#i think i MIGHT be having less cramping??? not sure yet

[frogs00]

Hello:) can I request Regina or Janis x reader angst fic?

Reader avoids their partner because they’re struggling with stress from schoolwork or home stuff etc and uses restriction to cope. But partner finds out and confront reader so reader hesitantly admits it to their partner and they try to help

Tears

Summary: The request but worse

Warnings: Child/Domestic abuse, reader's home life sucks, Regina and Reader have daddy issues, depressing thought, alcohol abuse. Reader's discretion is advised. (Let me know if I missed anything)

Pairing: Regina George x reader

"Call you on the phone, you just tell me not to go. Baby, I don't want to be alone anymore."

"What the hell is wrong with you? " Your father screamed in your ear, right in your ear, waving the piece of paper in your face, "A 'C+'? On a math test? You're pathetic, if you don't get your grades up you'll fucking regret it.”

He shoved the paper back into your arms, and you held it to your chest with shaking hands, worried about what he might mean. It wouldn’t be the first time he had threatened you. Tears dripped onto the paper and you squinted your eyes shut, trying to blink your vision into focus.

You looked up after a moment and his hand was raised, and the next thing you knew the back of his hand connected with your face.

—

Your weekend was filled with studying. You always struggled with focus and motivation, but he threatened you. Threatened to take away the only thing keeping you here. Eyes never leaving the textbook, writing notes till your hand cramped, you ground your teeth. You were drained, so drained.

Bags had formed under your eyes, and you'd hardly eaten. You dreaded Monday. You didn’t want to face anyone, and why would you? Why would they want to face you back?

It was an awakening of the rudest sort, realizing that in the end, the only person that you have is yourself. You’ve been hearing this phrase all of my life, and sure you had Regina and you had your friends. But that all just had to be temporary? Because why would Regina George want a fuck up like you?

What was the permanent? The facts.

The fact that you weren’t worthy. The statistics didn’t lie, and your last test said you were nothing but average. You tried so hard on that test, and yet you still scored average. And did you hate it? Yes, with every fiber in your being. Who wouldn’t hate the feeling? The way your father treated you and how your mother did nothing to stop it. You couldn’t blame her, he scared you, and hurt you to the point you felt unsafe in your room.

But you had to push through if you wanted to accomplish your goals, your dreams, that aching need to escape the house you were raised in.

Snap goes the pencil in your hand, you hadn’t even realized how tightly you had been holding it. You let go of it with a shaky hand, and the splintered piece of wood and graphite fell on the desk. Tears stained your cheek and you let your face fall into your hand.

But, oh god, was It getting to a point where you had to ask yourself if the dream had become a nightmare.

—

Monday had arrived, you were tired, so fucking tired. Still, you had to try and make that less obvious. How did you do that? Avoid. You had practically mastered the art of ducking and dodging people around you, and it’s not like you felt they’d miss you.

Or maybe you had just gaslighted yourself into thinking that because it scared you to be loved and cared for. You couldn’t handle that… it was too much. It was all too much.

You walked the hall with your eyes downcast, backpack slung rather uncomfortably on your shoulder. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want your girlfriend, lying if you said your head wasn’t pounding, and lying if anyone bothered to ask if you were okay. Sucks to suck I guess.

You had been lost in thought as you turned the corner, bumping into someone. Thankfully, or maybe so so thankfully, it was Cady, “Sorry- Oh, it’s you! Hey, y/n, I’ve hardly heard from you all day,” she laughed then proceeded to eye you skeptically, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” You responded, putting on your best fake smile. It seemed to fool her, at least a little, because she asked if you were sure, when you nodded she then bid you goodbye and skipped away. She was always so happy, it almost made you jealous.

So I guess I’m a liar now. You thought as you darted into your class. You sat down in your seat and fought the urge to nod off, it was almost comical the fact that you already knew everything this particular teacher was talking about, at least the studying paid off, even if you were facing major burnout.

Class dragged on— Honestly, everything did; From how you pulled yourself out of your chair— to how you dragged yourself through the halls. Life was a drag.

Before you knew it, the day passed in a blur, and you were on your walk home.

—

The next day wasn’t that much different from the last. A foggy haze of numbness and meaningless conversations.

Well, mostly meaningless. During the passing period, your last one of the day, you were switching out your book from your locker when your girlfriend approached you.

“Y/n…” Regina's voice was a whisper, your throat clenched. She sounded worried. You hated that she sounded worried, because if Regina George was worried about you, then that meant you couldn’t wallow in that self-pity you made your home.

“Yeah?” You asked after clearing your throat, you didn’t force a smile though. She’d tell it was fake.

“I’m worried about you, you’re quiet. Did I like…do something? Or some shit.” She asked, her tone growing a bit irritated as she reached the last part, but that was just how she was. You knew it still came from a place of worry, in fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that irritation was aimed towards herself. Just because you knew that didn’t mean it felt like it.

“No, Regina, you didn’t. I’m fine, just tired.” You shook your head, avoiding her gaze as you shut your locker. Lies, lies, and more lies. Well, you were tired, but that wasn’t just it. You and her both knew that.

“Baby, come on. Tell me what’s wrong,” Regina coaxed, her tone increasing as she spoke, making her sound angry. She was anxious, though, you could tell. Neither of you was great with emotions.

“Stop. I said I’m fine, leave it alone,” You snapped, turning your back on her, “You’re so pushy, god.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a fan of watching the ones closest to me drift away!” She snapped right back, just like you knew she would. The perfect excuse to walk away… or retort her.

“I’m not your dad, Regina. I have a couple of bad days doesn’t mean I’m going to up and leave, okay? So stop acting like this is the end of the world.” You seethed, grinding your teeth. You glanced at her just in time to see her flinch, a wave of nausea and guilt washed over you.

“Wow.” Regina scoffed, collecting herself, “That was so unnecessary. I was just worried, and you…” She shook her head, you should see her tense, the ways she drew in a breath. She was trying.

You turned around to fully meet her gaze, and you could feel your eyes watering, “I’m sorry, I am,” You whispered, her face softened a bit, “I…I’m just stressed, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Regina agreed, “It’s fine, I get it, or whatever.” You both stood there for a while, just staring at one another.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated.

“I know.” More silence followed, til she said, “Do you need a hug?” you smiled a bit, the first time in a while. You nodded softly and she wrapped her arms around you. You breathed in deeply, her vanilla and coconut shampoo soothed your mind if only for a moment. Maybe you’d find the strength to talk to her, but not now, you just let yourself be held and pushed through.

You both pulled away when the warning bell rang, and you left it at that.

—

You were home, or you were at your house. This place didn’t feel like home, not at all, not ever.

You were unpleasantly surprised to find your father sitting on the porch, beer in hand and lead tilted back. He was drunk, you could tell just from the sight of him, and it made your stomach churn. He could be so violent when drunk. You swallowed your fear and clutched the strap of your backpack, slowly approaching.

A silent caution always lingered when you interacted with him, always. That was unchanging even as he stopped you.

“Why are you home so late?” He slurred, glowering at you then pushing himself off the wooden chair he spent most of his day.

“I had to walk, Dad, the bus doesn’t run that way on Mondays,” You explained calmly, and he nodded. Your gaze flickered around and you noted that your little sister's shoes weren’t on the shoe rack, “Where is Ashley?”

His expression turned sour, “She’s at some friend's house, on a school night. A load of bullshit! Me and your mom got into it because of her, because of you dumb ass kids,” he growled, “Why do you care, anyways, huh?” He took a step towards you, and the acrid smell of both alcohol and cigarettes hit your nose, you grimaced.

“She’s my sister, of course, I care-” You started but cut off as you watched his irritation grow. You could see it in his body language, hands curling into fists.

“God, you kids are so fucking useless! You should be studying, you hear me? The least a mistake like you could do.” he grabbed your shirt and tugged you towards him, and your heart pounded.

His voice was heavily slurred and his eyes were wide and wild, breath hot on your face. You couldn’t take it, you couldn’t do this another day, and pushed him off of you then sprinted the other way.

He trampled after you to the edge of the yard, but he didn’t give chase, too intoxicated and not caring enough.

You were so tired of running, what exactly were you running to? You’re tired, tired of all this escaping. It reminds you of that part in all the horror movies, the ones where the characters are running for their lives. Because ‘It’s all so beautiful’ or ‘lf is worth living’, and shit. Well, maybe it was to them. But, god, was it a whole lot of hell for you right now.

Two blocks down, you stopped, panting. You sat down on the curb and placed your head in your hands. You pulled out your phone, lucky it wasn’t dead.

You called Regina. I mean who else would you call?

After two rings she answered, “Regina?”

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Not really,” you admitted, feeling those tears you’ve been holding back slip from the corners of your eyes, “Can you pick me up? My dad…” you trailed off, voice shaking.

“Your dad? Yeah, I’ve heard enough. I’m on my way,” you heard rustling over the phone, a jingle of keys, then her voice asking, “Where are you?”

“I’ll drop a pin,” you looked over your head, grey clouds were rolling in, and you just hoped it didn’t start raining before she got here, “thank you.”

“Of course.” she softly said into the phone, then hung up.

You sat there by yourself, a wind chilling you to the bones. You didn’t like the wind, never had. It flushed your face and made your hair a mess, but you liked the smell it brought in, the damp smell of leaves and coming rainfall, it was all so refreshing in a way you couldn’t place. You wish you could appreciate it more, but that was hard with tears rolling down your cheek still, adding to the icy feeling.

You wiped the tears away with the sleeve of your sweater, staring at the pavement. You hardly registered Regina’s mom's car pulling up, but you did register the footsteps approaching, lifting your head.

“Baby, oh god, are you okay?” She gasped out the question, looking you over and pulling you to your feet. You felt something wet hit your head and you looked up, not answering her question.

It was raining.

“Baby?” She repeated a concerned expression on her face.

“Yes, sorry. I’m okay. He didn’t hit me…right now at least.” You and she pulled you into a hug and then towards the car, she must not have brought the Jeep because she actually checked the weather.

You both got into the car quickly. You closed your eyes, she didn’t ask any more questions. She knew better than to ask right away, it was better to let you settle in. You leaned against the cold window of the car, your breath foging the glass, watching the downpour and the water streaking down the glass.

You liked the rain, you did. You liked the way it filled the world with white noise, it was soothing. You liked to run around in it with your arm spread out and head pointed at the sky. You enjoyed the things that came with the rain too. You like gray and wet and rhythmically noisy, you liked hiding under cozy blankets.

You were so lost in your thoughts, that when you felt a warm hand brush yours, you flinched. You turned your head, looking at Regina who was staring at you curiously. You intertwine your and the blonde's fingers together wordlessly.

“You’re cold, feel okay?” She asked and you nodded, you didn’t want to talk. You turned to stare at the red light that shined through the gloom.

You glanced back at her, she was still staring so you asked, “What?”

“Nothing, you always just look so thoughtful, I guess.” She shrugged, then stepped on the gas.

Sooner than later you two arrived at her house, you both were quiet when you two got back, Regina went straight to the kitchen and you sat down on the couch inhaling and exhaling slowly. Minutes late she returned with two mugs of hot chocolate. You gave her a tired, grateful smile. She smiled back.

You both sipped at your drinks quietly, it wasn’t awkward necessarily but you could tell she was itching to ask questions, so you turned to her.

“I’m sorry, by the way. For this, I know I’m a mess. My dad is a huge ass and it’s physically and mentally killing me,” You trailed off, swallowing thickly, “Still, I feel like It’s all my fault, I don’t know why I do this. I’m not used to this, to being loved. It’s hard to accept; it scares me so badly. It terrifies me and I run away.” It was easier that way, but you didn’t say that.

Regina sighed, setting down her mug then grabbing and clutching your hand, “It’s okay, I know. Dads can be pretty shitty. Yours is, mine is. But it’s not your fault. It isn’t, y/n,” she shook her head, “Avoiding others isn’t helping, though. I get it, trust me, I’m the queen of avoiding my problems. Hell! I avoided the truth I was gay for years, but I’m trying. We both are.”

