together - and I sneak out halfway through."

He pulls her robe back over her shoulders - buildings and trees are sparse in this part of town; she'll catch a cold from the wind.

"I wouldn't blame you if you had trouble sleeping here," Lucanis rests his head in the crook of her shoulder. "Can't remember the last time I hadn't."

He doesn't think he's ever had a good rest in the Villa - he had lived in a small apartment further in-town before his parents were murdered, and he was never invited to the nighttime parties.

"It's not that." Her cheek presses into his scalp. A short laugh. "Gods, with how soft your bed is, I might fall asleep and never wake back up."

Fine by me, Lucanis thinks. At least you won't be snatched again this way.

"Not mine," he says instead. "Ours."

The skin under his hand twitches. As if the way his callouses catch on her belly transports the question to her, without him needing to ask it.

"I just.. I missed the stars. We don't have nighttime in the Lighthouse. Didn't think too much of it, until I woke up for a drink earlier and caught the sight of them. Hit me like a shield to the face, that it's been so long seeing them I could barely remember."

Huh.

"You're right." He unwinds himself from around her, pulls her robe back over her shoulders again. One of these days, he'll get a tailor to make her a robe that doesn't bare her with every move she makes.

"It's been months since we last stopped to look at the stars."

Lucanis leans down against the banister, too. Rook immediately reaches for his hand, dangling mid-air alongside hers.

"Gods, when was that?"

"The Wetlands, I think."

He knows it was in the Wetlands. They'd snuck away from the Warden Hold to one of the alcoves just covered in tranquil greenery. It hadn't even taken a month for flowers to come jumping out of the healing ground like - well, daisies. They'd sat on a rock outcrop in a tiny alcove tucked away from the bustle of the town outside, sharing half a sandwich between the two of them and inventing constellations as though they were children looking at the clouds reflecting in the canals.

Lucanis wonders what his childhood might have been like, had they met twenty-five years go.

"We should do that again sometime."

Rook knows his mind, heart and soul - and yet, sometimes things that go on inside him she isn't privy to. Somehow.

One day, she'll know everything. He's sure of it.

"What? The Wetlands? All the gold in the world can't pay for this many boots."

At some point, a spare shelf had materialized in the Lighthouse's eluvian, for the muddied, blighted, worn-out and torn boots each one of them had - Davrin's urging, to not carry the Blight even further out of the Anderfels than it had already permeated by itself and its divine support. They'd built a habit to carry them by hand the Heights of Athim and change into them only once they'd arrived at the docks.

Their clean boots always remained in the Caretaker's boat.

Lucanis had his shoemaker cobble new boots for everyone, but even he can't get Rook and himself brand-new tailored shoes every other week - the cobbler works too slow for that, to start.

"No, silly!" Rook playfully knocks her shoulder against his. "You know, find a little hidden corner. A pretty one. A little paradise to.. oh, I don't know. Just be together. Alone."

Oh.

"I'd like that." He lets himself be swiftly pinned to the railing by her, ignores the worn leather sole grinding against loose stone splinters, leans down to meet her halfway. "And I know just the place."

Rook doesn't know he means a corner in their gardens, behind the tool shed that the gardeners keep forgetting exept to cut down the blackberry bushes, where bees and wildflowers and grass are steadily hiding the swoosh of the canal below and the two milking stools are all but overgrown in a shaded corner. She'll love it.

She thinks, as she lets him push back against her, lets him lead her backwards with his hands around her elbows until her knees hit their mattress and she flops over laughing, that he's talking about their bed, a clumsy attempt at seduction.

It'll make the dinner behind that shed that he's already planning in the back of his head all the bigger a surprise.

🪶

[~rina]

I couldn't figure out how to put in Spite for the life of me, and it really irks me, bc he usually just inserts himself organically for me, but this has been sitting in my drafts since APRIL, so have at it.

idk maybe he's off playing with that one cat that kinda sorta looks like a spirit cat idk make the rules i barely even enforce em lmao

[yeonmuse]

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary ⛸️

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well.

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗ Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like getting close to new people, but when a little shows up to his place of work in need of skating lessons he finds himself getting oddly close to his older sister. He finds himself developing some uncontainable feelings while having to teach not only her little sister to skate, but her as well.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED ❕ 🏷️

merry christmas

It had been such a long time since he and Sunghoon had been alone together that she was foolishly impatient on the entire flight to their destined vacation spot. Winter break had provided them with the perfect opportunity to get closer and comfortable with one another without the interruptions of friends, or classes or work or any other possible outside force that seemed to rip them away from one another.

“You seem awfully quiet.” Sunghoon spoke softly, his fingers dancing against her waist as she rested nuzzled into his side, her head on his shoulder as she stared out the window of the plane.

“Just thinking of all the things we can possibly get done without any interruptions.” She responds, a soft him following her words.

“Baby we’re going to be there for a week and a half, we have time.” He chuckles, taking her hand into his and interlocking their fingers with one another's.

“I know but this is the only free time we have where it’s consistent, no work , no classes, we’ll finally be able to spend some decent time with one another that won’t be interrupted.” She retorts, her gaze shifting from the outside over to him who had already been looking at her.

“We’ll have our time to just relax and enjoy it while we’re here or else you’ll stress yourself out worrying about the smallest things.” He reassures, pressing a kiss to her temple as some sort of calming source.

Letting out a content sigh her eyes return to the clouds and light blue sky outside the window. Even as the plane starts its descent from the sky she remains just as content. When the plane finally touches down each of them make their way off of the plane, woonhak and maki kissing the ground happily the moment they'd touched down.

They all of course laughed about it the whole ride from the airport to the lodge. The lodge was a place that she and her family had formed many memories in, they’d go their every year and this year was the only accepting because of all places they could have gone, her Lemme sister had decided that she wanted to take a little trip to Disney this year, that left them with the website lodge all to themselves. What we meant to be a winter resort for 25 families at most had been turned into their private estates for the break.

“I know you were loaded but I didn't know you were this loaded- your family is even more loaded than Yeonjuns.” Jake mumbles in disbelief, mouth hung open as he took in the sight of the main lodge that grew closer within the distance.

“That’s because she’s lowkey whereas Yeonjun is throwing parties at different locations every week.” Mari chimes in earning a side eye from yeonjun

“Okay every week is an exaggeration.” Yeonjun speaks up in defense, finally breaking his gaze away from the window long enough to defend his own honor.

Once they’d all been settled in she had fully been expecting some alone time with Sunghoon but of course their moment of intimacy and privacy was almost immediately cut short. Yn being dragged off with the girls to go gift shopping since they’d all be spending their Christmas there, while Sunghoon was left alone in their room until the other guys came and dragged him off to the main lodge to play pool.

“So you and Sunghoon.” Jinsoul gives her a playful nudge, a knowing smile on each of their faces at the mention of the man that seems to constantly be on her mind lately.

“What about him?” She responds, ultimately failing at playing confused.

“Please, you know exactly what we’re going to ask you, you guys have known each other for 3 months now? You’ve been getting all lovey for the last 2 weeks since your date..? Has he asked you yet?” At Maris question she simply shakes her head, sending her and the other girls into long winded tangents about how he should ask her by now.

The long awaited question, that has been what Mari and the girls have been asking her all for the last two weeks, were they official, had he asked her to be his yet? Truth be told she wasn’t too worried about it because she knew he had eyes for her and her only, but even she herself was also starting to wonder why he had yet to ask her.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to ask her, for weeks he’d been trying his best to come up with some sort of plan on how to ask her, he wanted the moment to be just as memorable as they first date, not just something he half assed or has rarely put any sort of thought into.

—

“So what exactly are all of the girls doing right now?” Riwoo asks, squinting one eye open as he lines up his shot.

“Sakoia said something about them all going out to the spa then shopping for Christmas.” Heeseung responds, leaning up against the table and waiting for Riwoo to take his shot.

“Shouldn’t we also be doing that?” Jungwon chimes in, “I mean Christmas is two days away? Do any of you even have any gifts picked out yet?”

They all share a glance with one another before placing the ball’s and pool sticks back in their rightful place. Seemingly to have come to a mutual agreement that it had been in their best interest to go shopping for the girls rather than finish their game. While everyone else was chatting it up on the ride into town Sunghoon was overcome with nerves, this would be his first holiday with her. Not to mention her parents and little sister would be joining them all at the lodge on christmas.

Unfortunately over the course of the last three days Sunghoon and her have rarely had any time to themselves other than their occasional minute they’ve been left alone while decorating. Most of the gross time was spent christmas shopping, and planning the dinner ahead of time, which ultimately put a cork in their alone time.

“You seem really pouty today.” Sunghoon points out wrapping his arms around her waist as he finds her in the kitchen flipping through recipes.

“That’s because we've been so busy prepping for Christmas that we’ve barely had any alone time, we only get little moments like these.” She responds, casting the recipe book aside and turning to face him.

“Next time we know to plan it all before arriving at the lodge then hm?” He adds on, brushing her hair behind her ear, his other hand resting on her hip.

“Next time we come alone.” She sighs, and a chuckle spills from his lips, probably wasn't the best time to laugh but in his eyes she was so cute when she got all pouty.

“Okay, we’ll come alone next time.” He smiles resting her chin between his thumb and index finger as he leans in to press a kiss to her lips.Their kiss interrupted as Yeonjun and Riwoo come rushing into the kitchen.

“Yn, the chefs are…here.” Yeonjun stops dead in his tracks and his lips press into a thin line.

A sigh spills from her lips as yet another ruined moment and both Yeonjun and Riwoo send the trap of them an apologetic look. “You two just continue what you’re doing, we'll tell then you need a minute.”

And with that the two were finally left alone again. A sigh spills from her lips as she turns to gather all of the recipes she’d picked out for tomorrow night's dinner.

“Guess that’s my queue.” She gives him a disappointed look and he returns her gaze with an apologetic one, even though it hadn’t been his fault he was well aware that all she wanted to do was spend time with him and the last two days it seemed like they hadn’t gotten any time.

Sunghoon sighs as she disappears from the kitchen and he silently curses Riwoo and Yeonjun before making his way out of the kitchen.

While she remained busy and all of the others had been either still decorating or out and about he went to take a walk. For the last two days he’d been trying to get her alone so that he could finally ask the long awaited question, her parents would be arriving tonight and tomorrow was officially Christmas Eve, how could he possibly meet her parents when he hadn’t even made things official?

He lets out a frustrated sigh, brushing his fingers through the back of his hair as he stops to take in the scenery around them. The frost and snow that covered the trees, the lake that had frozen over, each of their cabins in the distance.

He thought back to how upset she looked when their alone time was interrupted once again and it was then that he decided he would make it his priority to stream her away tomorrow night, he knew he couldn’t steal her away on Christmas, that night was meant to be spent together with all of their friends and her family, but he could at least steal her away the night before.

—-

Christmas Eve was somehow the most stressful day amongst their time there. She had spent the entire day ripping and running making sure that everything had been perfect for the following night. Presents wrapped, main lodge and cabins decorated by staff, and dinner for both tonight and tomorrow night was currently being prepped. She’d barely given herself any time to breathe that entire night, and in addition to her stress her parents had almost arrived and Sunghoon was nowhere to be found.

“Have any of you seen Sunghoon?” She asks the group that had been sat out in the main hall drinking hot chocolate by the fireplace.

“Not since this morning? He got up early and no one’s really heard from him since then.” Jake replies, sitting his cup on the table. “You alright you look stressed?”

“I’m fine, just been running around all day, trying to make sure everything got tonight and tomorrow are perfect.”

“Yn you’ve been working on all of this since we got here, you need to go take a seat and rest, it's Christmas Eve you should be able to relax now that all of the important stuff is out of the way.” He responds, giving you a look of concern

“He’s right, you’ve been on ten since we got here. You really should stop and enjoy yourself.” Mari adds in as she enters from the hall and takes a seat next to Nicholas who’d been silently observing the fire.

“But my parents are-” before she could even finish her sentence Mari had already been ready to shut her down.

“Almost here, yes I know babe, you’ve done enough and dinner is practically finished aside from tomorrow. Go rest, relax. We can make sure everything’s under control here, your family is paying for this entire trip. It's the least we can do.”

A sigh spills from her lips and Mari gives her a Reassuring nod.

“Rest.” As much as she didn’t want to leave all the work to then she knew Mari wouldn’t let her hear the end of it, so instead of fighting her or trying to find an excuse to do otherwise she makes her way out of the main lodge and walks down to Sunghoons cabin.

Knocking on the door she calls out his name and waits a few seconds, realizing she was getting no response she unlocks it with her key and steps inside.

“Hoon?” She calls out softly, yet still no response. Ultimately she realized that he wasn’t there, his cabin was empty. She didn’t mow where he was or agreed he’d return but it made her nervous after hearing he’d been gone since this morning and still hasn't come back.

She became even more worried as nightfall rolled around and 6 texts and 15 missed calls later she got no response, yet she seemed to be the only one that was worried. Even as she stood in the driveway waiting for her family's car to arrive she would anxiously check her phone every 2 minutes, but still no response.

As their car comes into view she lets out a sigh and slips her phone into her pocket, pulling a smile on her face so that the first thing her parents see is their daughter happy.

“My babyyy.” Her mom almost immediately takes her face into her hands and showers her in kisses once she’s out of the car, all while her father was left alone to take out all of the bags.

“Are you going to do this every time we see each other?” She laughs, a genuine smile finally making its way onto her face as her mom pulls away and goes to help her father.

“As long as you’re in college and we’re far away from each other, I absolutely will.” Her mother responds

“You’re acting as if I’m not one drive away.” She laughs before going over to hug her dad.

“Yes but you aren’t under the same roof anymore.” Her mom responds, with a pout on her lips.

“Still babying her when she’s a grown woman now, even when she’s gone and gotten herself a boyfriend for the first time.” She immediately stiffened at the mention of a boyfriend, she knew that he meant Sunghoon but he was fully under the impression that the two were official, she had forgotten entirely to tell them the two were only dating.

“Boyfriend or not, she's still my baby.”

“Where is that boyfriend of yours anyways?” Her father asks, making her lips press into a thin line.

“Right here. Sorry I’m late, I was running a few last minute errands for Christmas.” At the sound of his voice she breathes a sigh of relief, yet anger and annoyance bubbles over as well. He had ignored every one of her calls and messages the entire day and now he just shows up as if that didn’t happen.

“hooniee!” Junie is the first to greet him, running to him and jumping into his arms as she’d done time and time again when she saw him now.

“Oh my yn he’s so handsome.” Her mom chimes in, playfully nudging her with her elbow.

“Mr and Mrs. l/n I’m sorry it took us this long to meet, I’m Park Sunghoon.” He makes his way over, placing junie down and shaking her father's hands— her mom pouting him in for a hug instead.

He completely dismissed the look of annoyance she’d shot in his direction as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Part of her wanted to melt at his touch but she refused to let him off so easily after he ignored her the entire day and left her worried.

“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short but I’m sure you three want to get inside where it’s warm, do you mind if I steal her away for a second?”

“Nono of course I’m sure we’ll see you both again for tonight's fireworks.” Her mother dismisses the two of them with a smile, the three going inside and disappearing into the lodge.

“Start talking right now, where the fuck have you been?” She spits out angrily, removing his arm from her waist and stepping in front of him.” You don’t call or text, or say anything the entire day, you leave me worried about you and then you just sporadically reappear right when my parents get here and act like nothing happened?”

He opened his mouth to speak but was immediately shut down as she continued on. “What were you thinking leaving and not saying anything to any of us, what was that important that you had to be gone the entire fucking day without any calls or texts what so ever.”

“Are you done my love?”

‘My love’ was two words that made her melt completely, if she wasn’t so angry with him it would have made her putty in his arms, but right now she was far too annoyed with him.

“Don't “my love” me, tell me what was so important that you had to be gone the whole day.”

“I could tell you but, I think It’d be easier to just show you.” Her brows immediately creased together and although she was still pissed at him, she followed suit, unable to go against the need to see why he decided to spend the entire day away from them all.

“Your cabin? If you’re trying to tell me you were in your cabin all day you need to come up with a better lie. I came here to find you and you weren’t…” her words begin to trail off as he pushes the door open and steps out of the way.

The room had been decorated beautifully, aside from the Christmas decorations, the floor had been covered in lavender and white magnolia, her absolute favorite flowers. A trail that led from the door and down the hallway. She turns to look back at him completely stunned and he simply encourages her to go further inside.

She felt the tears getting ready to spill down her face the moment she was enveloped by the warmth of his cabin, her legs felt like jelly as she followed the trail into the bedroom. On his bed sat a bouquet of flowers and a white box. He watched as she stepped close to the bed, her fingers ghosting over the bouquet before she went to reach for the box, wasting no time pulling it open.

Inside the box were three items, three simple items that meant the website world to her the moment her eyes had landed onto them, each of them meant something. A pair of white skates, the exact pair of skates that he’d worn matched and tailored to fit her, A brown zip up jacket that matched the one she’d always worn and she came over to his place (her favorite of his of course), and last a necklace with each of their initials on it, the final straw that made the tears come spilling out.

“I’ve been thinking of all the ways to do this.” He spoke softly, reaching down to grab the necklace from behind her. “You’ve been so patiently waiting for me to ask, and I wanted this moment to be memorable for you.”

She shivers as his fingers brush against her cold skin, moving her hair to one side of her neck he wraps the necklace around before latching it into place.

“I’m sorry that I made you wait so long.” Turning her around he rests one hand on her waist, the other on the back of her neck. “Be mine? My girl, no more going on dates without having you officially be my girlfriend.”

He spoke softly, his thumb gently grazing her cheeks wiping away the tears that occasionally spilled down her face.

He didn’t even have to wait for a response, as an immediate yes spilled from her lips. She hugged him as if her life depended on it, as if this moment would be stolen away like many of their others.

“This is why you were gone..? I got so mad at you and you were out playing all of this?” She sniffles, wiping the rest of the tears from her face as she looks back at the box.

“I knew you’d calm down once you saw the reason that I couldn’t answer, the only person i told was Mari, so she could make sure no one panicked and the three others knew I wasn’t lost in Alaska.” He responds, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“You’re such an asshole I was worried about you all day.” She sighs, slamming a fist against his chest making him laugh.

“Well I’m fine, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t waste anymore time, It needed to happen before Christmas.”

“You missed dinner. There's still a few leftovers but I’d we go now then you can get them before Yeonjun, Jake and Ni ki do.” She takes his hand, preparing to drag him out the room.

“I’m not hungry, I'd rather spend tonight with you.”

“You’re so cheesy.” She teases, wrapping her arms around him.

“You wanted some alone time hm? Now our chance, besides the lakes frozen over and it’s been a while Since we’ve skated together hasn’t it?” He hums and locks their fingers together.

“And no matter how many lessons you’ve given me I’ve somehow not gotten any better.” She lets out a frustrated huff and rests her head against his chest making him laugh.

“Good thing your teacher is pretty patient with his students.” He responds playfully

After helping her lace up her brand new skates, he leads her out to the lake, the night air was crisp and almost froze her out, which was a tell all that the two of them wouldn’t be out there for long.