You started crying again, it was hard to hold it in, “Thank you…” you breathed, “I don’t deserve you-”

Regina smiled a bit, “Don’t say that, it’s bullshit,” she rolled her eyes, then softened, “You have people in your corner, okay? You don’t have to do everything alone. We can both work on that.” She pulled you into a hug, you cried softly into her. Damn, did it feel good to get out, to be held.

You both remained like that for a while till she asked you if you wanted to shower, you agreed pretty quickly considering it was still pouring. You took a shower together.

You got comfortable at Regina’s side, rubbing circles in her lower back, “Your back okay? I know it can get achy when it rains.” you whispered, gazing into her blue eyes.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Regina shrugged, then yawned, “I kind of like the rain, actually. Not getting wet though, that’s disgusting.” she mused but didn’t elaborate further.

You let out a soft laugh at the sour face she made, Regina hated getting wet, unlike you, “Me too.” You smiled. You both lay in each other's arms, listening to the rain and wishing it would stay longer. The sound seemed to drown out all of your problems, or maybe just laying beside her made it all fade away.

A/N: Kinda proud of this one even though it took me forever

[sapphicautistic]

my GI system is so unpredictable at the best of times I have no idea if these stupid digestive enzymes I don't want to be taking are doing anything. and i want to know asap so i can go off them if they aren't. 😔 it has been Less Than A Whole Week though so I guess I will keep taking them a while longer.

[endlessthxxghts]

Take It Easy

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈10.2k

Summary: Your family throws an impromptu barbecue. You’re usually the one they throw every task on, but with today being your most painful period day, you say fuck it and leave them to fend for themselves. Only one other guest is invited today, and that’s Joel Miller.

Warnings: Age gap (23/43). Established relationship (to everyone but reader’s family). No physical description of reader besides outfit choices. Use of feminine pet names. LATINO JOEL MILLER (he’s canon in all my fics, sorry not sorry). Fluff with slight angst - getting caught, kinda (?) - happy ending, don’t worry. This version of Joel is always soft for reader, but I feel like he’s extra soft here. These idiots are so fucking in love (highkey jealous). SMUT 18+ MDNI: If you know the traffic light system for safe words, reader uses yellow at one point - but fluff & comfort happens immediately after. Dom/sub and Brat tamer/brat dynamics (subspace!). Daddy kink. Degradation kink (very brief). Making out/body appreciation. Masturbation (F). Oral sex (M receiving). Spit kink (I'm so weak). Exhibitionist kink - reader is being bold 🫣. Face fucking. Vaginal fingering. Lots of kissing (these two definitely have some sort of oral/kiss fixation istg). Soft unprotected p in v. Reader gets a surge of dominance, soooo ya get a glimpse of sub!Joel😏…...I think that's it. Let me know if there’s anything I missed. 🫶🏼

Author's Note: This can be read as a stand-alone, but I accidentally connected this a bit more than I intended to the What You Need fic. That fic talks a lot about reader's background/family dynamic and why/how Joel is the way that he is with reader. There's also some little details in here that might fly over your head if you haven't read What You Need. However, I genuinely don't think any confusion or such will occur if you only read this one shot. I hope you'll be able to enjoy all the same. Much love 💚

MASTERLIST || ONESHOT COLLECTION

“Can you prep the veggies?”

“Can you prep the grill?”

“Can you make the rice?”

“Why don’t I make the entire fucking dinner at this point?” You snap in the direction of the kitchen from your place on the couch, wrapped in blankets, snuggled with a heat pack over your lower belly. 

“Well, if you’re offering,” your brother smirks. 

You started your period yesterday, and the second day is always the absolute worst. Your flow is heavy, your cramps are excruciating, and your mood is all over the place. Today was not the day for an impromptu barbecue, regardless if there were guests or not. 

You promptly give your brother the middle finger then pull yourself off the couch to make your way to the bathroom. You’ve filled up an entire pad, yet again, in less than 20 minutes. 

You always do everything for your family, but today, you absolutely don’t give a fuck. Today is self care day for you — popping three painkillers then heading straight to the dark of your room. 

You’re not entirely sure how long you fell asleep for, but the smell of charcoal smoke and sizzling steak is what wakes you up first. The next sensation that fills you is the sound of heavy boots walking from, what you assume to be, the back door to the kitchen. Joel. You’d know that walk anywhere. He’s taking on the tasks for your family that usually fall on your shoulders. 

He called you this morning before everyone (including you) woke up, saying he’s excited to see you tonight. You grumbled sleepily, about to tell him you were just as excited when a searing pain ruptured in your stomach, causing you to gasp out in pain. 

“Baby?” Joel called out, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Fuck, sorry, baby, it’s nothing,” you shyly say. He says your name. You start to explain, “I started my period yesterday, and-” but Joel cuts you off. “The second day is always the worst,” he states factually. 

You smile to yourself, “Yeah, exactly.”

He tells you to get up and get a glass of water and some medicine to ease the pain, which you do, then he tells you to let yourself sleep in today, which you don’t. 

“Fine,” he relents at your stubbornness, “but at least take it easy today, darlin’, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Miller, loud and clear,” you tell him. 

You can feel his dumb fucking lopsided smirk through the phone, “Fuckin’ brat,” he snarls. 

“Mhm, but you’re fuckin’ brat,” you correct him.

“Yes. Mine.”

“Mmmm,” you let out a soft moan at that. Mine. You love the way it sounds, the way he claims you. “I love you.”

His cock twitches at the sound you make, but he wills it stay down. He takes a breath before he responds, “I love you, baby.” He can’t get ahead of himself today. He needs you to take it easy. So he tells you exactly that, again, for the last time before he ends the call and lets you take on your tasks for the day. 

Even though the mouth-watering scent of all the delicious food has completely pulled you awake, you stay in bed a little longer, basking in the sensation of absolute no cramping in the position you’re in. And as if on cue, Joel quietly knocks on your door, waiting for you to invite him in. 

“Come in,” your voice cracks, still groggy from the hours of no speaking. 

He enters softly, clad in that denim button up you love so much paired with some dark washed jeans. “Hi, darlin’,” he makes his way to place a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, then a longer one to your lips. “How you feelin’?” 

“Better now,” you coo, completely enamored by how soft your big, burly man can be. “Food smells good. You helped them?” 

He’s sitting at the side of your bed now, facing you, so he can rest his arm across you. “Only your old man. Carried in the food as he finished puttin’ em in the trays,” he says as he draws little circles on your arms. 

You hum in response, too content at his presence. Still unable to use your voice, you tug on his arm, silently asking for him to hold you for just a moment before you eventually need to get up. 

“They all left, by the way,” Joel soothes. 

You finally have the strength to lift your head up, a quizzical look on your face. 

“Your brother needed an herb, your dad s’more charcoal, obviously your mother drove ‘em. I don’t know where your other siblings are, though,” he explains. 

“Oh.” You look up at him. “So what you’re saying is,” tugging harder on his arm to pull him into your bed, “you can freely cuddle me until then.” 

He chuckles at that, giving into your pull, and wrapping his hand around your jaw to pull you into yet another sweet kiss. He’s laying down next to you now, and you take the opportunity to completely entangle your limbs into his, your head tucked into his neck. 

Your family is gone for another forty-five minutes from that point on, and you two spend each minute just completely wrapped into each other, sharing sweet, wet kisses everywhere both of  you can reach. His thigh supplying light pressure between yours at your core, spurring you both on just enough but not to the point where you lose all self control. 

There’s something about the way you two can touch each other like this. With past partners, they always wanted things to escalate. To undress you and devour you at any sign of affection. But with Joel, it’s natural. Of course, his body will react in ways that show he physically wants more, but truly, he just wants to adore you and appreciate you and love you. And in the moments where those three words aren’t enough, he shows it in the other pure way he knows how to. 

You’re too distracted being consumed by Joel’s touch, but as sharp as an eagle, he immediately perks at the sound of your family’s arrival. He slowly pulls away, trying to savor the kiss as much as possible. Finally it breaks, and you immediately pull your bottom lip into your mouth, trying to savor the way he feels and the way he tastes. He gives you a look of pure love and devotion—a look you know is only reserved for you, a look you’ll never get tired of. “Time to get up, darlin’.” 

“Ugh,” you whine out, “Okay, I’ll meet you out there. I’m just gonna change, baby.” 

He pulls you up out of bed and straight into another chaste kiss, “Want me to make you tea?” 

“That sounds lovely, baby,” you blush at his attentiveness. You’ve been spoiled rotten by him for the past year, but you still get so flustered every time. “But I think we’re out of what I normally drink-”

He stops you with yet another kiss. “I bought a box of that peppermint blend before I came.” 

You can’t stop the way you absolutely fold for this man, evident in the shaky breath you take and the way you completely stumble on your words, “Y-yeah, o-okay, yes, please.” 

He smiles and nods, walking directly to your kitchen without another second to waste. 

God, he deserves some fucking head right now, you think to yourself as you quietly giggle. 

You make your way to your bathroom, taking a quick body shower because those several hours of sleep, plus the way Joel was on you for 45 minutes, had you looking like a murder scene down there. You dry yourself off, lotion up, and change into some loose black sweats and a fitted, light blue baby tee. 

You look a lot brighter after your rest; Joel was right in telling you to sleep in, you needed it. Not that you’d ever tell him. He doesn’t need anymore ego boosts. Ya see, what’d I say, darlin’? you can hear his Texan twang scolding you already. 

He looks up from the kettle pot boiling before him to see you perched on the bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island, bright eyed and awake, watching him make your tea. “Thank you again, baby,” you softly say. 

He comes around behind you, setting your mug in front of you accompanied with three soft kisses peppered to the area where your shoulder and neck meet. “Of course, my sweet girl. You ready to eat? Everythin’ is set up out back, and everyone is out there, too,” he sighs, “already eatin’.” He says, annoyed at the fact that no one thought to call and check in on you, let you know that the ritual of eating together already started. You’re used to it by now, but seeing his reaction reminds you that it’s not normal for your own family to treat you this way. You smile a little sadly, trying to think of how you want to go about this. Usually you just wouldn’t eat, but with Joel around, you know that’s not going to fly. 

“How ‘bout,” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head still resting on your shoulder, “I go out there, make a plate big enough for us both, and I come back in and we share?” He could easily get you your own plate, but he knows your family. They’ll jump at any opportunity to shit talk you when they don’t understand the entire situation. Getting you your own plate and serving you when he’s a guest in your own home could inspire that, and he really doesn’t want you to experience that right now. 

You lean into him, turning your head a little to place a kiss to his cheek. “Okay, baby,” you smile, “yes, let’s share.” 

He comes back inside to you snuggled on the couch again with a pullout table propped right in front. He snuggles up right beside you, placing your legs right on top of his, keeping you secure with a hand on your thigh. 

The plate is filled with a mountain worth of food. You already know three-quarters of that is going down his bottomless pit of a stomach, laughing to yourself at the thought. One thing that wasn’t on the original menu for tonight was on his plate. It also just so happened to be one of your comfort foods whenever you weren’t feeling good. “W-who made the mashed potatoes?” 

Joel looks up at you sheepishly. He thought he’d be able to pull it off. He didn’t just go to the store, before he came, for your mint tea. He also went to get the ingredients for the mashed potatoes recipe you love so much. Within the almost two years he’s spent getting to know you, he’s recognized that every single time you’re feeling under the weather or falling into some type of depressive slump, you’re either eating or craving it. “I, uh- When I went to go get your tea… I figured I’d get ya your stuff for this, too. Made it before I came to wake ya up.” 

“Joel…” your voice cracks and your eyes tear up. 