“Are you sure it’s safe? To skate on this?” She nervously eyes the lake, watching as he steps onto it with ease and skates circles in front of her.

“I wouldn’t put you in danger, it’s perfectly safe, I even tested it out last night while you were with the chefs.”

“You had time to do that and I didn't even notice?” She asks, completely shocked that he had been planning this all, all this time and she hadn't caught on once

“I made sure to take care of it when you are at your busiest. Now c'mon.” He holds out his hand for her to take, though hesitant and still a little worried she places her hand into his and allows him to lead her onto the ice.

Unlike many other times when she’d skated with him or her friends this felt natural. Being with him in that environment, sharing that moment felt right, like the ice was always some place she was meant to be, or maybe she was just always meant to be with him. When she finally eased up and her worries seemed to simmer down entirely the two were all smiles and laughing. Every now then he’d tease her because it seemed she’d somehow gotten worse at skating rather than better, and it eventually encouraged her to try a little harder. She’d gotten good enough to skate on her own but after one or two falls she gave up completely and went back to holding his hand.

When the time hit 11:50 the two of them put away the skates and made their way to the main lodge to join the others.

“Park Sunghoon where the hell have you been.” Jake was the first to notice the trail of them entering, and Sunghoon was immediately bombarded with questions.

Smiling, she decided to slip away from his side and let him deal with the consequences of not having contacted any of them.

“Yn??”

“Sorry but you get what you deserve.” She responds by shrugging her shoulders at him and shooting him a sly smile before going to find the other girls.

“My own girlfriend is leaving me to the wolves.” He mumbles, making all of the commotion cease.

“Did he just say girlfriend?”

Meanwhile the girls had ask been outside gathered around the fire as everyone had been waiting for the firework show at midnight.

“Hello ladies.”

“Oh you seem extra cheerful. I'm assuming Sunghoon finally gave you your gift.” Mari inquires, making the other girls all look at the two of them skeptically.

“Yes I saw everything, how could you keep it a secret from me?” She scrunches up her nose at her before going to take the empty seat next to Jinsoul

“Okay what are we missing here!” Jinsoul and Fatou question, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“You want to tell them or you want me to.”

“Tell us what?”

“I don’t know, maybe that Sunghoon finally asked me to be his girlfriend.” That sentence was like setting off an alarm, it was immediately followed by loud screaming and cheers from the girls. A conversation starter that started endless chatter until the guys had come out to join along with her family and once again Sunghoon had stolen her away.

“You really left me alone to deal with all of them.” He whines. Resting his head against her neck as he held her from behind.

“You survived didn’t you? You dig that grave yourself by not telling any of us anything.” She responds while locking his fingers with the hand that rested on her waist.

“Mm didn’t think It’d end with betrayal from my own girlfriend.” He responds, making her chuckle.

“My poor boyfriend.” She says teasingly. He smiles leaving a loving kiss on her neck and face, only looking up when the fireworks are finally set off.

“Merry Christmas Baby.” He spoke softly, words melting into her ear as the two of them watched the fireworks together.

“Merry Christmas My love.”

RETURN TO MASTERLIST

an: and with this final chapter love on the rink has finally come to an end. Thank you so much to everyone that has read this smau from beginning to end, I hope you enjoyed going on this journey with me. I’m so sad its ending but now with the end of this one I can finally get started on the other members. If you’d like to join the taglist for Ni kis current smau “chrome hearts don’t break” apply to the taglist here

🏷️ @getoxo @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @sol3chu @squiishymeow @jwonistic @nithxhoon @lakoya @iichuuo @letmein2urheart @mitmit01 @enhaz1 @hollxe1 @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @manobillie @vvenusoncasual @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @gaytron3000 @firstclassjaylee @riribelle @ivyvioletcarson @academiq @claumbeju @bubblytaetae @pkjay @httpenhoon @starniras @semi-wife @nightowlpudding @heartheejake @papichulomacy @celestnlav @50-husbands @kukkurookkoo @neptunediaries @nujeskz @gweoriz @pookalicious-hq @kirakun @kimbottom6969 @i-peachesandstrawberries @rishki @wonzzziezzzz

[omgfangirlland]

I need a part two of the fanfic writer reader where joker ask her to write more fanfics of him and his batsy.. Even better is if he ask for a fanart of him and Batman. (I got a feeling that joker is one of her fans and would mostly read the Batman x joker fanfic)

I wanna traumatize Jason.. Imagine a fan comment of wanting a Jason x joker 😭😭😭

(Btw, I laughed my ass off reading part one of fanfic writer reader)

-🔱

Part two of this drabble, have I mentioned it's crack and don't treat it seriously?

First of all-

HI- HELLO I'M SORRY I DIDN'T SEE THIS ONE BEFORE- How did you do? Wish I could have said good luck :( (It's on the John C & Apprentice/AdoptedDaughter!Read one if you remember)

Second- got back from a job interview(god, I really hate the idea of working for them, but they're the only ones who got back to me in MONTHS), slept the rest of the day- fully didn't plan to write but this is making my brain itch-

Joker finding out the identity of jokergagglingbatsballs35 before ANY of the Bats is so funny- THEY LIVE WITH YOU!

Alas- they're a bit distracted with trying to mend the relation with you they ruined. It's honestly like trying to befriend a scared, hurt dog to them- flinching when they try to get close, barking when they do something you don't expect. The only one who isn't privy to your anger and distrust is Alfred, and they have noticed.

"He feeds me." Was your grumbled response when they asked, and they tried to befriend you by doing the same- but it wasn't really the simple fact that Alfred feeds you- it's the fact that he's done it for years without poisoning you or pushing you to the side. So, yeah, nothing they give you ends up in your mouth.

Especially not Damian's stuff. You go out of your way to break whatever goodie apart, searching for nails, needles, hell, you expect a whole dagger in it sometimes. You do not trust these people, and the sudden way they changed.

So, you find your time spent more and more outside the manor. Cafes, parks, the library... where Joker found you, in disguise, of course- can't have him attract attention when he wants to be subtle for once.

Your face has subtitles. So when the man sits across you, he already knows you think he's a weirdo. He also knows you're the one and only, jokergagglingbatsballs35, when your face twitches, trying your best to not smirk like a baby Joker.

You found out quite quick that he was the second man you've been writing about in your little hobby. You thought he'd kill you, or Jokerize you- didn't expect him to gush over your work or to whine like a toddler about the bats ruining everything fun. Honestly, you two got into it, you even showed him the shitty first drafts that you hid deep in your laptop.

"You're quite artistic. Do you draw as well?"

"... Why...? You want me to draw Batman pregnant?"

The shock as Joker processed your question was quickly wiped away, his signature smile and laugh taking its place. You have become his favorite Wayne. So, like a true fan, he has started planning "kidnappings" with you so you could write for him-

The bats didn't like it. And, sure, they didn't really look into it beyond getting you back, but also- they weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Joker left you unharmed and untied, it honestly was just him wanting to annoy the bats and the Waynes- and if Harley had fun doing whatever girls do or gossiping, it's a bonus to him.

Now- he hates Red Hood for a variety of reasons- he killed the boy, and he came back, stole his title, and he just can't stand the motorcycle fetish get-up.

"How would you feel about a Red Hood x Joker, enemies to lovers, slow burn?"

Joker is in cloud nine, he doesn't know what Bruce did to this kid to end up like this, pure menace and hatred, but he loved it- And sure he'd love it, take your time! Uncle Joker will keep the bats off your tail for as long as possible so you can at least have half a draft.

And while half the internet is happy about you being back, the bats are too busy to notice as they Tim try their best to chip you, but you bite and punch quite hard when scared awake from your sweet sleep.

You've also started putting bells on the handle of your door, a chair under the doorknob, and transparent tape on your windows to make sure they won't enter without you noticing.

...Meeting Slade won't be as nice, but I don't think he'd care much as long as you don't post his fails.

----

MEME TIME

Reader, when finding out she's talking to the Joker:

Reader, when Joker asked if she can draw:

Joker, when Reader brings up Pregnant!Batman:

Joker, on cloud nine when he realizes this Wayne is as fucked up as him but in a different way:

Cass, in the shadows, knowing everything but saying nothing because she doesn't want you angry at her:

Also- I think @datgurl-rhea would appreciate the tag, tell me if not, I'll delete it-

[winterscaptain]

burn.

Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming after several delays--I've decided to post this before the sideblog is ready because you've all been so patient!

words: 1.7k content advisories: PINING. so much pining its painful

summary: "you forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget." —cormac mccarthy. december 24th–26th, 2010

ajf masterlist (under construction) | sideblog under construction | what do you want to see next?

The party ends like all the best ones do—slowly, reluctantly, and with too many hugs at the door.

Penelope’s glitter trail fades down the hallway. Emily’s SUV engine kicks over just as Dave mutters something about Italian wine being better than Italian judgment.

You’re still holding your mug.

You should’ve left twenty minutes ago. Spencer caught your eye on the way out and gave you a look—not teasing, just curious. Like he wasn’t sure why you hadn’t moved yet.

The apartment is warm in the way lived-in spaces get after too many bodies and too much sugar. The tree glows soft and quiet. A few stray snowflake crafts litter the coffee table, evidence of Jack’s brief cameo before Jess picked him up for a Brooks-side thing.

You and Aaron are alone now.

He’s in the kitchen, rinsing the same glass twice. You’re in the doorway, trying not to overthink the fact that you’re still here.

“Thanks for hosting,” you say, just because it’s something to say.

He nods. “Sure.”

“Everyone seemed happy,” you offer, like it matters.

Aaron hums. Noncommittal.

He doesn’t have to tell you this is his second Christmas without Haley.

He doesn’t have to tell you the first one didn’t feel real. That last year, he didn’t decorate. Didn’t cook. Didn’t breathe, really. He spent the morning letting Jack unwrap presents and the evening staring at the bottom of a glass.

He didn’t feel the weight of it until this year.

Until the tree was up again. Until Jack drew a family picture and only drew two people. Until he realized how deeply silence cuts when you’ve survived chaos. Until he realized he didn’t know where Haley ordered the Christmas cards. 

You shift your weight on the kitchen tile.

Aaron folds the towel with unnecessary precision. His hands are steady, but his pulse is loud in his ears.

“You’re not staying over tonight?” It comes out sharper than he means. Less invitation, more... alarm.

You blink. “Should I?” Your voice is soft, teasing, maybe. He can’t tell.

His gaze dips to your mouth before he can stop it.

Don’t.

His eyes flick back up to yours. “I just thought maybe you had somewhere else to be.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” you say. He gets the acute sense you’re hedging your bets. “Not tonight.”

He nods.

You step away first. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Aaron doesn’t stop you. Not right away. But then—

“Stay.”

You stop. Half-turned. He sees your shoulders lift, slow and uncertain.

“You don’t have to,” he adds quickly. “I just—don’t want you to go if you don’t want to.”

Your mouth tips up at the corner. Not quite a smile. Not quite relief.

“Okay.”

+++

He doesn’t breathe until you sit beside him on the couch.

The movie is some forgettable holiday comedy. You’re not watching it.

The lights are off.

Except for the tree.

Tiny bulbs blink lazily across the living room—reds, golds, soft white stars casting a sleepy glow over everything. They reflect off the glass ornaments, scattering glimmers of color onto the ceiling, the walls, the blanket pooled over both of your legs. The room smells like pine, like clove-studded oranges, like a home that’s been lived in, like the candle burning on the coffee table.

Neither one of you has spoken in a while.

Your head is on his shoulder, your legs tucked under the afghan, one of his hands resting over your shin—absentminded, not possessive. Just there. His thumb moves in soft, unconscious circles. You can feel the way his breathing changes with yours, how still he goes every time you shift. You could swear he’s holding himself together with duct tape and hope.

And you’re not doing much better.

“I used to think,” you start, your voice barely more than a breath, “that Christmas would always feel like it did when I was little.”

Aaron’s head tilts, not enough to look at you. Just to show he’s listening.

“Not the presents. Not even the family part. Just that feeling—like the world was softer. Like it could pause for a second.” You smile a little. “Now it just feels like we’re holding our breath.”

A beat.

“Maybe we are,” he says. 

You glance up. The tree lights catch his profile. His eyes are on the window, not the TV, but you don’t think he’s looking at anything out there.

The light catches the scar on his nose, the one Foyet gave him. There’s another, fainter one under his chin—childhood bike accident, if you remember correctly.

You should say something. Ask if he’s okay. Ask what he meant. You look away. 

Instead, you reach down and tug the blanket tighter over both your legs. His hand settles back over your shin like it never left.

He’s so warm. Stupidly warm. His shoulder is firm beneath your cheek, and his sweatshirt smells like him. You want to tuck yourself closer. You want to crawl inside the space between his ribs and stay there until January.

You don’t look at him on purpose, but you do. He’s already looking at you.

The breath catches in your throat. His eyes are soft. Quiet. But they’re searching.

You shift.

You hear the subtle change in his breathing. Feel the way his whole body goes still.

It’s comforting.

It’s also unbearable.

You see his pulse thrum at his throat. Quick. Hard.

You’re a profiler. You know what adrenaline looks like.

Aaron can feel your breath against his neck. The scent of your shampoo. The weight of your body leaning into his like you were made to fit there.

There’s a fraction of a second where you’re both leaning in. You don’t know who starts it. You’ll never know. But you do know what stops it.

Fear.

Not the kind you’re trained for. Not knives-in-the-dark fear. Not even heartbreak.

This is worse.

This is the fear of breaking what you already have. The fear of crossing into something so big you can’t get it back. The fear that one kiss could end it all, or change it so irrevocably that nothing is safe anymore. That there’s no room to pretend it’s platonic. No way to wake up tomorrow and call it anything less than what it is.

Your lips part.

So do his.

You both lean in. Barely.

And then—

You duck.

Not far. Just enough to hide in his chest.

His breath halts. But his arm comes around you without hesitation. He tucks you close, chin on your head. Protective. Resigned. Maybe relieved. 

You don’t speak.

Fuck. 

+++

You wake up to the smell of cinnamon and the distant sound of clinking kitchenware.

When you get up, you splash water on your face and brush your teeth in Jack’s bathroom—your toothbrush has its own cup now (you try not to think too hard about that). There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter—already poured, just the way you like it, and still hot.

Aaron doesn’t say a word when you walk in.

Jack’s back from Roy and Kathleen’s , tearing into a new Lego set on the living room floor.

You sit beside him, bare feet on the carpet. Aaron takes the armchair. Not the couch. Not beside you.

Jack talks enough for all three of you.

You laugh once at something he says—short, bright. Aaron looks up at the sound. You meet his eyes. For a fraction of a second, it cracks something open.

He looks away first. You get the acute sense that he’s not purposefully icing you out.

He’s just protecting himself. 

His self-preservation instincts have always been better than yours. 

The day goes on. Wrapping paper piles up. Coffee cools. Aaron reads the instructions while Jack builds.

You fold the blanket before you leave. Smooth it. Set it on the back of the couch like it wasn’t the scene of a slow-motion undoing.

Aaron watches you do it.

You both pretend it’s just a blanket.

+++

On Boxing Day (a holiday Penelope insists on honoring despite its unpatriotic British origins) Dave’s house smells like rosemary and caramelized onions and something else vaguely Italian that Dave refuses to name until dinner is served. 

Spencer sits cross-legged on the floor helping his godson with a puzzle. Henry’s doing his best and to Spencer’s credit, he narrates his every move (for language development, of course). 

Penelope is making spiked hot chocolate for everyone but insists it’s ‘medicinal’, and Emily is on her third glass of wine and definitely snooping through Dave’s record collection, crouched by the cabinet. JJ loosely supervises, watching Spencer and Henry on the floor with a soft look on her face. Will’s on duty today. You all promised to set aside a plate for him. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch, laughing at something Derek said but not really hearing it. Jack is curled into your side, showing you the Lego starship he and Aaron finished that morning.

It’s loud. Warm. Safe.

It’s the perfect place to hide.

Aaron hasn’t spoken to you since he handed you coffee yesterday morning.

He hasn’t not spoken to you either.

Which is worse.

You’re good at playing normal. You’ve had years of practice. But every time you move, your senses stretch for him. And every time you look over—he’s already watching you.

Never long enough to call it staring. Always just a second too short to make you sure.

Jack shifts in your lap. You adjust him automatically, arms tightening around his middle. He’s warm. His hair smells like cinnamon. When he looks up at you, he’s grinning.

“Wanna see the secret compartment?”

You smile back, genuine. “Obviously.”

Aaron’s watching.

You know he is.

You don’t look at him.

Later, when the kids have bundled up and play outside in the yard, you’re still sitting on the couch, doing your best to slouch and relax without thinking too much about it.

You feel him before you hear him.

He sits beside you, not quite close enough to touch.

Neither one of you says anything.

You think, for a second, he might speak. That he might say thank you for staying. Or I didn’t mean to— or I wanted to—

But he doesn’t.

He just exhales.

So do you.

The front door creaks open. The kids come back in, tracking snow and laughter. Noise floods the room.

[dreamwritesimagines]

For some reason i do imagine Birdie being a complete avoidant and telling Bucky, in the middle of a gala after he wins, as they're dancing, "You'll win them over. I mean, you won me so the rest of the world should be pretty easy."

"Well, just hiring you is listed as one the first campaign accomplishments on a file Paul typed somewhere, but I wasn't supposed to tell you that- he thinks it'll go to your head."

"Oh too late, I'm floating right now. But that wasn't how I meant it- I was so obvious for a while there, wasn't I? I was almost surprised HR didn't get on my ass about it but then again, if everyone is crushing on the boss then it isn't really an HR issue, just a state of mind. Anyways, don't worry-"

"Wait, stop. What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Crushing on the boss?"

"Okay so nice try but I'm sure your super soldier senses could pick up the pheromones that spread around the office as soon as you walked in- Kelsey says you're the reason so many periods synced up, kickstarting ovulation like some force of-"

"Birdie, stop joking. I'm talking about you."

"Ah. Well- I was crazy about you. Not just looks wise but everything else- it was like holding a live wire everytime I talked to you. Drove me insane, I think it was half the reason I broke up with Max until..."

"Until what?"

"It wasn't ever going to happen, wasn't it? Its not like that between us and honestly I think I just used you as an excuse to get out of a relationship i should've ended years ago. Shit, Bucky I didn't- I'm not telling you to make you uncomfortable, I really am over the whole thing."

"You're... over it. Over me."

"That's not a bad thing, right?"

"No it's uh... I'm glad you told me. Can you give me a minute, I think I need to breathe-"

Cue Bucky crashing out, leaving the gala and the next thing he knows he's chasing down assasins and being turned into an Avenger against his will because omfg that conversation was the last straw.