How is it that after 23 years of life, you’re finally experiencing what it means when someone loves you? And you’re not talking romantic, you’re talking pure, genuine love. Love that you should’ve received from your parents, your siblings. They have never once shown you the consideration of making you your favorite meal, or fixing you a cup of something warm when you’re not feeling well. They have never shown you what it means to appreciate someone, in any of the love languages. The only person that has shown you remotely anything is your mother, but even that is limited because she cowers behind the directives of your father. You see her try, and you feel selfish not to appreciate it. But is it selfish to just want to be wholly loved by the people who created and raised you?  

You pull the fork out of his hands and set it back on the plate. And in an instant, you completely throw yourself on him, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, legs tightly hugged between his own. He loses his balance and lays straight back onto the couch, letting out a grunt at the landing, with you on top of him. You push into him for a kiss, your noses smooshing together as you lick inside his mouth with a sense of urgency to show him how much you love him. Once the initial shock of you pouncing on him wears off, he immediately wraps himself around you, tightening his hold to pull you in impossibly more. His tongue dances with yours, one arm wrapped around your middle and another secure around the bottom of your ass. 

You adjust to straddle his hips, sitting up and pulling him up with you by the collar of his denim. You break away from him just for a minute, heavy breathing and eyes dark, and you let your hand glide down his chest, swiftly undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses as you go. You make your way down to his belt, unbuckling it with such a need that he can’t help but just watch you. You slip the belt out of the loops, letting it fall to the ground, and you’re scooting back more to situate yourself in between the tight space of his legs. You palm him through his jeans, feeling how absolutely hard he is, which elicits a deep groan from the man above you. With that, the button and zipper of his jeans are undone. You bring your hands up back to the hem of his jeans, looking back up at him for his approval. 

“Sweet girl, ya know your folks are right outside,” he tries to warn but fails with the way his voice wavers with need. 

You look to the back door that’s twenty feet away, curtains completely drawn, and look back at him. “You and I both know none of them are coming back inside for a while,” you raise your eyebrows in defiance. 

He is truly at war with himself right now. He could let you do what you want, knowing you get off just as much as he does when you give him head. Or he could situate you back to your original positions and finger a few orgasms out of you, and he just pulls away from you if someone were to walk in — the safer route. Or. The safest option being he bids your folks goodnight and you let them know you’re going out for the night. 

Though, the latter would just be too easy. He knows you both revel in the risk, in the act of sneaking around. Which is why he finds himself scooting forward to the edge of the couch, and you take the hint loud and clear. He wants you on your knees for this. He meets your stare once more, both of you sparkling with mischief. “Well? Darlin’? Best get on with it then, huh?” Followed by him lifting his hips slightly so you can tug his clothing down, his tip red and aching. 

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp out, “been thinking about this since you left my fuckin’ room, daddy, I want you so bad.” 

Your admission spurs him on more, and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Go on, darlin’. Prove it to me. Show me how fuckin’ bad.” 

You pull yourself up to stand on your knees for a moment, and murmur a quiet come here to him, urging him to lean in for a second. He pulls closer, stopping an inch away from your face. You open your mouth for him, tongue sticking out and flat. He gets the hint, and before you can even register, his hand is on your jaw, tilting your head back and opening you wider, and he spits. 

You use all your self control not to swallow it right here and right now, desperate to feel any kind of warmth from him slide down your throat. You have other plans right now. You close your mouth and let your own spit generate, absolutely giddy with want to please your man. His eyes are fixed on you, knowing your next plan of action, but still stunned all the same at how fucking filthy his sweet girl is. You pull yourself back, hovering your mouth over his erection. 

You open your mouth and just let the combination of both of you fall from your mouth, sliding down his cock like the sweetest of syrups that you can’t wait to lick up. As the amount of spit starts to really gather, you grab him by the base and start stroking up and down his length, putting extra emphasis on his tip, running your finger over his slit for good measure. He lets out a stuttered groan at that, and you take that as your queue to finally put him in your mouth. Running your tongue in the same pattern your fingers did his tip, making him hiss in your ability to make him fold at the smallest of touches.

You keep this pace for a good while, using your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down in the speed and pressure that you know brings him to the edge fast. The sounds coming from your throat mixed with the slick feeling of your hand pumping him has your pussy absolutely dripping for attention. Fuck it. You slide your other hand down into your underwear, and begin to play with your clit, not wanting to go any deeper for fear of getting blood all over the place. Joel wouldn’t mind—of course, he wouldn’t—but you would, so you give yourself just enough to ease the aching need between your legs. Your moans get louder now that you’re touching yourself, your throat adding a delicious vibrating sensation to him. 

His eyes were shut at how fucking amazing you’re taking him, but with the sounds you’re making, he can’t help but make sure all his focus is on you. And god damn, when he sees you touching yourself so prettily while you’re being such a good girl making daddy feel so fucking good, he can’t help but cum at the sight. “F-fuck, sweet girl, holy fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, “It turn you on that bad to have my dick in your mouth, huh?” 

You pull off of him with a pop, making sure you keep as much of his cum in your mouth as you can—because there’s a fuck ton—and you fix your stare into his dark eyes as you swallow every last bit of him. “So fucking good, daddy, I-” you break off into a moan, your hand that was pumping him now gripping his thigh to maintain your balance as you continue the ministrations on your pussy. 

“Cum for me, baby, show me how good it makes you feel to be daddy’s little slut,” he demands. You gasp out at his words, that demand being what really throws you over the edge. Your clit pulses underneath your fingers, you feel yourself gush out, your blood and cum making you feel impossibly messier, and with that, your body goes rigid. 

Joel leans forward and grabs onto your jaw, keeping you upright while you come back down from your high. You’re so far gone that you don’t realize he’s peppering your face with kisses, uttering sweet nothings until you’re back with him. He gently pulls your hand from your pants and settles them into your lap.

“I’ve got ya, baby,” he kisses your lips softly. 

“My sweet girl,” he kisses your jaw, “I love you,” another kiss at your pulse point below your ear. He feels your body begin to relax. 

“Atta girl, baby,” he whispers before reaching down and settling his other arm underneath your legs, positioning himself so he can pick you up in a cradle position. He stands and carries you to your bathroom, settling you on your feet for one moment so he can pull your sweats and underwear off of you. He guides you down onto the toilet, kissing your forehead and muttering a quick one sec, baby before he steps out. He comes back two minutes later, and you’re still in subspace but slightly more grounded, and he kneels down in front of you, instructing you to lift one foot at a time. 

He went to go get you a new pair of underwear and some gray sweatpants. He already stuck another pad to your underwear, too. The action fills you with such an overwhelming feeling that you can’t help the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks. He looks up, knowing everything you’re saying and feeling by your gaze alone. He cups your cheeks with both hands, rubs his thumb to wipe the stray tears, and kisses your forehead, your left eye, then your right, your nose, and finally your lips, all in an attempt to seal every ounce of love and adoration he has for you.  

“I love you,” you finally say, leaning your forehead against his, and just take a moment with his hands on you. He pulls back again with a kiss to your forehead, and he grabs the wipes on the counter, encouraging you to lean back a bit, so he can clean you properly. 

“Wait, no,” you meekly say, trying to grab the wipes from his hands. He knows you get embarrassed at the fact that he sees you a little gross like this, and you know he truly doesn’t care. Usually he relents and lets you do it yourself, but tonight, he’s doing everything for you whether you like it or not. He raises one eyebrow at you, and that’s all you need to bring your arms back down in defeat. You lean yourself back a little, spreading your legs open, and let him clean you up. 

When it comes to other activities during your period, you usually are uncomfortable. But with Joel? With him, you don’t mind. You actually love it. It’s in moments like these that remind you how irrevocably in love you are with this man.

Afterwards he stands you up, pulls your bottoms on, and turns you towards the sink and washes your hands for you. He really wasn’t kidding at how easy he wanted you to take today.

He carried you back to the couch and wrapped a fluffy blanket around you. You threw yourself on him in the middle of your guys’ meal, so after he settles you into the couch, he transfers your shared food to a real plate instead of paper and warms everything up. He does the same to your peppermint tea. 

After everything is warmed, he settles back onto the couch beside you, pulling your legs up onto his thighs and holding you above your knee to secure your position. You go to reach the fork, but Joel is quick to swat your hand away, taking the fork and feeding you a bite of your mashed potatoes instead. 

“I told you,” he scolds, “to take it easy today.” 

You frown, “And I have been! You’ve literally been taking care of me since you got here.” 

He sets the fork down, reaching for your tea and lifting it up to your mouth. He’s not gonna respond until you take a sip, which was much needed as your belly immediately calms at the heat. You take one more sip as he begins, “You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy.” 

You cough on the fucking liquid still traveling down your throat. You were not expecting that to come out of his mouth. You try really hard to will yourself not to fucking burst out in laughter because you know how serious he was with this statement. So instead, you settle for your typical smart ass remark. “It wasn’t?” You asked. “Seemed real easy to me,” you add as you take the fork from his hand and take another bite of the yummy food before you. His eyebrow shoots up and you give him a lopsided smirk in return. 

“Watch it, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his hand up, thumb and forefinger pinching at your chin to force your eyes into his. He gives you a bruising kiss, one that entices him to bite at your bottom lip as he pulls away. You can feel yourself slipping again. He’s not done with you, he’s just giving you a moment to refuel. 

“I’ll be good,” you softly whimper as you chase for his lips. “I’m not so sure about that,” he responds as his grip on your chin gets tighter, forcing you stationary and a few inches too far from where you want him to be. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes gloss over as you whisper out a small I promise, to which he says, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He lets go of your face completely and continues feeding you, alternating between the food and your tea. As the next bite he prepares for you reaches your mouth, something that has never happened before decided to occur. Your mother comes inside the house, and her first sight as soon as she came in was you, completely wrapped around Joel, and him feeding you. 

Your jaw freezes, his grip on your leg tightens out of instinct to protect you, and it’s a staring standoff between the three of you. Joel doesn’t realize he’s still holding the fork up until his hand starts to shake, so he gently sets it down on the plate. It’s you who speaks first. “Mom, I-”

But it’s your mother who wants the first word. The first two words, actually. “How long?” 

Your heart is beating out of your chest, and the only thing keeping you from full blown panic is all the ways you’re in physical contact with Joel. “I can explain, mom, I-”

“Flower,” she says to comfort you. She’s not mad? you think. Your heart immediately calms, but now you’re just confused. Growing up, your mother always called you her flower. She used it predominantly when she wanted to help you regulate. You’ve always been full of anxiety and other strong emotions. Flowers are strong and beautiful, and show exactly when they need support. And when they are given the support they need, they flourish. That’s you. You are a flower. Her flower. But now she can see, there’s someone else tending to you. And she is not mad. 

“A year and some change,” you softly say. She looks between you two. Then she steps forward. “Look,” she breathes. “I know our family hasn’t been the best in showing love or appreciation. And they obviously haven’t been the best at fending for themselves-”

“Amen to that,” you say, and she chuckles in appreciation. She continues.

“Thank you, by the way. For everything you do around here. We both know none of it would get done around here if it weren’t for you. I try to help you as much as I can, but obviously not enough. If you can pull everyone’s weight around here, which you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, then I can at least pull my own and whip them into pulling their own, too.” 

Your eyes are watering, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Joel feels it. He brings his hand around to rub small circles into your back. You’re so grateful he’s here. “I love you,” you say to your mom. 

“I love you, too, flower, but I’m not done. I also know that I’m not too great at using my voice. Defending what’s right. But you’re the one person in this family that’s given me the inspiration to fight for what I believe in. You give me strength, and constantly seeing this family pull you down lower and lower as the years go by breaks me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.” 

Tears begin to fall, both on your face and your mom’s. 

“And in this last year, and some change, to be exact,” she smiles as she recalls your answer from earlier, “you have been the most vibrant flower of the entire garden. In the gloominess of this house, you continue to grow, and I’ve been dying to understand what changed. And now I see why. And I have never been more grateful for another human—the first one being you—until he entered your life.” 

You and Joel both look at each other, his eyes have a hint of gloss to them now, too. 

“So,” your mother says as she reaches for the tissue box on the counter and walks back to hand you the box. “I won’t tell a soul. It’s not my story to share. And remember. I will always have your back. Always. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to tell me about such a beautiful relationship, but we’re here now and I need you to know that I will forever support what makes my flower happy,” she looks to Joel, “and that’s you. I will support both of you until my flower decides on something different.” 

Joel’s face turns into a scowl, half joking and half pissed at the thought of you leaving him. “Which, I have a feeling isn’t gonna happen, so you can calm yourself, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” your mother adds after seeing his boyish reaction that would normally scare anyone but you, and apparently your mother. 

You lose your shit at his new nickname, and all the emotions just flow out at once. You pull yourself off of Joel and run into your mothers arms, needing her comfort. She holds you like that for a few seconds before she says, “Okay, go, I think Mr. Grump needs your comfort now. Absolutely no way I’m doing it.” You laugh and squeeze her one last time before she grabs something in the kitchen and heads back outside. You make your way back to Mr. Grump, straddling his lap. Before she opens the back door, though, she calls out your name. 

“Yes, mom?” 

“I’ll cover for you, hon,” she says nonchalantly as she goes back outside. 

You and Joel stare at each other for a moment, too shocked to take action on the opportunity that just presented itself to you. Then, it finally hits. You pull him into a kiss that’s downright feral, your hips grinding down on him on instinct. “Take-” you say as you try to break away from the kiss, but you’re too drunk on him to completely pull away, “t-take me home, baby.” 

He grunts in response, and stands up with you completely wrapped around him. He heads for your front door. 

“Baby, Baby, wait, not here,” you say breathily as you go back in for another quick kiss, “through the garage.” He looks confused for a second before he remembers. The front door camera. The left side of your driveway being the camera’s blind spot. Immediately he reroutes.

You would think the first thing he does is bring you to his bedroom, but no. He sets you on his couch, molding your body into his signature position for you that makes you sit on your heels, palms up on your thighs. He could’ve easily told you he wanted you in position, but again, he told you to take it easy. 

Although the position almost always forces you into subspace, you’re confused and coherent enough to question him, “Baby..?” 

He steps back, looking down at you with his eyebrow raised, “Don’tcha remember, sweet thing?” 

“You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy”, he said. 

You promised you would be good. 

To which he assured you, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He sees the moment it clicks in your head, and immediately his hold is on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He whispers, “Color?” Still demanding but with a hint of softness to it. You tilt your head further back, trying to make your lips touch him more, “Green,” you say. 

He pulls your chin into him and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue tangling with yours. He pulls away, breath slightly shaky, but he composes himself quickly and stands straight up, letting go of any contact with you. 

His couch is either really low to the ground, or he is just one big motherfucker. Either way, you sitting on your haunches on his couch like this while he stands straight up in front of you makes your head in direct eye line of his crotch. And you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from it. You see his tent forming, and you’re smart enough to realize what lesson he’s about to give you. 

“Told you to take it fuckin’ easy today,” he says as he slowly unbuckles his belt, “didn’t I, baby?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say quickly, not wanting to piss him off more. 

“But ya didn’t,” his belt falls. “Did you?” 

Your spit thickens. “No, daddy.” 

His belt is on the floor, and he’s reaching to undo his button and zipper. “My good girl was jus’ too fuckin’ eager to have my dick in her mouth, hm?” 

You lick your bottom lip, catching the drool you didn’t realize was pooling out of your mouth. Like Pavlov’s fucking dogs, he’s got you trained. You let out a whiny mhm in response, already completely blissed out at the prospect of what’s about to happen. He settles for it, this time. 

He pulls his jeans down, just enough to pull himself free. He leaves his boxers up for now while he explains. He walks closer to you, his hardness one lick away from you, and forces you to look up at him again. “You’re gonna take my cock in your mouth again, sweetheart,” he says. 

You eagerly cut him off, “Yes, please, thank you, daddy, I-”

He shuts you up by pushing his thumb in your mouth. “But you’re not gonna move or do anythin’, besides sit prettily for daddy,” his grip on your jaw tightens, “ya understand me?” He slides his thumb out and spreads your spit across your bottom lip and down your chin. 

“I understand, daddy,” you say, your eyes completely glossed over. Out of instinct, you fold your hands behind your back, signaling to Joel your complete submission to him. 

“Such a good girl when you remember how to be patient,” he says as he stands back to his full height again. He gets impossibly closer, crowding your face. He pulls his boxers down, and his erection springs free, the tip landing against your lips, smearing the pre-cum across it. It takes everything in you not to lick it up—you can’t, he needs to give you your next instructions. He hears your silent pleas, and as he settles his hand at the back of your head, fingers grounding themselves into the roots of your hair, he tells you, “Open.” 

Knowing how rough Joel can get, you take a deep breath, relaxing your throat, and you open wide, your tongue laid flat out, slick with the drool that’s been forming since the noise of the belt buckle hit your ears. 

His other hand is holding himself at the base, guiding himself into your mouth. He taps his tip on your tongue a few times for good measure, before pushing himself all the way in. You feel your gag reflex coming, but you take another deep breath through your nose, urging your throat to relax a little more. It does. He pushes slowly in until your nose is flush with the patch of hair above his length. All you wanna do is unclasp your hands and reach for his thighs to pull him into you tighter, wanting to engulf his scent into you, but you can’t. All you can do is take what he gives you while sitting pretty like the good girl you are. 

He starts to pull back a little, and that naturally makes your throat contract, forcing a groan out of him and more saliva out of you. He lets go of himself, and now both hands are on you. He taps your cheek, asking you to look up at him. “Hands behind the entire time. Any touch on my thigh signals red to me, okay?” 

You nod your head as best you can with his grip on you and let out a little moan for good measure. At your signal, he completely and utterly wrecks you with no hesitation. And you take it exactly as he gives it, just like you promised you would. 

The more he thrusts, the more spit that builds, leaking from your mouth and down your chin. Your eyes are shut at the feeling of him abusing your throat, but he won’t have that. You feel his other hand not tap your cheek twice. Your eyes fly open and land on his dark ones. “Those eyes stay on me,” he grunts out at a particularly rough thrust. You whimper out at his words, trying to convey your apologies for doing something that could make him mad. “No, it’s alright, darlin’,” he says, his pace never faltering. “I- fuck- wasn’t specific enough,” he grunts, “but ya know what I expect now,” his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. “Isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

Your eyebrows furrow and try to emphasize with your eyes that yes, eyes on you, daddy. He understands. “Atta girl, baby,” he breathes out, pulling out momentarily to give you a breath. 

You choke out a little as he pulls out. He softens, concern laced in his voice, “You okay, amor?”

“Yes,” you say weakly, “I promise, please. W-want more..” You open your mouth wide again, tongue positioned perfectly for him to slide back in. 

His eyes fall dark again and there’s that signature lopsided smirk. He guides himself back into you, completely, and his hand from your cheek glides down to wrap around your throat. “Shit, amor, you feel that?” He squeezes at the base of your throat. “I’m all the way fuckin’ in there, baby,” he says, falling back into a rough pace, feeling the outline of his dick glide in and out of your pathway. “You’re takin’ me so-” he lets out a pained grunt. He’s close. “-so fuckin’ good, shit, baby.”

Your throat constricts again, and that feeling is what sends him over. For the second time today, all of your senses are being consumed by everything Joel: his taste, his smell, his touch, the downright sinful sounds that grace your ears, and you take it all in, eagerly. Both hands release their hold on you as he pulls out of your mouth, and you’re quick to lean into his hips. His hand shoots back to the nape of your neck, pulling you back like a mother does to her puppy.

“You’re fuckin’ insatiable, you know that?” he says, out of breath, still trying to compose himself from the soul-sucking he just took from you. You give him a blissed out giggle, “You jus’ taste so yummy, daddy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “Well, so do you, babygirl, so it’s my turn now.”

Immediately your ears perk up and your body goes rigid. The thought of him giving you head with the flow you have right now doesn’t sit right with you. “Yellow,” you shakily whisper.

He lets go of the back of your neck and falls to his knees to match your eye level. “Oh, honey,” he cups your face, “Please tell me how to make it better. Do you wanna stop here, mi amor?”

Your body relaxes at his instant reaction. You’ve only ever had to use a safe-word with Joel twice. Today, included. And in each rare moment, he does what every caring partner and proper Dominant should: validate, comfort, and communicate. He has never given you any reason to be scared or feel disrespected. This is Joel we’re talking about here. You’re safe in his presence, always. The thought puts you at ease, but it also makes you feel a little ridiculous at using a safe word for something that could easily be communicated without it. 

“Wait, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you or anything, it’s something so tiny and stupid, I should’ve just communicated instead of going straight to the code-” you quickly start panicking as you ramble on, but he’s quicker. He pulls you off the couch and into his lap, holding you in a tight embrace, knowing the pressure is what helps pull you away from your panic attack. He’s muttering it’s okay, you’re okay and I’ve got ya, as he kisses the top of your head. As soon as he feels your body relax in his arms, he speaks. “Darlin’ girl, please look at me.” You do, teary-eyed.

“I completely forgot you were on your period. I was too in the moment, and I had a lapse in judgment in my words. I’m sorry. You should not be the one to apologize, ever, if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation like this. The safe words are there for a reason, okay? Use them. They are there to keep you safe, always. Thank you for speakin’ up, my love.”

You nod your head at his words, too emotion-filled to respond with anything else right now. The only thing you can offer is a whisper of a “Thank you, I love you,” but that’s enough for him. 

He gives you a soft kiss to your lips. “How would you like to continue, beautiful girl?”

You think for a moment, and the way that his hand feels wrapped around you starts to make your arousal build again. All you can think of are his big, calloused hands all over you. In your mouth. On your thighs. In your warmth. Screw the bloody mess, he doesn’t care. You squirm at the thought, and he feels you falling back into your space again. His cock stirs beneath you. He tightens his grip on you to coax you out of your thoughts. “Fingers,” you squeak out, your cheeks flushing red instantaneously. He grins, but his eyes stay fixed on you, hinting at you for something more. Then, it clicks. “P-please, daddy, need your fingers in me,” you say, voice trembling with need. 

“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he says as he pulls your thighs around him and brings himself to full height. He leads you to his bed, setting you down on the edge with a kiss to your forehead and a quick one moment, sweetheart. 

He leaves to return back with a large bath towel and lays it across the center of his bed, dark blue to match his sheets. He situates pillows for your head and leaves a smaller one out, just in case. You feel his weight shift the bed, and he’s walking toward you on his knees. You lean into his touch the moment his hand makes contact at your lower back, and he’s guiding your shirt off of you. He takes that same arm, wrapping it around your waist, and leans down to situate the crook of your knees over his other arm. He’s carrying you up higher to the center of the bed, completely removing any opportunity for a thought to run through that head of yours. He wants you focused on nothing but the way he’s going to make you feel. 

Once you’re laying down on your back, he makes his way down, placing soft kisses on your belly and all over your thighs while he slides your bottoms down your legs. Once you’re completely bare, Joel situates himself in a way that he’s never done before. He lays next to you on his side, shoulder propping him up, so his hand is underneath your head and he’s still looking down at you. He grabs onto your thigh closest to him, and he hooks your leg atop of his, opening you up. 

The level of intimacy and vulnerability of the way you two are positioned against one another has your mind reeling, absolutely aching to be consumed by him. Joel is always sweet and soft with you, but this is completely on another level. It doesn’t feel motivated by a feral need to rip each other apart. The motivation lies in the pure need to feel. To feel you against him, consumed in the entirety of love and raw emotion. To feel him against you, filling you with a genuine intimacy and devotion you both know only he can provide you.