Omg omg darliiiing!? I AM SCREAMING THIS IS SO GOOD AND YOU'RE SO TALENTED AND AAAAAAAA-

I'm literally fangirling over you rn 🥰🥰🥰

"Well, just hiring you is listed as one the first campaign accomplishments on a file Paul typed somewhere, but I wasn't supposed to tell you that- he thinks it'll go to your head." Asdgjkll when Bucky first saw it...😂

if everyone is crushing on the boss then it isn't really an HR issue, just a state of mind I CAN'T STOP GIGGLING😂

You can legit hear the record scratch noise in Bucky's brain😂

"Kelsey says you're the reason so many periods synced up, kickstarting ovulation like some force of-" 🗣LET KELSEY SPEAK🗣

it was like holding a live wire everytime I talked to you. Darling wait-

Can I use this line in the fic?! Because this is a genius line! 😱

"You're... over it. Over me." He is in shock, someone give him some water 😌

Cue Bucky crashing out, leaving the gala and the next thing he knows he's chasing down assasins and being turned into an Avenger against his will because omfg that conversation was the last straw. ASFHJKL BUT THIS IS SO BUCKY!

Like, he needed to channel it somewhere because what do you mean Birdie, who he's been thinking about and dreaming about had a crush and got over the said crush without so much as a heads up!?

This is just so so good, thank you so much love! 🩷

Can you imagine the next time they see each other!? 😂 Birdie would be like;

"I'm trying really hard not to take it personally, however it is quite interesting you decided to have a change of career after I told you that I used to have a crush on you."

"Birdie—"

"Listen, I didn't say it to make things weird between us! It was just like—just like a funny anecdote to make you feel more relaxed about the whole thing!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because apparently my senses told me you'd have a career change if I did."

"I'm serious. You didn't think I should know about that?"

"Uh, funny you should ask, the answer is no. I did not, in fact, think you should know about my crush when I knew you didn't feel the same—"

"No you didn't."

"...What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I deserved to know. You didn't even give me a chance, and now you're over it—"

"What do you mean, give you a chance?"

"You know exactly what it means."

"You had a crush on me!?"

"Had? Have."

"You have a crush on me."

"Crush is such a weird word for it..."

"Going—going steady."

"What?"

"Was that not the word for it? Back in the 1940s?"

"It was not actually, but I appreciate the effort."

"Oh my God. You have a crush on me—I think I need to sit down."

[timekeepers-memoir]

harpy hare

crossposted on my ao3

He didn’t know what he expected on this stretch of the endeavor. Clearly, nothing good, but alas, he wished that there would be an inn choking with the scent of alcohol for him to rest in, or a gentle cottage filled with laughter and warmth, not…this. Whatever this was.

Whatever they were.

The siren, he meant, dying on the sand. The creature with one half of a mortal, and the other of a fish. That cursed creature, that lured sailors to their deaths and dragged ships down with their sickening songs.

Neo never understood why, or how. He couldn’t possibly figure out what it was that made the mortals so entranced with the creatures’ arias. What was so alluring about the slow, painful chords of the siren’s hymn? What was so entrancing about the barely present, ignored rhythm of that melody? Neo had long accepted the fact that he’ll never know.

It was barely important now. The siren was choking in front of him, skin on bone, limbs like sticks, lips purple and eyes struggling to open. It crawled, slowly, surely towards him for help. Elbows sinking into the sand as it pulled its weak body towards the bloodied god, tail hopelessly pushing forward.

Neo, meanwhile, was considering his choices.On one hand, his instincts ──learnt from years on battlefields── screamed. Told him to tightly grasp that siren’s neck, and squeeze. Deprive it of air. Watch as it squealed and gasped and choked slowly. Surely. Painfully.

Or slice his sword against its tail, slowly cutting off each chunk of its body, until it is no more. Hear the satisfying slice of steel against bone. Watch as it slid off glimmering scales, listen to the harrowing screams of the creature.

Or tie its weak limbs to a trunk, and watch as its skin slowly darkens over burning flames. Leisurely sink his fangs into tender siren flesh. He hadn’t eaten in quite a while, and such a dish didn’t seem too bad.

You may call him a monster, a psychopath, any other word you may utter, and he wouldn’t disagree. He had been raised that way, to find the most painful way to end his enemies. After all, it was a mindless beast, and he was but a hunter.

But his other part ──the one that was lovingly nurtured by Nausicaa── disagreed completely. Nausicaa would’ve wanted him to raise his hand out to the beast, let it hold onto calloused fingers. Feed it food and give it another shot at life. After all, all creatures deserved it, no matter how psychopathic or bloodthirsty ── that was what Nausi would say.

He observed the creature for a few moments more. It kept sinking nails onto sand, hopefully trudging towards him. Its limbs were getting weaker, he could tell. Its breaths shallower, quickening in a fit of desperation. His instincts told him to pick it up by the tail and slay it ── just like a real hunter would. Just like him before would.

He had a chance to kill it. It pulled itself forward with another reach of the arm, before its eyes tiredly fluttered closed. He could’ve let it rot there, let blood soak into sand, let dust return to dust. Let it rest peacefully. He could’ve made it into a solid meal if he could. He could’ve easily sold its fluorescent scales for thousands.

Instead, he gently lifted it, slung the limp body over his shoulder, and found a place to rest.

──࣪ ִֶָ☾.── Part 2

The cave wasn’t a bad place to choose. Sure, there could’ve been a homely cottage or a nice little seaside town to reside, but he didn’t have a choice, did he? Had he lose anymore time, that siren would’ve died. And all of Nausi’s lessons about kindness and compassion would’ve been for nothing.

To be honest, it wasn’t a long walk. Just a few steps from the beach, walking along a forest path, and he found this slightly damp but acceptable rock cove. There was water leaking from the ceiling and the floor was a little dirty and wet, but it was better than nothing at all.

He wasn’t really sure what he was doing anymore, considering what his goal was and what he was doing now. He was meant to find the Eternal-home Guardian, whoever they were, and somehow wake them up and save them from their fate. Now that he thought about it, it sounded quite impossible indeed. How could he be able to convince the Elder God to release the forest deity?

That was what he mused while treating the siren.

It’s condition wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. A few cuts and stabs here and there, nothing a little ichor won’t fix. Nausicaa had blessed him with minor healing powers at her temple ── nothing more than a few simple healing tricks, of course, more would require long and tedious training, but it was better than nothing.

He slit another injury in his wrist, watching as the slit bled gold. His fingers swiped at the slowly-flowing liquid, before slathering it clumsily over the siren’s infections. They closed up quickly with a bit of magic and a fair amount of random forest herbs, just as he thought. The creature didn’t wake up for a while, like he expected. It lied still on cold, barren ground, with the only changes being its skin was no longer bleeding ── only closed scars and badly-wiped ichor left ── and its breathing had became more stable. For better or for worse, the siren was saved.

As he intently watched the beast, the tail of it slowly faded, into air and dust. Slowly glimmered away, leaving behind long, white, scarred legs with only some scales on their ankles to show the siren connection. He had only realized the siren’s pure white skin when the tail shriveled into nothing. Opal-like, almost, glimmering when the light touched it. Sirens’ tails shrivel away ── when they have enough energy to do that ── on land, some attendants at Nausi’s altar had told him so.

Neo smiled, the first time since his departure from Nausi’s temple, and walked off to find food for the two. He might need to hunt more food now, but a friend is better than none.

──࣪ ִֶָ☾.── Part 3

It was shaking when he returned.

No, he ought to refer to them nicely now that they were awake. They were shaking, awake. Eyes still weak and limbs still trembling, but better than nothing, he supposed. Just like usual, his brain was already scheming any escape routes or methods to kill the beast if they manage to stand, run, and have enough strength in their arms to attack him. Throw the boar he was holding perhaps? Pull his sword out and brutally impale it? Or, simple enough, watch as it wrestled to stand but ultimately fell on its feet?

He pushed those thoughts away, and placed the boar near the cave wall.

“You’re awake.”

“I am.” the siren said back. He was unable to tell if they were trying to be snarky or not. “Are you eating?”

“I don’t trust you enough.” the siren replied, more or less truthfully.

“I will eat then,” Neo answered, silently swiping two branches together in an effort to start a fire. Three sticks to hang the boar on, and a campfire underneath. Flames crackled and smoke rose to the ceiling, spreading a gentle and yet noticeable aroma.

He tied the boar masterfully to the stove-thing he created like he had done it so many times before ── he has ── and slowly roasted it.

The siren stared at him the whole time, not like he was a maniac unlike how others saw him, but just observed his technique and judged how well he cooked the boar. He could respect a master of their craft.

“You should add rosemary,” the siren whispered, not in fear. Instead, they were just hyper-focused on the slow-roasting pork.

Neo shrugged, and picked a wild rosemary standing conveniently outside the rocky cave and tore it apart. The siren grabbed a small piece to nibble on, and he sprinkled the rest on the boar.

Fire was put out, and the boar was done. He tore it brutally with his sword, into manageable chunks, before consuming it. The herb had helped, as it tasted, well, better than anything he cooked before. Tender. Flavorful. All-around pretty good.

As he ate, he eyed the siren next to him. They stared at him with a death glare, with a hint of puppy eyes, still nibbling on their rosemary bit, but now with bigger chomps and slight screeches of fangs on the plant.

Neo had to hold back his laugh. Look at him, god of blood, psychopath and a fucking insane maniac, having to hold back from giggling like a teenage girl. The Nausicaa influence was showing, clearer than ever. He never laughed, partially because he couldn’t, and mostly because he swears his laugh will sound like that of a five-year-old.

He grasped a slice of the boar, and gently nudged the siren’s shoulder with it. The siren ignored him at first, but as the one or two pokes turned more aggressive and slightly demanding, they pulled the pork from him and started chewing. They tried to stay nonchalant, but eventually started crunching it like it killed their grandma. Soft, gentle swallows turned into aggressive bites with as much teeth as it needs, sinking far into the pork. The duo enjoyed their meal in silence. The occasional flip of the tail from the siren and sounds of chewing were the only sounds left to hear.