He brings his other hand up to gently cradle your face, and he leans in to slot his lips against yours, his tongue running along your bottom lip, swallowing the faintest of whimpers that slip from your throat. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, keeping him close, deepening your dance of lip and tongue. His hand drifts away from your face and takes his time to grasp and show attention to the rest of your body. 

He takes one of your breasts in his hand, massaging it with a care that causes your fingers to curl tighter in his hair. He shows the same attention to your other one, then flattens out his entire hand to run down your sternum and belly, positioning his hand on the pathway down for his middle and ring finger to be the first that make contact with your sex. 

And when it does, neither of you can hold back the groan that leaves your mouths. He’s too enamored by you to let his lips leave yours, but you have a feeling your filthy-mouthed man would make a comment about how wet you are for him. You know you’re right when he completely bypasses your clit and down to your entrance, eager to get his fingers covered in you, so he can spread it all over you. 

You pull away for a moment, both of you out of breath and pupils completely blown. “You see how good you make me feel, daddy?” His fingers reach your clit again. “I’m so fucking wet,” you moan out, “and it’s all because of you- all for you, daddy.”

“Baby, please,” he grits out, his fingers leaving your clit after a few more circles, dipping into your entrance with ease. “So fuckin’ good to me, but fuck, stop talking,” he breathes, hips involuntarily thrusting into you, “need you to soak my fingers first, amor.”

You shoot him a smile that gives him butterflies, and then you’re pulling him back in, needing to feel him everywhere he can possibly manage. 

The pace of his fingers are perfect, constantly hitting the spot that’ll get you there in no time with the heated sensation of lips. His hand behind your head moves down and wraps underneath your waist, pulling you in flush with his body. He needs to feel every part of you. Your leg closest to him—the one hooked around his leg—comes off of him, and now you two are completely laying on your sides, facing each other. 

His fingers leave you for a moment to hike your other leg up and around his waist, your pussy inches away from his center. His fingers find you once more, and the angle is impossibly deeper. You’re whining out now as you rock your hips against his hand. He knows you're close with the way your breath shakes. He reaches his thumb up to circle your clit, and you break away from his lips, throwing your head back at an instinct, exposing all your sweet spots for his mouth to reach. As his hands continue working you to the edge, he gives you the final push when he latches at the base of your neck where your shoulder meets, and he litters the area in wet kisses and painfully delicious bites. 

Oh, fuck, daddy, yes,” you moan out, your vision going white and your body going rigid. Your climax hits you so hard that you don’t realize his fingers left you, your thighs still convulsing and hurtling you through your high. You can faintly hear Joel, muttering his sweet whispers, as he always does. 

“Oh, fuck, that was so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”

“You’re beautiful, yanno that?”

“I love you, my pretty girl,” he places a kiss right atop your heart.

Still, your mind is floating somewhere in narnia, so he understands when you don’t reply right away. You’re not even completely back from your orgasmic haze when he pulls his boxers completely off, throwing them somewhere in the room, and his aching cock is resting against your core. 

“Darlin’ girl,” he brings his hand up to guide your limpless head to look at him, “I need you to use your words f’ me, honey, please give me a color,” he says, the softest you have ever heard him. 

You give him the smallest smile back, but it’s so full of love and admiration. You’re lightly nodding your head yes, trying to will your vocal cords to respond. “G-gre..” you let out.

He stops you with a kiss, “Okay, honey, okay, that’s all I needed,” and another kiss, “Can I give my baby what she so desperately wants now?” 

The prospect of the sensation your body is about to go through because of him ignites a fire in you. It forces you to come back down from your haze, so you can register every second of him in his entirety. Your neck straightens and your eyes open fully, pupils blacker than he’s ever seen. “Yes, daddy, please give it to me,” you say with a neediness more than anything. His lip quirks up in a smirk. “What my baby wants, she gets,” and he’s pushing your hips into him as he pushes into you, his tip notching at your entrance. You hiss, reveling in the stretch he gives you regardless of how much he works you open. 

There’s a stigma with Dominants that they are always so calm and collected, always composed and never in a state of neediness and desperation like their submissive counterparts. However, that’s simply not true. In every please, in every whimper, in every cry; in every orgasm, in every act of brattiness, in each use of the honorific; in every demonstration of pure submission: there is a Dominant, willing themself not to give in and give their partner everything they need. There is a Dominant about to break because one more plea from the submissive’s mouth has them ready and willing to forgo every single plan they had for that particular scene. 

And that’s exactly what Joel does here. He had a plan for you, even after you used your yellow code, but with the way he’s wrapped around you tonight—you have the power. You’re calling the shots. He exists simply and solely for you and your pleasure. Nothing else matters. 

He bottoms out, and both his arms are wrapped around your waist, both of you completely aligned with one another. “How do you want me, baby?” 

“I don’t care,” your forehead falls into his, “I just need to feel you, please.”

With your words, he’s thrusting into you with a calculated intention. You needed to feel him, you said. So he pushes in not too fast but not too slow, and hard. He buries himself to the hilt every single time, and it’s like he put you in a trance. Your eyes softly shut, trying to stay open to look at him; your eyebrows are pulled together; and the only sounds falling from your mouth are moans and whimpers and sweet nothings only he’d be able to decipher with your babbling. You feel everything in this angle, with his rhythm. You feel every vein, every ridge, you feel his tip kissing every sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously stealing the oxygen from your lungs. He feels so fucking good. Your leg hooked around his waist squeezes tighter on instinct, and he groans at the feeling. Seeing you completely desperate and at his disposal nearly finishes him right then and there. 

Your hand is at its usual spot for tonight, wrapped tightly in the curls at the base of his neck. You're meeting his thrusts now, and it heightens the sensation tenfold. Both your breaths are hot and heavy, mingling into the thick air of Joel’s bedroom. You’re nearly at the edge again, you both are, but you need a little more of a push. “Baby, t-touch me, please,” you say with more breath than your actual voice. He sounds absolutely pained, “I got’cha, baby, I got’cha.” His hand leaves your waist, the other tightening around you to compensate for its absence, and his fingers are back on your bundle of nerves, circling at the same rhythm that he’s pulling in and out of you. 

A gasp leaves your throat, and every part of you that’s wrapped around him pulls him in impossibly tighter, “fuck, just like that, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you ramble on in an almost incoherent whine. You can feel your words and sounds spurring him on as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s close, too. Then it clicks, you realize what you meant earlier when you said you needed to feel him first.

His fingers speed up and so do his hips. “C’mon, darlin’, such a good fuckin’ girl, give it to me, soak my fuckin’ cock,” he grunts out, now chasing his own release. 

Not stopping your movements, you unravel your arms from him and you push down on his chest, pushing him onto his back. You’re on top of him now, your movements only faltering momentarily as you situated yourself to straddle him. You grab both his arms, the one working your clit and the other on your waist, and you bring them up above his head. You pin them there with your own hand, your body leaning over him and adding to the momentum as you bounce on him. “No,” you say, almost a growl, “Need you inside me first,” sucking his bottom lip. 

He fucking whines. “Need you inside me first, then I’ll give you what you’re looking for.” You switch off into a grind of your hips, moving back and forth as the feel of his pubic hairs rub against your clit causing your pussy to flutter on him. He feels it and his hands flex to move from your grip. Your hold on him tightens. You have the power. You lean down, licking a pathway up his neck and making your way near his ear. You whisper, “Stuff me full of you, daddy, and I’ll fucking soak you, I promise.”

“Fuck!” He growls as your hips speed up, and now he’s the one seeing stars. His face and neck flush into a bright red as he floods you with his release. And as if right on queue, the warmth and the feeling of him in you and seeping out of you is what finishes you. The constant stimulation on your clit from his pubic bone along with the angle his dick continues to prod at, you’re creaming and soaking him, just like he wanted. His thighs and even the area below his belly are drenched with the mixture of your guys’ fluids, and he can’t help but gawk at the scene before him. 

You are completely surrounded by the product of your two’s arousal (plus a bit of blood, but he doesn’t care), you continuing slow grinds as you work yourself through your orgasm, and the way that your head is thrown back in pure bliss—he’s entranced by it all. His cock is nearing the line of painful overstimulation with you still on him, but he really can’t find himself caring enough to get your attention. 

He thought he would never be into giving up his dominance, his yearn for control. But now that you’ve given him a taste at what you’re capable of, fuck, he feels downright insane if he didn’t want more of it. 

You realize he may not be used to the oversensitivity as much as you may be trained for, so you bring yourself to a halt and slowly slip off of him. You bring your eyes to meet his, and you can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth, seeing the goofy, blissed out grin on his face as he looks at you. You lean towards his head and give him a sweet kiss to his lips and his nose, and you softly tell him that you’ll be right back but to stay here with a slightly more demanding tone. 

You quickly go pee in his en suite bathroom and wipe your bottom half down. You grab a pair of his boxers he leaves for emergencies under the sink (you let out a little chuckle at the fact), and grab a pad from the box he also leaves under the sink, for you, and stick it onto his underwear before shimmying it up on you. You grab another washcloth and soak it in warm water and walk back to the bed. You sit yourself up next to him and start wiping him down. As soon as you finish, you try your best and throw the washcloth, aiming for the sink of the bathroom, but you fail, miserably. It lands with a wet plop on the side of the toilet, centimeters away from landing in the toilet’s bowl. “Eh, that’s good enough,” you say to no one in particular as you nudge him to bring his hips up so you can take the towel out that he placed earlier to catch any of your blood drippings. You place it in the hamper, then you bring yourself to lay back down, cuddling into Joel. 

He turns so you both are facing each other again. His head propped up on his hand. His other hand runs up and down everywhere he can reach. 

“W-was what I did at the end there… was that okay?” you ask meekly as you slowly bring your eyes up to his. 

He lets out a hearty laugh, shoulders shaking. You weren’t expecting that kind of reaction. “Honestly,” he says as his fingers come to a stop and he just lets his arm wrap around you lazily. “I was really shocked when you flipped me over, but then,” he pauses for a second. Really just to spur you on more than anything. “I was so fuckin’ turned on and achin’ for you. I’d just about let you do anythin’ to me if you treat me like that, darlin’,” he says as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips. 

He pulls back and your gaze is away from him and your cheeks are as red as he was earlier. A shy smile paints your face. He brings his fingers up to your chin, “Oh, come on now, no point in gettin’ all shy on me now is there, my dirty girl?”

You give him the best reprimanding face you can muster (which he finds beyond adorable), and you parrot a common phrase he uses with you when you’re a brat, “Watch it, big boy.”

He laughs at your antics, but you see his cock twitch at the pet name. Your eyebrows shoot up. “Joel!” you say, actually reprimanding him this time, but you genuinely don’t know what for. 

His hand shoots to cover his mouth, an attempt at stopping his burst of laughter at your reaction. He lets go of his mouth after a moment and pulls you closer to him. He places kisses all over your face while you both giggle and let yourselves fall from your high together. 

He abruptly stops his kisses to look at you. He doesn’t say a word. “Yes?” you ask, curious of that mind of his. 

“Ya know how much I love you, right?” he asks, genuinely. 

“I think I’ve got a pretty good hint, baby.” 

“Good,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I love you so much, you do know that, right?” you offer as you bury yourself into his chest, inhaling his musk mingled the faint aroma of you.

He repeats your response back to you. You smile in his chest. It’s you who places a kiss atop his heart this time. 

You both stay wrapped up in each other for a few more hours before your tummy begins yelling at you for sustenance. Though, until that happens, you two lie in each other’s arms, wondering what you did to deserve such an all-consuming, raw and genuine love. 

Your mother was right. You really were the brightest flower in the garden, and it was all because of your big, macho man, who was actually as soft and cuddly as the clouds that bring water for the garden. Ever since he entered your life, he made sure those clouds poured all their attention on you. Giving you all the water and nutrients, all the love and care that you would ever need. 

Forever. 

End note: Thank you so much for reading! As always, your support is always always appreciated. There's no amount of words to describe how grateful I am for how much love I receive from you all. You're all too amazing. Feedback is also greatly appreciated, whether it's praise or constructive! Anything and everything helps me to be the best writer I can be. I love you all so very much💚💚💚

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[brunchable]

The Stakeout - Day 1 || Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Day Two Words: 4.1K Themes/Warnings: Unspoken feelings towards each other. Growing tension. Sexual Attraction. Eventual Smut. Being stuck with each other. Summary: You've been assigned to do a stakeout with Steve for 5 days. Your accommodation: a cramped room with one mattress and a table with two rickety chairs. A/N: This is the tone setter. Steve's POV will always be at the end, and it'll be in 1st person. I don't have a tag list so. . .let me know if you want to be kept updated.

Steve Rogers pushed open the door to the small, dimly lit apartment, scanning the room with a soldier's eye. The place was a far cry from what you’re both used to—a single, cramped room with barely enough space to move around. 

You stepped in from behind him, your eyes taking in your temporary home. The first thing that greets you is the unmistakable scent of “eau de mildew” mixed with a hint of something burnt—probably dinner from three tenants ago. The wallpaper is peeling off in a way that makes you wonder if it’s trying to escape, revealing patches of cracked plaster that look like a map of an unknown, crumbling country.

The carpet is a masterpiece of stains, each one telling a story you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know. It’s so worn down that you can almost see the floorboards underneath, which might actually be an improvement.

The lighting is dim, with a single, flickering bulb that casts just enough light to make the shadows in the corners look even more menacing. In the middle of the room sits a mattress that looks like it was dragged out of a dumpster and lost the fight. It’s lumpy in all the wrong places, sagging in a way that suggests it has long given up on supporting anything heavier than a guilty conscience.

The only other furniture consists of two rickety chairs that look like they’re competing to see which one can collapse first. They wobble precariously even when they’re empty, as if they’re just waiting for the right moment to give up entirely.

The kitchen is a museum of outdated appliances, each one looking like it’s plotting against you. The stove has a layer of grease so thick it could probably survive a nuclear blast, and the sink faucet drips with the rhythm of a horror movie soundtrack.

You glance at the bathroom door, which is hanging slightly off its hinges, and decide that whatever’s in there can stay there. The mirror is so cloudy that it’s practically a portal to another dimension, and you’re pretty sure the toilet is older than Captain America.

The windows are streaked with grime, and one is patched with what looks like ancient duct tape. As you take it all in, you can’t help but think that the apartment is less a living space and more a haunted house that’s too tired to actually scare anyone.

“Cozy,” you muttered, trying to inject some humor into the situation. But even you couldn’t hide the discomfort in your voice, “If these walls could talk, they'd probably ask for a lawyer.”

Steve looked at the walls and instinctively covered his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the chuckle that slipped through—the urge to laugh bubbling up inside him.

The apartment was a disaster, a place so far beyond repair that it almost seemed comical in its neglect. And yet, it wasn’t the state of the place that got to him; it was you. He could already sense the sharp comment forming on your lips. 

Steve had always known you for your back-handed comments—remarkably clever, often brutally honest, and always perfectly timed. You had a knack for finding just the right words to undercut a situation, leaving everyone around you—Tony Stark included—scrambling for a retort. And in moments like these, even in a rundown apartment that could make the bravest Avenger cringe, you managed to make Steve smile, reminding him just why you were the perfect partner.

“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got for the next five days.” Steve turned to you, his expression apologetic.

“I've had worse.” You shrugged, tossing your bag onto the table. “At least the cockroaches seem to have packed up and left.”

You had worked together countless times before, but this was different. The close quarters, the extended time alone—usually you have the luxury to be in different rooms.

“I can sleep on the floor. You take the mattress.” Steve said, his eyes drifted to the double-bed size mattress on the floor. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “And have you waking up with a bad back on day one? No way. We can both fit.”

“I don’t mind the floor. Really.” Steve hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. 

“We’re both adults, Steve. It’s just sleeping. We’ll make it work.” You crossed your arms, giving him a determined look. 

He finally relented with a sigh. “Alright, if you say so.”

You spent the next few minutes in silence, each of you slipping into the familiar rhythm of setting up, though the state of the apartment made even the simplest tasks a challenge. The floorboards groaned underfoot with every step, and you had to be careful where you placed your equipment, wary of the spots that felt like they might give way entirely. The walls, pocked with holes and uneven surfaces, made it nearly impossible to secure the cameras properly; more than once, you found yourself muttering under your breath as the adhesive strips refused to stick, sliding down the peeling wallpaper as if in protest.

“Stick, you stupid tape!” you grumbled, pressing the strip back against the wall with more force than necessary, only to watch it slowly peel away once more. The tape seemed to be mocking you at this point, and your frustration was reaching a peak. But at the end, you made it work, as long as the equipment is working—you tell yourself.

The stakeout had reached that inevitable point where the monotony had set in. Hours of staring at surveillance footage had taken its toll, and both you and Steve were in desperate need of a break.

"Alright," you declared, tossing the deck of Uno cards between you. "We need something to keep me from going crazy."

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking at the cards with a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Uno? Seriously?"

"Come on," you teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor and motioning for him to join you. "It’s a classic. Plus, I promise not to go easy on you."

"I’d be disappointed if you did." Steve chuckled as he took a seat across from you, leaning in just slightly as he settled down. 

"Good. I wouldn’t want to let you down.” You grinned, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. 

The game started off lighthearted enough, with both of you trading cards and quips in equal measure. But as the game progressed, you couldn’t help but notice Steve’s hand growing increasingly full of cards, while yours remained relatively manageable.

"Got something against me, Y/N?" Steve asked, his tone playful as he drew yet another card from the deck. His hand was practically bursting with a rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t hide your grin.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you replied innocently, sliding another card onto the pile—a +4. "Just playing the game. Fair and square."

"Another +4? You sure this isn’t personal?" Steve stared at the card, then at you, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, your smile turning teasing. "What if it is, Rogers? Think you can handle me?"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I can handle a lot of things, but you might be more than I bargained for." 

You laughed softly, enjoying the banter. "I’ve been told I’m a handful."

"That’s one way to put it," he muttered, drawing four more cards with an exaggerated sigh. His amount of cards was now so large that he had to hold it in both hands, and you could see the struggle on his face as he tried to keep his composure.

The next round, you drew yet another +4 card, and Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief as you placed it down with a flourish.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he said, shaking his head, "Are you sure you’re not stacking the deck?"

"I would never," you replied, feigning shock. "It’s just pure luck."

"Pure luck, huh?" Steve shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If this keeps up, I’m going to need another hand just to hold all these."

You leaned back, giving him a playful look. "You know, Steve, if it’s getting too much for you, you could always forfeit. I wouldn’t judge you. Much."

He met your gaze, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I’m not giving up that easily. But if I win, I expect some proper appreciation."

"Appreciation?" you echoed, amused. "What do you have in mind?"

He shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. "Maybe something that shows you really understand what it’s like to lose to me."

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Careful what you wish for, old man. I might just surprise you."

By the time you dropped yet another +4 card, Steve threw his hands up in defeat. "That’s it! I’m calling it—this game is rigged!"

You were laughing so hard that you could barely speak. "It’s not rigged! You’re just—oh man, I can’t even—"

Steve couldn’t help but start laughing too, the ridiculousness of the situation finally breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. 

"I can’t believe I’m losing this badly at Uno," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "To you, of all people."

You leaned back, still chuckling. "Hey, I’m just that good."

He gave you a playful glare, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. "Remind me never to play cards with you again."

"Afraid of losing?" you teased, leaning a bit closer, your voice dipping into something softer, more suggestive.

"Afraid of getting a hand full of +4s," he corrected, still grinning. "You’re ruthless."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "All’s fair in Uno and war, Rogers."

He shook his head, still laughing, as he began gathering up the cards. That’s when he noticed something odd—a few extra +4 cards peeking out from under where you were sitting. His eyes narrowed, as he zeroed in on the cards.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, his voice laced with suspicion as he pointed to the cards. "What’s that?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly tried to shift, but Steve was faster, leaning forward and grabbing the edge of one of the cards sticking out from beneath you. You immediately tried to cover it up, sitting down harder to keep him from seeing the whole stack of +4s you had hidden.

"Nothing!" you blurted out, trying not to laugh as you squirmed to keep the cards hidden. But Steve’s grin only widened as he tugged on the card, the two of you now playfully wrestling over it.

"Nothing, huh?" he teased, managing to pull one of the cards free. "You’ve been cheating this whole time!"

You burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. "I couldn’t resist! You should’ve seen your face every time I drew a +4!"

Steve wasn’t giving up, though. He leaned in closer, trying to snatch the remaining cards from you. "I knew it! I knew there was no way you could’ve drawn that many +4s!"

Still laughing, you tried to twist away, but Steve was persistent, his hands now playfully wrestling with yours as he tried to pry the cards from your grasp. 

"Alright, alright!" you finally gasped, surrendering the cards as you fell back into a fit of giggles.

Steve held up the extra +4 cards triumphantly, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "I’m sorry, but it was just too easy. I didn’t think you’d actually fall for it!"

"I’ll get you back for this, you know."

You flashed him a teasing smile. "I’m counting on it, Rogers."

“Yeah, yeah—let's get back to work.”

× × × × 

As night fell, you settled into your positions by the small window that overlooked the building you both were surveilling. Steve had the binoculars up, his posture rigid and focused. You sat beside him, close enough to see the reflection of his serious expression in the glass.

The target this time was Elias Novak, a crime boss who had been operating under the radar for years. He wasn’t just any criminal—Novak was careful, methodical, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of the authorities. But the intel they’d received suggested that Novak was planning something big, something that could have far-reaching consequences if they didn’t act quickly.

For weeks now, whispers had been circulating about a major arms deal in the works, with Novak at the center of it. The specifics were still murky—where the weapons were coming from, who they were being sold to—but one thing was clear: if the deal went through, it could unleash chaos. Weapons of that scale and sophistication in the wrong hands could destabilize regions, spark conflicts, or worse.

“Anything?” you asked quietly, not wanting to break his concentration.

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.

You leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view yourself. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you leaned in. The sudden contact made Steve freeze for a moment, but he didn’t move, his focus still on the building across the street.

You didn’t notice the slight tension in his body as you peered through the binoculars. The movement brought you even closer, your shoulder brushing against his arm. 

“Let me see,” you murmured, your breath brushing against Steve’s ear as you took the binoculars from him. 

You adjusted the focus, squinting into the lens. “Hm, odd,” you said, your tone slightly disappointed.

You handed the binoculars back to him, but instead of moving away, you stayed where you were, still leaning against him slightly. Steve took the binoculars, his fingers brushing your for a brief moment, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, pretending to be absorbed in the task at hand. Finally, you realized how close you were and pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

You nodded, but the moment of closeness had left you slightly off-balance. You resumed your watch, but both of you were acutely aware of the other’s presence.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night. You changed into your sleepwear first, turning your back to Steve for some semblance of privacy in the open room. When you turned around, you found him already settled on one side of the mattress, his broad frame taking up more space than he probably intended.

You slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. The proximity was inevitable, and you both tried to ignore it, lying stiffly side by side, your shoulders almost touching.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make yourself relax.

“Goodnight,” Steve replied, his voice equally tense. Minutes ticked by, and neither of you could sleep. 

Finally, you sighed, breaking the quiet. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “Yeah, it might be.”

You smiled, turning your head slightly to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the outline of his face, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, just like yours had been moments before.

“We’ll get through it,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Steve turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression softening. “Always do.”

There’s a pause, and you decide to lighten the mood a little more. You grin mischievously, knowing it’s a little ridiculous but hoping it’ll ease the tension. 

“Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

He laughs, and it’s a genuine sound that makes your own smile widen. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

“Might want to sleep with one eye open,” you tease.