And so, Neo started putting more rosemary into his pork.

──࣪ ִֶָ☾.── Part 4

It only came to him after several weeks and a fair amount of meals that he never asked for the siren’s name.

To be fair, Neo didn’t speak much, if at all. Mostly he’d just hunt animals in the mornings, have meals with the siren, and then they’d sleep in the cove, a few meters away from each other. Simple. Comforting. Just like his life with Nausicaa. But he ought to call the siren by their name.

The Strawberry moon hung dimly, reflecting cold rays onto the mouth of the cave. He couldn’t sleep tonight. He didn’t feel like it, for one, and he technically didn’t quite need to sleep. He was a god after all, and a god of war at that. He was used to midnight ambushes and restless guarding and training late into the dark. This was no different, for him.

The siren was struggling to sleep also. Its eyes fluttered open and closed, scales shriveling in the heat, beads of sweat dripping across white cheeks. Then, sharp blue eyes opened completely, staring right at Neo. They huffed, and sat up.

The silence wasn’t tense. Wasn’t hot like the June weather. Wasn’t still, thick enough to cut with a knife. Didn’t linger in the air like a warning. It was calming, like the ocean perhaps. A clear body of water, spilling across the space, lapping at trees and grass and animals and the Siren and himself. Refreshing.

He let himself melt into this peaceful quiet, and it seemed like the siren did, too. The sheer heat made him fidget and twitch, but nothing further than that.

Then, the siren started speaking.

“When are you going to leave?” they asked, hands gently running across the length of their legs.

“When your form is fully healed,” Neo said, a certain air of intimidation around himself. He always came off intimidating even if he wasn’t planning to be. He didn’t know if he liked that or not.

“How would you liked to be addressed, mortal?” He turned to the siren, judging them again. Long, moonlight-colored legs; bright, sharp blue eyes; silky black hair flowing down their shoulders. Quite beautiful, according to mortal standards. He wouldn’t know, honestly. He doesn’t feel anything for anyone, and although sometimes he wished he could understand the feelings Nausi has, he finds attraction too trivial for his profession.

“Pesistratus. Pesi,” the siren replied. Their eyes flickered to the low-hanging moon before darting back to the damp floor of the cave, still wet from the last rain, “Male.”

“You needn’t add that,” Neo pointed out, moving from his position at the mouth of the cave, “It’s quite clear that you’re a male siren."

"Ah, I see,” Although he was attempting to sound nonchalant, Neo could see the sparkle in the Siren’s eyes, bright and enthusiastic, “and you?”

“Neoptolemus. Pyrrhus,” the blood god glanced at the siren’s reaction. He didn’t look one bit surprised or shocked. Neo assumed that was the correct reaction, since sirens didn’t often hear about land gods. He remembered the only land god the sirens worshiped was the Angel of Death. Acceptable, since even the ruthless waters couldn’t hold back the power of the Elder Goddess.

“Neo, then?” Pesi suggested, hands crossed on top of siren legs, staring into the distance.

“I needn’t an informal name, but I suppose you can use it if you prefer.”

Pesi chuckled at the blood god’s formality, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

──࣪ ִֶָ☾.── Part 5

The blood god was never content with Pesi’s denial, on what had happened to him that fateful day.

Neo had learnt during his time at Nausi’s town ──specifically from the scholars── that sirens didn’t just wash up on the beach, injured, dehydrated, and looking for any source to stay alive. Didn’t crawl up towards any outsider for help. Didn’t have legs bleeding like a river and injuries riddled all over marking their body with red.

He’d commonly ask the siren seemingly meaningless questions, but they all taught him something about Pesi’s mentality and family situation. Useless questions like, “How is your relationship with your family?” Or “What do you do when you need to escape from a stressful environment?”

He’d also drag himself to the beach to look for any clues, even if it was just a light gleam of a blade, or dried-up blood near the shore, or something even more terrifying, like a dismembered siren gill.

All of the siren’s answers were chilling, if you looked past the facade. His family didn’t accept him for who he was, and instead left him to the mercy of the Lady. One thing Neo knew for sure was that the goddess wasn’t merciful, not the slightest. When he needed to escape, well…He scored marks across his legs, branded himself with slurs and names, harmed himself until he couldn’t feel pain anymore, leaving himself numb. The way he spoke with such casualness was horrific. Neo wished he could send the siren to a counselor and make sure the poor man could be healed adequately.

Once, he pulled Pesi to the beach, for a swim. The rain was good enough to hydrate the siren, but aquatic creatures must be returned to the ocean. At that point, Pesistratus’ legs were strong enough to walk by himself, although he did try to get the blood god to carry him, to no avail. He had never seen the siren this joyful before. Scales gleaming, wolf-cut shining in the afternoon sun that streamed through the leaves. A large grin across his face, eyes closed even as he skipped through the forest path. Such a smile would make women faint and men pounce, and frankly unfeeling gods like him show admiration. Neo followed suit, long cape flowing behind him. It wasn’t a particularly sunny day, so the god could somewhat get away with wearing a giant cape. If it was any other day, Pesi wouldn’t let him simply because it’ll make the weather twice as worse.

His feet sunk into sand, and before his magnificent, beautiful, high-quality cape could touch the ground, he hiked it up to just above his belt. This place was pristine, untouched, favored by the gods. Which, he assumed, included him. Well, he did favor this place. Calm, quiet, just him and Pesi.

He found a spot to sit, and watched as his companion’s vitality was suddenly restored, showed by fish tail that miraculously appeared when he joined the waves and disappeared when he did the opposite. Picking seashells and digging up crab holes, diving into the water and splashing around. At one point, his arms were full of conch shells. He ran up to Neo, grabbed him by the hair, and started tying it. Hermit crab shells, oysters, seaweed, pearls, little shards of sea-glass, pieces of nets…He skillfully threaded them into ginger strands, twisting and turning bundles of hair to form a careful braid.

"That’s beautiful,” Pyrrhus commented, fiddling with his new hairstyle.

Pesi smiled proudly, hands on his hips, light-colored cheeks puffing up in amusement, before dashing back to the waves below.

Neoptolemus had to leave, for something important. He couldn’t remember what it was, no, it was simply trivial compared to what happened next.

When he came back, the siren was panicking. So close to crying. Pulling out hair, screaming and shouting, hand holding a rock that painted his own blood across his arms. The blood god rushed towards his friend, throwing his tanned arms around him. The siren didn’t stop bawling, instead digging his nails into Neo’s shoulder blades and crying into his shoulder. They stood there for a while, Pesi sniffling ever-so-slightly.

“What happened, now?” Pyrrhus questioned, lightly rubbing his hand on the siren’s broad shoulders.

“Please don’t-” Pesistratus choked out, unable to finish his words, “please don’t leave me- don’t leave me here with- with them."

“Them?” the god questioned, letting go of the siren momentarily, but his companion latched onto him again, unyielding from his grasp.

“My-” a breathless gasp, slowly turning into hiccups, “My family.”

──࣪ ִֶָ☾.── Part 6

He had brought his aquatic friend here for only one purpose ── to explain. To tell him all that surrounded the siren’s past, and whatever his fucking family did to him. Pyrrhus had to tread very carefully on such traumatic ground, to not let his rage get the better of him ──even though it will, sooner or later── and to listen to his companion.

The weeping willow provided enough shade for the pair, as well as a comforting presence to protect them from the elements and whatever danger out there. Neo carefully pounced on a hanging rock, jumping from growing mushroom to climbing vines, avoiding those that were unsteady or slippery, making his way up the tree before settling on a particularly large branch. His friend sat near the base of the tree, curled onto himself.

“So?” The god started, suggesting his friend to start with a poke using the dull of his blade.

“I was raised in a Family,” Pesi hissed softly when the steel met pearl flesh, but ultimately spoke anyway, “which was the norm for siren societies ── the sirens didn’t commonly have a parent-child relationship with their offspring. I never knew who my mother was.”

Neo nodded, urging his friend to continue. A Family…A matriarchal system, with caretakers and such, birthing and taking care of children until they were old enough to engage in siren society. The Scholars told him so.

It felt weirdly dystopian ── raised in this community where you either died before you make it, never see it again, or contribute back into the toxic system. He couldn’t judge other societies, it wasn’t right, but he didn’t feel like he’d enjoy being a siren.

“That wasn’t the problem, however. I was born a female… That was good for the Family. The Family needed women, not men, to take care of the children. But I…never felt right, being a girl,” Pesi continued, softly holding his own wrist for comfort, “So I became a man. In the most violent way possible. I-”

He stopped talking, at that. Soft hands reached out to lightly pull down his shirt, to reveal scars under his chest. Pyrrhus had seen many a chest surgery, but none this badly-done and rageful. His friend did this to himself, without any experience or knowledge. And around that area were even more scars. Scars that didn’t come from the surgery.

“…They didn’t accept it,” his friend quietly spoke, “They yelled, they screamed, they told me I was a…” A soft hiss came instead of whatever word he was trying to say. Neo knew that Pesi wouldn’t want to explore those scars any further, “So I found myself… using that knife over and over again. Distance myself from the siren world.”

The god found himself looking over his friends’ body, noticing details he didn’t see before, like two severed fins, gills carved in and stabbed, scales forcefully pulled out messily. He couldn’t believe he never noticed. Couldn’t believe he never noticed his companion’s scars.

“If they don't love what you truly are, have they ever loved you at all? Or just the creature inside their head?,” that caught Pesi off guard. Pyrrhus leaned against the trunk of the tree, one leg danging off the branch, staring up at the foliage, "You're not wrong for standing up for yourself. In fact, I'd say you were pretty brave for doing it."

“Thank you.”

“It’s yourself that you have to give your thanks,” Neo replied, glancing towards the siren before glancing away, “You were strong enough to keep living. To keep on going no matter the consequences.”

“…Yeah. You’re right.

”──࣪ ִֶָ☾.── Part 7

He decided to bring his siren-friend to the beach one last time, before he left.

His presence here wasn’t short, not by a long shot. He had cared enough to memorize locations like the weeping willow, or the cove, or the quartz beach. He had managed to record them into a diary-of-sorts, a notebook he got from the attendants at Nausi’s. His art skills weren’t half as good as Pesi’s, so he made his friend drew said locations ── and even some from his time with Nausi, carefully describing which every detail looked like, and how he and Nausi looked like.

The beach was…depressing. That was the right word. The skies were grey, incredibly so, setting a moody tone for everything else. The sand was rough on the feet, harsh and piercing, and the ocean waves were cold. So fucking cold. He had tried to take a dip in the water to swin with his companion, but ended up just freezing instead, so he just sat on the shore instead. Curse stupid sea god, whoever they were.

He didn’t want to say goodbye to Pesi.

His friend was too dear to him for him to say goodbye with a smile. Just like with Nausi, a farewell would only hurt him more than it gave him peace. So he didn’t.

He simply watched his siren friend bathe in cloudy waters for a while, before turning his heel when the siren wasn’t looking. He knew Pesi would be quite hurt when his companion knew that he wasn’t there anymore. But he just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that again. The depth in Nausi’s eyes when she said goodbye to him. He knew his friend would gain that look, and he didn’t want to see it. Never again.

Gods, he was a fool for trying to bond with something as ephemeral as a siren.

[etclouie]

ahh congrats on one year, your milestone celebration events are always so cute i love them

can i pretty please request a luke alvez fic 😇 with prompts 47 and 58 from the 300 list where it’s a hurt/comfort and maybe reader got hurt in the field and he’s cleaning her up?? and can it end in some soft smut as well?

don’t feel pressured to write this!! thank you 😊

title; in his care (luke alvez x fem!reader)

prompts; 47) “you’re still bleeding- stop and let me look at it.” and 58) “fuck- you’re hurting me!” — from three hundred assorted dialogue prompts 

warnings; bau!reader, usual criminal minds sorts, fwb arrangement, they’ve both got feelings for each other, soft!luke, smut, minors do not interact!!!, unprotected p in v, pullout method used, uhm that’s it i’m sure?? (1,287 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— come celebrate my one year!!

the team had gone out of state for a case, following after a killer that targeted college students. he had gotten away with them all, until the latest kill where he made a vital mistake.

a mistake that led you to catching him, but he managed to grab you before Luke tackled him to the ground and cuffed him. in the scuffle, you had gotten knicked by the unsubs knife. nothing major, but it did make you bleed.

after Luke had handed the unsub over to Tara, his attention was solely on you, worry etched onto his face as he hooked a finger under your chin to tilt your head to the side.

“you okay?”

you nodded, your hands wrapping around his wrists to pull them away from you, flashing him a half smile as you played off how bad you had been knicked by the knife.

“Luke i’m fine, just a little sore”

his eyes narrowed, nodding slowly, but his attention stayed on you—even as you tried to brush off how you felt.

that was the thing with Luke, you were close, closest of the whole team. which  made it obvious to both of you, that you had feelings for the other, even if it went against the Bureau’s protocols on fratanising with a collegue.

your… arrangement with Luke was off the record, no one knew. sure everyone knew you were close, but that’s all they knew. they thought you were both just oblivious to the others feelings, for the sake of continuing to be best friends. 

“let’s get you back to the hotel”

his voice broke you from your thoughts, as he led you through the crowd of cops and towards one of the suv’s.

the drive was like any other, Luke’s hand made its way to your thigh—just how it did whenever he gave you a ride whenever you weren’t working and had gone out together.

his touch was always gentle, even with your protests of being okay, that you didn’t need him to dote you with any extra attention. 

Luke insisted, like he always did.

once at the hotel, he helped you out of the car and up to the room. his bag was already in your room, having snuck in after dark to spend the night with you. 

you watched him as he sat on the bed, his eyes staying on you as you disappeared into the bathroom, checking on your wound that had continued to bleed, wincing at the feeling of it. 

when you returned to the main room, Luke remained on the bed as you moved around the room, getting changed out of your clothes and into something comfier, but when you winced again he knew you had been lying about being okay.

“what’s wrong?”

his voice echoed through the empty hotel room, his footsteps following as he moved towards you and seen the cut on your side and collarbone.

“you did get hurt, why didn’t you tell me?”

he wasn’t annoyed at you, he never was.

it was more concern than anything.

even with your continued protests of being fine, Luke sat you on the edge of the bed, grabbing the small first aid kit he carried around in his go bag to tend to your wounds.

“didn’t want to worry you”

you admitted quietly, watching as he tended to your cuts, wiping away the blood while he sighed. 

“always worry about you”

Luke met your eyes again, the sincerity looking back at you before a frown tugged at your lips. 

of course he worried about you, but it never stopped the flurry of feelings that swirled around inside you every time he showed that he worried and cared for you. 

of course he cared about you

“don’t need to fuss over me, i’m fine Luke”

you told, glancing down at the cut on your side he had patched up, before your eyes moved to the cut on your shoulder that still bled. 

he stopped you from trying to stand up, keeping a firm grip on you as he pushed you to sit on the bed again. 

“you’re still bleeding—stop and let me look at it”

there was no point in trying to fight him on it, and you knew it. 

so you let him clean you up, wiping away the blood from your shoulder before he reached for a bandage. 

for the most part, he was soft with how he tended to you, but as he put on the bandage, his hands brushed against the cut on your side, pulling a pained whine from your lips. 

“fuck—you’re hurting me!” 

you winced, pushing him away while a look of concern plastered itself across his face. 

“shit i’m sorry baby”

Luke pulled back, assessing your wounds before he stood between your legs, holding your face in both hands while stroking his thumbs across your cheeks. 

is care for you carefully, he leaned in to kiss you. softly at first, before it deepened quickly. his tongue plundering your mouth, moving against yours as you both lost yourself in the kiss. 

it had heated up between you, Luke’s hands moving with ease to rid you both of your clothes, before he was settling on his knees between your legs, leaning over you as he whispered.

“you sure this is okay?”

you nodded in response, holding his face in your hands as he kissed you. his left hand braced himself on the bed by your head, while his right hand positioned himself at your entrance, before slowly pushing in with a bated breath. 

both of you moaned in sync, your cunt fluttering around him at the intrusion before he slowly started to rock his hips. 

his pace was soft, each knock of his hips against yours pulling moan after moan from your lips. 

Luke leaned in to kiss you, rolling his hips again whileyour legs hooking around his hips to pull him in closer. 

“feel so good baby”

he groaned out, capturing your lips in another kiss as he rolled his hips, your face knitting together in pleasure. 

your walls fluttered around him, heat licking up your neck as the coil in your belly began to wind tight. 

“fuck Luke!”

you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him closer, clinging to him koala style. 

he groaned as you clung to him, your feet digging into his ass to pull him in closer. your left hand tangled in his hair, tugging on his curls as your climax hurtled closer with each thrust of his hips. 

Luke was always able to do this. he always managed to make you cum quicker than you ever made yourself cum before. 

“there we go baby, there we go”

he cooed, angling his hips to hit that one spot that made you see stars. your moans became breathier, needier, as he sent you hurtling towards your climax. 

 ndyou fingers tugged on his hair, pulling him into another kiss as you moaned out against his lips. 

“i’m there baby”

his groans made your cunt flutter around him again, the heat in your belly bubbling warmly as the coil wound as tight as it could go. 

you were teetering on the edge, and Luke knew it. 

he rolled his hips once, twice, three more times before sending you over the edge with a cry of his name, moaning against his lips as your climax washed over you. 

Luke rolled his hips a couple more times before he pulled out abruptly, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking himself to his peak, spilling himself onto your belly as he grunted. 

a lazy smile made its way onto your face as you looked up at him, whispering softly to him. 

“you let me heal, and we go another round”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[tomkaulitzssgirl]

hihihi! can you do a tom x fem reader and its like his 2007 - 2008 era and its like a whole teen romance fic?? during Halloween they go to a house party/ trick or treating tg with bill, georg and Gustav and they’re wearing matching Halloween outfits (you choose), I think it would be SOSOSOSO cute! also your like A GREAT writer, deff my fav!!!! 🤎🤍

DEVIL MAY CARE | TOM KAULITZ

thank you so much!!! i love you guys 🫶🏻

the night had that crisp, electric kind of air — the kind that made you want to stay out too late and pretend you weren’t cold just to keep the fun going. somewhere in a quiet neighbourhood, you were walking between tom and bill, your boots crunching over fallen leaves, your fingers slightly sticky from the candy apple tom had insisted you try.

you were dressed in matching devil costumes — a last-minute idea that had somehow felt way too perfect.

your version was flirty: little red skirt, fishnets, black boots, and a velvet crop top with little horns clipped into your hair. tom had gone for his own flavor of “devil” — black jeans sagging just enough, red hoodie half-zipped, and a pair of horns right above his black cap. he still wore his dreads down, loose and chaotic around his face, and you were dangerously sure no one had ever looked that good carrying a plastic pitchfork.

you’d been together for a whole year now— since you met him at a party. at first, he flirted with you in a way that made you gag, you didn’t like how bold he had been and how he thought you would give in that easily.

that made you a challenge. he was used to girls falling at his feet, while you had looked at him with a disgusted face.