“I think I can manage that,” he says, his voice lighter now, more relaxed. You can tell that your little joke did its job, easing some of the tension between you. It’s a small victory, but it feels good.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, a smile still tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you replied, and you can hear the warmth in his voice this time.

As sleep finally began to take hold, your last conscious thought was of Steve beside you—so close, yet still feeling so far away.

The mission had barely begun, but the real challenge, you realized, would be surviving the next five days without giving away the feelings you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

STEVE’S POV

The room is silent, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. I keep my eyes fixed on the building across the street, trying to ignore the cramped space around me. We’ve been here for hours now, watching, waiting, but so far, nothing’s happened. Just another quiet night in the city.

I lift the binoculars again, scanning the windows across the way. Everything looks normal—too normal. The target hasn’t made a move yet, but I know better than to let my guard down. That’s when things go wrong.

Beside me, Y/N is sitting quietly, her presence a constant distraction. I’ve been trying to focus on the mission, but it’s hard when she’s this close. It’s not that I don’t trust her—hell, I trust her with my life—but there’s something about being alone with her, in this small space, that’s got my nerves on edge.

“Anything?” she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to disturb my concentration. I can hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even concern, in her tone. She’s as invested in this as I am, which only makes this harder.

“Not yet,” I reply, keeping my voice low. The tension between us is thick—to me at least, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend it’s just the stress of the mission.

All of a sudden, she leans in closer, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she peers over at the building. The contact is so casual, so innocent, but it sends chills through me. My muscles tense, and I have to remind myself to keep still, to act like this is nothing.

She’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she takes the binoculars from me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat. I’m a soldier, trained to handle high-pressure situations, but this—being this close to her—is more than I bargained for.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my ear as she adjusts the focus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens. I’m supposed to be watching the target, not getting distracted by the woman beside me.

She spends a few moments peering through the binoculars, her face so close to mine that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. My mind races, trying to think of anything but how it would feel to close that small distance between us. How it would feel to—

Stop it, Rogers. Focus.

She finally pulls back, handing the binoculars back to me. “hmm, odd,” she says, disappointment lacing her voice.

I nod, taking the binoculars from her, our fingers brushing for just a moment. It’s like a spark of electricity, and I have to force myself to keep my expression neutral. I can’t let her see what she’s doing to me.

She doesn’t move away, though. Instead, she stays close, leaning against me slightly as we continue to watch the building. Every second feels like an eternity. The heat of her body, the soft sound of her breathing—it’s all too much, but I can’t bring myself to step away. I’m not sure if I want to.

Minutes pass, and the tension between us only grows thicker. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us—or the lack of it. My mind keeps drifting, imagining what it would be like if I just turned my head a little, if I just—

She pulls back suddenly, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she says, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

I shake my head quickly, trying to sound like everything’s fine. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

She nods, but the awkwardness lingers. I can feel it in the air. We resume our watch, but it’s like there’s a wall between us now, a wall built by unspoken words and feelings I’m not ready to admit.

Finally, after what feels like hours, we decide to call it a night. Y/N changes into her sleepwear first, giving me a bit of space. I keep my back turned, focusing on the mission, the window, anything but her. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps drifting, slipping into dangerous territory.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she pulls off her shirt, and my imagination runs wild before I can stop it. Images flash through my mind—her skin, smooth and soft under the dim light, the way her hair might fall over her shoulders as she changes, the subtle curve of her waist as she slips into something more comfortable.

Damn it, Steve. Stop.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts. She trusts me, and I owe it to her—and to myself—to stay professional. But it’s hard, harder than I ever thought it would be, and the guilt gnaws at me.

I’m supposed to be better than this. Stronger. I’ve faced down enemies that would make most men run in fear, but here I am, struggling to keep my mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t.

The sound of her footsteps breaks through the haze of my thoughts, and I snap back to reality. I settle onto one side of the mattress, trying to take up as little space as possible. But when she slides in beside me, the mattress dips, and suddenly, she’s right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the thin sheets.

I stare up at the ceiling, every muscle in my body tense. This is going to be impossible.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Goodnight,” I reply, my voice tighter than I intended.

I can hear her breathing beside me, steady and soft, and I know she’s not asleep either. The tension between us is unbearable, a constant reminder of everything I’m trying to ignore, everything I can’t afford to feel right now.

She sighs, and I hear the frustration in her voice. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but chuckle, a low, warm sound that surprises even me. “Yeah, it might be.”

She turns her head to look at me, and I do the same. In the dim light, I can see her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiles. It’s a small moment of comfort, a brief reprieve from the tension that’s been building between us.

“We’ll get through it,” she says, and I can hear the determination in her voice.

I nod, “Always do.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she adds with a mischievous grin, “Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a bit. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

She chuckles softly, and it’s that laugh—the one that always catches me off guard. It’s light, pure, and it cuts through all the heaviness like a breath of fresh air. I could listen to that sound for hours, and never get tired of it.

“Might want to sleep with one eye open.” she adds, still teasing.

“I think I can manage that,” I reply, still smiling.

Her laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, the weight of everything feels a little lighter. It’s a small joke, a silly one, but it’s enough to make the space between us feel less heavy, more manageable.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” I say again, this time with a little more warmth.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We both settle back, and though the tension isn’t completely gone, it feels like we’ve taken a small step toward something better. Maybe these five days won’t be as long as it seems.

[nyuoqi]

            — SO I MARRIED MY ANTI-FAN     ౨ৎ     SES

OO5.    s-class buffet

✸ SYNOPSIS !  : congratulations! you have been invited to korea's #1 romance reality show 'We Got Married' where you will be living with your co-star like a married couple. but what will you do when you find out that your husband is actually your anti-fan?

(830 wc, not proofread)

"PLEASE DON'T GET NERVOUS, you'll sweat all over and I would have to redo your whole makeup look! " your makeup artist for today warns as she lightly daps a moist sponge on your face to blend your foundation in.

the clear plastic chair beneath you is making your bottom cramp painfully from how long you have been sitting on it— guessing that it has been an hour since you've started yet all your makeup artist has done yet so far is setting your foundation in.

"i know what you're thinking and yes, this much amount of time is required to create the most flawless base you will ever see. can't have you looking botched on your special day, can you? " she continues to dab a moist sponge on your face, blending in your contour this time.

you bet the makeup look your regular makeup artist tends to make for you looks way better than this and it surely does take a shorter time— heck, it's not even a real wedding!

yet why is it that you let a fake wedding make you sweat all over enough to make your palms all sweaty and sticky. you're not even someone who sweats that much normally!

all these complains however remain locked into your heart because you out of all people know better that if words ever get out, your manager will kill you then herself after.

you yawn, your mouth gaped apart freely. "don't move. " your makeup artist warn.

oh so now you can't even yawn because you lack sleep?

your lack of sleep may or may not be your fault. but to be fair, who can sleep soundly knowing that by tomorrow, they will be wed to a guy they've never properly met before? 

not you, at least.

with that being said, your eyes slowly drops as they struggle to keep themselves open after you stifled another yawn. you can see the makeup artist giving you the stank eye but you couldn't care less, especially not when your eyes drops again and struggle to pick itself back up.

next thing you know, your makeup has been done to perfection as the previous makeup artist behind you is now replaced by two hairstylist who are currently brushing through your hair to make them smooth.

"oh you're finally awake! wedding preparations must've been very tiring considering the fact that you were fast asleep when we got in place. " one of the hairstylist greets you with a huge smile, her hair is short and blonde whereas the other has a medium length brown hair. 

you laugh, making up a reply to not make it sound obvious that your sleepiness is caused none other than your thoughts antagonising your future husband in your head throughout the night, leaving you no time to take a good rest.

your hand reaches for your phone. the screen showing that it has been approximately 3 hours since you fell asleep.

i'm such a mess, you thought.

the huge white door in front of you remain unmoved as you fidget around with the end of your white dress. you are about to pick on your nails and hair when you catch your manager glaring at you from behind the curtains, automatically making you opt to holding your bouquet properly instead.

your whole body is on fire as your nerves can't seem to calm down. with the fast rate your heart is beating at, you might as well just drop dead as a result of it pumping more blood than it is able to handle.

however before you have the chance to pretend to drop dead in front of your manager and a 'bridesmaids' (you genuinely have no idea who they are), the door in front of you opens, revealing your figure towards the guests attending your wedding.

the venue of the wedding this time surely is different from the previous seasons. instead of a very fake themed wedding ceremony, the production team decided to make the wedding ceremony this time appear as realistic as possible.

which means that the guests are sitting on the side, below the altar on round tables. your all white theme matches your white dress which you rented from an actual wedding dress rental place. same thing goes for your white heels who will be walking on the altar covered with yet another white coloured carpet.

at the end of the altar, you can see the guy you've been dreading to meet since the day you heard that you will be getting fake married for six months.

despite your nerves practically telling you to play dead on the ground right here and there, you managed to calm yourself down as you begin walking and making your way to meet your soon-to-be husband for the upcoming six months.

"hi. " you smile when you finally reach him.

"hello. " EUNSEOK greets back with a warm smile hanging on his face. your heart melts, he's definitely the perfect groom.

or is he?

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[crow-aeris]

Part 1 is here!

More content from my brainworms 🤭

=====

Jason sneaks out in the dead of night with the pendant in his right hand, three fives in his hoodie pocket that he’d picked from Willis, and determination in his chest. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this, but he’ll manage.

He walks to the nearest bus station, hyper-aware of all the people around him, some of which he recognizes as his future goons, and others as the people who've been pushed to the brink and resorted to working with the rougher rogues to survive and make ends meet. Jason wants to desperately help- to talk to them and warn them about their future- but it wouldn't do anything. As he was currently- a kid- he wouldn't be able to get anything done. No one would listen to him.

Jason sits down on the bus's perpetually sticky seats, trying not to grimace as he waited for the stop.

He mentally plans the route he'll be taking.

He could've gone for Dick first, but Jason doesn't think it would've worked. It's been a few days already, and if Dickface had retained his memory, then he would have already came knocking on Jason's door. Tim too, knowing that little genius stalker brain of his, nothing could've stopped him from accomplishing anything he set his mind to. Damian probably could too, but the brat’s barely concieved, and Jason doubts the league would let a literal infant out of their sight.

So, that’s why he was on his way to Timmy’s manor. Not only is Tim most definitely alone, he’s the easiest to reach.

As the bus halts at the stop closest to Bristol, Jason ignores the driver’s suspicious gaze and rushes off. He brushes his hand against his pocket knife (He’s not stupid, even in Bristol, Gotham was Gotham and the chance of death will never be less than 20%) and he begins walking.

He’s almost forgotten how- peaceful wasn’t quite the word- less terrible Gotham was earlier on in Bruce’s tenure as the Bat. Not only can he make out a few constellations, the sounds police sirens didn’t constantly fill the night… It moght’ve been after his death when everything started to go to shit.

Jason takes a deep breath, marveling at the cleanliness of the air. Sure, it wasn’t as clean as the country, but compare to Gotham when Damian became Robin, the atmosphere might as well be pure oxygen!

Halfway to the Drake Manor, Jason feels his legs grow sore and cramped. God, now more than ever he wished for his Robin training and post-death stamina. Was he ever this… weak?

Distantly, Jason hears the sound of the Batmobile rushing through the streets and shakes his head.

He was almost there. Tim’s bedroom lights were on and a shape was moving around.

Jason groans and breaks into a sprint despite his legs aching in complaint. Tim was, as he said, a creepy little stalker, and even at the ripe old age of six, he was already stalking the bats. Which, props to him, but Jason would rather not follow that weaselly little bastard through the roofs of Gotham.

“SHIT!” Jason curses, misjudging his momentum and slamming into the Drakes’ front door.

God, it hurt so fucking much, and- shit, his nose was bleeding…

But, silver lining and all that, because the door swings open to reveal a harried and panicked-looking Timothy Jackson Drake dressed head-to-toe black, with his hundred-dollar camera hanging around his neck.