after that night, he had asked for you number to one of the guys that were in your friend group and he had called you the next day.

he had made up some excuse about his behaviour, blaming the alcohol which was partly true. he made you laugh that day, and you talked on the phone for hours.

you still didn’t give in so fast, when he asked you to go out you kept him on his toes, always saying you had something to do.

until the day he was fed up with it and didn’t even ask you, he just came to pick you up. you were surprised, you thought that he would’ve get tired and ghost you, but instead he only was more interested.

after the first dates, where he took you to the beach during the night, or to some classy restaurants just to tell you to ditch the place and get some fast food, you and him slipped into each other’s orbit easily. now, you were the first person he looked for after shows. you always brought him extra gummy worms. he teased you endlessly. you teased him right back.

and then, out of nowhere, a day after you went to see his rehearsals, he kissed you infront of everyone. the band, the crew, the manager, they all watched and he didn’t care.

they thought that he was his usual self with you, the player everyone knew, but when he started holding your hand in public, not inviting fans to his room anymore and worrying when you didn’t text back immediately, they knew something had changed.

they knew he was serious.

now, the group — you, tom, bill, georg, and gustav — had hit up a few streets for fun, mostly to let bill live out his dramatic vampire fantasy. and once georg scared a child by accident with his zombie mask, the five of you ended up at a house party thrown by someone in the crew.

you’d just stepped inside the house, hand brushing tom’s as the wave of warmth and bass-heavy music rolled over you. the place was packed with people in costumes — some elaborate, others clearly last-minute — but all glowing under the colored lights. fake cobwebs hung from the ceilings, and carved pumpkins lined the kitchen counters where someone had dumped three kinds of punch in mismatched bowls.

the music was loud, pulsing in your ears and you frowned slightly. his grip on you never faltered, especially while walking through the crowd of sweaty and drunk people.

“yo,” he said as he walked in like he owned the place, immediately beelining for the drinks table, “they have jäger. god bless halloween.”

you sighed, already trailing behind him. “one drink, tom. maybe two. you’ve already had like three mini bottles in the van.”

he waved you off, pouring a double. “baby it’s halloween. you’re supposed to poison your body.”

“with candy, yes. liquor, no.”

too late—he was already downing the shot, lips wet, head tipped back dramatically. when he looked at you again, he was grinning. “mmm, that’s disgusting. want some?”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re impossible.”

the night blurred into loud conversations and even louder music. you mingled with the crew, laughed with bill, and kept a very sharp eye on your very not-sober boyfriend. he was buzzing around the room like a live wire, arms slung over people’s shoulders, throwing in way too much charm, especially when the alcohol started hitting harder.

by the time you tugged him away from a group of girls who were far too amused by his stupid impressions, he was giggling.

“you’re wasted.” you muttered, adjusting his hoodie which had somehow slipped halfway off.

“i’m not even drunk yet.” he mumbled—then promptly let out a loud burp right next to you. he didn’t even blink.

you stared at him with a disgusted face. “seriously?”

“what? you love me.” he gave you a crooked grin.

you rolled your eyes, deadpan. “unfortunately.”

a few minutes later, just as you were trying to guide him to sit down and breathe, he took a step back and said incredibly loud, “babe. i gotta piss.”

you glanced around, looking at the few people that heard him and were laughing, then glanced back at him. “tom, you’re not going to the bathroom by yourself.”

“what, you don’t trust me?” he smirked at you, leaning closer.

“no. not even a little.” you pressed your hands against his chest.

he grinned like that was the most romantic thing you’d ever said.

you guided him down the narrow hall and into the bathroom, standing inside with your arms crossed as he tried to focus.

he was humming something under his breath, maybe a melody he was writing or maybe the ghostbusters theme—you couldn’t tell. but then, when he finished and turned around, there was a change in his face. a flicker of something extra in his eyes.

“hey,” he said slowly, stepping close, “you know you’re really hot, right?”

you raised a brow. “tom.”

“what?” he placed his hands on your hips, tugging you gently toward him. “i’m just saying… my girl in a devil costume? that’s dangerous.”

he leaned in to kiss your neck, a little clumsy from the booze, and you gently pushed his face away.

“tom, you literally smell like jäger and apple cider.”

“sexy.” he slurred slightly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“you’re not slick.”

“i’m so slick.” his hands roamed lazily down your sides. “you’re lucky i’m drunk or i’d be even worse.”

you snorted. “oh, i know. and you’re lucky you’re cute and i put up with you.” you said, reaching up to fix the edge of his cap.

“i am cute.” he kissed you sloppily on the cheek, “and drunk. and in love with you.”

your heart twisted a little, even through the chaos.

before you could react, he gently lifted you and settled you on top of the sink, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. the cold porcelain pressed against your back, contrasting with the heat radiating from his body.

his hands slid under your skirt, fingertips tracing over your hips, sliding beneath the fabric, grazing your skin with teasing, tentative strokes. you could feel the slick heat pooling between your legs already

his hands moved lower, fingers now tracing the curve of your thigh, teasing, as his lips found yours—slow and hungry. the kiss deepened quickly, his tongue slipping in, tasting you, wanting.

“we shouldn’t here.” you breathed, half warning, half giving in.

“yeah, but we are.” he said, voice husky, and suddenly he was pressing closer, his length hard against you through his jeans.

he started moving his hips, slow and deliberately, teasing you with the friction, making you gasp. your hands gripped his shoulders, steadying yourself as his lips trailed down your jaw, then to your neck, nipping softly.

his hand moved between your thighs, sliding a finger inside you not even caring about taking off your panties.

he just moved them aside, biting your neck as he moved his finger in and out of you while his thumb worked on your clit. “so wet already.”

“mmh, please tom.” you whine, your hips pushing against his hand.

“please what?”

“just fuck me. please, i need you.” you begged.

your voice and the way you pleaded with almost tears in your eyes from desperation were enough for him to fumble with his belt, hands trembling slightly but moving with that determination you loved and sometimes wanted to shake out of him. he freed his length and pushed inside you in one messy, urgent thrust.

he leaned in, kissing you deeply, his hands gripping your hips as if to ground himself. “god, you’re mine.”he murmured fiercely.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails grazing the back of his shirt as he moved faster, desperate and reckless.

the sink rattled beneath you, the moment raw and imperfect but electric in its intensity.

you leaned forward, teeth lightly biting his lower lip, then you flicked your tongue around the silver ring piercing there, tasting the mix of alcohol and his warm skin. his breath caught, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him.

“hm, fuck.” he growled, his hips snapping forward harder, faster, thrusting messily against you. you moaned loudly, your voice echoing as you couldn’t keep from doing it anymore.

you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, holding him close as he buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking on it, marking you.

the small bathroom felt like it was burning up—every sloppy movement, every ragged breath echoing the wildness of the night.

tom’s movements grew rougher, faster, each thrust hitting deeper. the way you arched your back, pressing into him, your breath coming in shaky moans—especially when you called his name, high-pitched and needy—drove him wild.

“shit, baby,” he growled, voice thick with want, “you feel so good. so tight for me.”

you clenched around him, feeling the knot in your stomach grow as you began to snap your hips right against his.

he seemed to enjoy that particularly, a deep groan escaping his throat. his eyes fixed on you, eyes dark and full of lust.

“tom!” you cried out, voice breaking while burying your face in his shoulder, “i’m—”

he nodded frantically, gripping your hair and tilting your head back, “no, eyes on me, like this, good girl.”

the praise you received when you looked at him again was the only thing it took for you to finally let go, mouth agape, arching your back for the last time and screaming his name repeatedly like a prayer.

he came right after you, letting out a string of cuss words as his grip on your thighs tightened. he rode his climax, continuing to push into you messily as he groaned.

when you’re both done and your legs were trembling, his head fell against your shoulder, breathing heavily. you could feel his heart beating loudly.

“mmh, i love you.” he murmured lazily.

“i love you too.”

he kissed your neck as you hugged him, beginning to give each other after care, silently checking in on each other knowing already that you were both completely fine.

then tom stepped back pulling out of you, making you hiss at the loss of contact.

“sorry, baby.” he said quietly, looking down as he adjusted his pants.

you stared at him, your cheeks still flushed from the moment but a bit more calmer. he looked up at you as he did his belt and arched an eyebrow cockily.

you rolled your eyes at him playfully, letting out a breathy giggle.

when he was done, his hands were back on your hips, this time holding you gently as he kissed you repeatedly, his eyes closing and opening each time he pulled back slightly just to see how you reached and searched for his lips.

suddenly, the moment was ruined by someone knocking on the door heavily. “are you two done?! you’ve been in there for an hour!”

tom turned around just enough to glare at the door, voice dripping with defiance, “fuck off. we’re busy.”

you laughed breathlessly, your heart still pounding, and he smirked, his boyish charm lighting up even in the midst of chaos.

you sighed, smiling despite yourself, and rested your forehead against his. “c’mon, let’s get out and get you some water before you flirt with any more skeleton decorations.”

he groaned pulling back from your neck where he had started leaving wet kisses again, your head tilting a bit to give him space. “alright. but you carry me.”

you raised an eyebrow, “you should be the one carrying me, my legs hurt.”

he snickered clearly amused by the fact that he had done that you and helped you down from the sink, “you’re right. but i want candy.”

“deal.”

he kissed you again before really lifting you up in his arms, making you let out a little squirm. tom chuckled and opened the door, clearly a bit more sober now.

and even though he had been loud, drunk and mildly obnoxious—you wouldn’t have traded this halloween for anything.

[skeblinn]

Eup, still think about them

[not-a-matopoeia]

I think we should let men have a silly little breakdown every once in a while as a treat

[the-kipsabian]

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