God, Jason hates rich people.

“Are you okay?!” the six year old squeaks, lurching forward to stare uncertainly at him.

Well, that proves Jason’s theory. If Tim had all his memories, he would’ve pointed and laughed at him for being an idiot, and Jason would’ve tackled him, dick would get involved, they’d break a few things, and the cass would work with alfred to get them back in line…

(God, Jason wished they’d never gone on that stupid trip.)

“Do you think i’m fine?” Jason huffed, guilt filling his chest as he watched Tim’s face fall. God, sometimes he forgets that then younger Tim was still so… bright. He hadn’t grown into all his sass yet. “I didn’t mean that, kid-”

But it was in the small moments where he’s reminded of his little brother’s spirit.

Tim puffs up in offense, almost like a little cat of sorts, and narrows his eyes, “I’m not a kid! I’m six, and you’re not that old either!”

“Sure, buddy,” Jason rolls his eyes before reaching up with a bloodied hand and pinching his nose, careful to stick the pendant in his pocket where Tim couldn’t see it. “Can I get a little help now?”

“Oh!” just like that, the Tim Jason was used to dissipates, and the kid was back to his shy little self, “Right, sorry. Come in! I’ll go grab you some napkins- are you hungry? It’s really late, and- oh, we have some juice too! We have passion fruit, dragonfruit, starfruit, strawberry-”

“I’ll take passionfruit,” Jason interrupted with an amused smile, “if you have the time, add a dash of lemon juice, ice, and honey.”

He watches as the kid freezes before nodding. Passionfruit with lemon and honey… that was one of Tim’s favorite drinks as an adult, and he’d constantly bugged Jason to make him some. Honestly, rich people shit.

“Okay! Uhm, do you want to shower first? You- you’re covered in blood, and i don’t think that’s too comfortable…”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, “Lead the way, Timbo.”

“Timbo?” the kid faltered and blinks in confusion, but continued to lead Jason toward the bathroom before handing him a change of clothes.

When he was alone, the sound of running water filling the room, Jason took out the pendant and stared at it… The urge to bash the stupid thing against the wall was near overpowering, but he didn’t know what would happen if he did, and Jason would rather not try his luck.

He quickly washes, scrubbing himself down and reveling with how the warm water soothed his aching muscles. While he was at it, Jason scrubs at his scalp and washes his hair with tim’s fancy-ass shampoo snd conditioner. God, he misses the good shit.

When he finished, jason picked dried himself and shoved the pendant into one of the pant pockets (batman themed. why wasn’t he surprised? wonder woman would be leagues better than bruce. Nightwing too, he’s kinda surprised- oh. yeah. shit, he forgot…)

He stretches, humming at how his back popped pleasantly before sauntering down the steps. Sometime during the shower, his nose had stopped bleeding. Thank god for that.

“Tim!” Jason called, yawning briefly as he saw the kid staring into the humming microwave. The kid startled before smiling, “Did you have a good shower?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jason nodded, “What are you making?”

“Food,” the kid replied easily, “they’re leftovers, do you want some?”

“Yeah sure, why not.”

As they ate, Jason wondered how the hell he was going to get the kid to remember. He hummed, feeling exhaustion pulling at his eyes as he finished with his portion of leftover spaghetti.

Tim looks over at him, “Are you tired?”

“Yeah,” Jasonsighs, “it’s been… a long couple of days.”

“Alright! We have a spare guestroom you can use, is that okay?”

Jason nodded. It’ll at least give him the time to think over how he’ll continue with his plan, “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. Lead the way, Tim.”

A few hours later, Jason was awaken by a shape pressing a knife to his throat.

He froze. His mind running through hundreds of different scenarios before he recognized the shape hovering over him.

“…Tim? What- what is this? Put the knife down, and we can-”

“How,” the kid interrupts with narrowed and blazing eyes, “do you know my name? I never told you who I am, and only the people who’ve worked with my parents know that I exist. Did someone send you to kidnap me?”

Jason blinked, running over the last few hours in his mind before realizing that yeah, oh shit, Tim was right. He never did tell Jason his name, did he?

“Okay, kid. I’m…” and then he sees a hint of golden scales peeking from the collar of the kid’s robin-themed sleep shirt, “My name is Jason Todd. You are Timothy Jackson Drake, the third Robin. I’m the second Robin, and… I come from the furture.”

Tim jolts away, taken aback by Jason’s words before becoming instantly suspicious, “You know my name, and you know I like Robin. Prove to me you’re from the future, and maybe i’ll trust you.”

Jason smiles despite the situation, because this was Tim. Tim wasn’t some scared and timid kid, he was an independent little narcoleptic gremlin who drank too much Monster, somehow caught the eye of Ra’s Al Ghul, lost his spleen, and could lie to Batman and get away with it.

“Here,” Jason said, gesturing for Tim to shuffle back before grabbing the pendant and tugging off his shirt. When Tim laid his eyes on the skeletal bird resting above Jason’s heart, his hand automatically drifts to the marking Jason was sure he had, “can i see your…”

Tim gave him an uncertain look, but Jason wasn’t too surprised. If some random creepy guy told him to take lf his shirt. Jason would’ve stabbed him and ran off.

“You have a knife, kid. If i tried doing anything, you could always stab me.”

“…Fine,” Tim bit out before shrugging off his shirt.

A golden snake stretched from the inside of Tim’s elbow, beautiful scales woven from gold coiled along the span of Tim’s arm before resting it’s head atop tim’s coller bone. Honestly? It was breathtaking, beautiful in a way that Jason envied, but it summarized Tim’s entire character pretty well.

The pendant in Jason’s hand glows as it nears Tim’s golden snake.

“I want to test something,” Jason says, “i’m gonna touch this to the head of thr snake, and we’ll see what happens.”

Tim narrows his eyes, his grip on the knife tightening before he nods.

The pendant presses agasinst Tim’s collar for a brief second, and then everything begins to glow.

Tim’s eyes, the snake’s outline, the fucking pendant- literally everything was fucking glowing.

Jason clenched his jaws, forcing himself to remain still as his brother gasps in pain. Tim’s hans twitched and jerked, but, it was as if some- some force was holding him still.

Eventually, after a few agonizing seconds, the gold fades and Jason hurriedly yanks it away. He surges forward, pulling the knife out of tim’s hand before tossing it to the side, off of the bed and out of the way.

“Jay…”

“Yeah, timmy?” Jason leaned back, pulling his brother up before carding a hand through his hair.

Tim was quiet for a few moments before finally speaking, “We need to get Dick, and then Damian.”

“So,” Jason allows the amusement to fill his tone, “are you gonna hold a knife to their throat, too?”

“I will grab that knife and actually stab you,” Tim huffed, “leave you with a scar that matched Red Hood’s.”

Jason scoffed, but he couldn’t help the smile rising onto his lips, “Language, kid. Who taught you to say these things, baby bird?”

“Fuck off,” Tim hissed, “i’m tired, and I miss the big bird…”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “i do too… It’s whatever though. Go to sleep, Tim. We’ll try and grab him tomorrow.”

“Okay… Goodnight, Jay.”

“Night, Tim.”

And sure, it may be lonely with the rest of his siblings at his side, but at least he no longer had to spend this new (old?) life all by himself.

-----

part 1, 3, 4

and the directory

[saerins]

PREV: #003 THE FIRST RIPPLE 𖧧 #004 THIS SPARK, IS IT REAL? 𖧧 NEXT: #005 THE ICE SURRENDERS ꒰ series masterlist ꒱

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — there’s a lot you don’t understand about what’s going on with sae, but he can say the same about you. question is, once you both find out more about each other, will your growing feelings stay the same?

content: itoshi sae x female reader. fluff/angst. profanity, alcohol, reader is fairly straightforward here, pining, jealousy, misunderstandings. word count: 5.8k

༝༚༝༚ slightly shorter chapter this week ^_^ hehe we’re getting closer to the messier/exciting parts so bear with me heh :) mwah ily guys <3

you’re starting to learn that maybe you can’t get your hopes up with itoshi sae.

a week later, you don’t hear anything from him. you both haven’t spoken since that night he took you out. not that you’re entirely too bothered—it’s a first for you, trying to get to know someone as in-demand as sae. (you don’t count eita because you’ve known him since before the fame.)

it doesn’t help that you don’t really have anyone to talk to about this. you promised sae that you wouldn’t spill, and you’re keeping that promise. somehow, it makes you feel a little warm inside; thinking that there is some sort of intimacy you share with sae that only the two of you know.

besides, even if you could talk to eita about it, you don’t want to. 

is it too quick for you to think you might fall for him?

falling for someone isn’t really in your life plans yet, especially after your last and only tumultuous relationship, but maybe itoshi sae is different. he sure seems like it.

the next week rolls around, and you still hear nothing from him. which is fine with you; you’ve resigned yourself to thinking what’s yours will be yours and not to force anything… even if you spend most of your idle time wondering if sae is ever going to post anything on his private account. did he really just create it solely because you asked him to?

you can see that he logs in to it, judging by his icon on that little viewer list in your stories. but that’s the extent to which you see him online. he doesn’t reply, or do anything much. considering his normal account is probably mainly run by his team, you guess you shouldn’t expect too much from him.

still, maybe it’s a little pathetic of you to be wearing his cap so frequently. it’s sort of become a staple piece for you, somehow. to be fair, there’s hardly any dress code in place for you to follow and considering the bulk of your workwear is mostly casual, it fits right into your style. although, after sumi pointed out one day that it’s a luxury brand and that it costs more than you would personally ever spend on a cap (even if you had the means to), you try to wear it less often. (though that seems like a waste considering it was given to you.)

“you know, you gave the boss a really good scoop, enough to last for a few months,” sumi points out during lunch, taking a lick of her vanilla ice cream as the both of you sit out on the roof, escaping the cramped office. “so why do you look so stressed?”

honestly, you didn’t even realise you did. you thought you were being normal, but it has been a while since you had a normal crush on someone, and since itoshi sae is certainly not just a normal somebody, maybe you had been acting a little off, always waiting for a text, a call even, something.

“nothing, i just haven’t been able to get a good sleep lately,” you lie, hoping that sumi won’t pry.

she doesn’t.

“hm, it’s friday today,” she hums, pondering. “maybe you should find a few of your friends, get out, let loose, you know?”

later at your desk, the clock almost striking 5pm, you think maybe you should. because as much as you love your chill friday nights alone (mainly because your mom is barely home on the weekends), you don’t think it’ll do you much good if you keep mulling over the same old thing.

but just as you’re about to go pester eita again, he gets to you first, his timing impeccable today.

there’s an aching disappointment in your chest when you realise sae isn’t going to be there. maybe it’s just the glaring difference between the life of a celebrity versus someone normal like you. his schedule must usually be packed to the brim after all.

whatever, you’ll let him come back to you on his own time. for now, all you want to do for the weekend is to spend it having fun with the guys and settling everything you need to on saturday and spend sunday to yourself.

this possible thing between you and sae, whatever it could be, can wait. you’re not in any rush. at least, that’s what your head tells you.

your heart feels something different.

it’s only the second time you’re actually hanging out with eita’s friends, but you’re not regretting it one bit. even on the day of the event they’d been welcoming to you, and tonight is no exception.

they’re all sat around the wooden table on the balcony, a ton of beer cans and liquor bottles littered across the table. you sit on the long end, on the long chair, right beside eita, sides of your bodies always pressed close together that it makes a glint form in oliver’s eyes.

he’s still curious, not out of concern but just because, about you and eita and sae and how everything is going to tie together. it’s not everyday he sees eita being okay with a girl that close to him and not complain that she’s a bother. it’s also not everyday that sae creates a private account. oliver got bored and saw one day that you were the first person he followed.

you must really be something.

“where even is sae today?” you hear sendou ask, a hiccup following suit. “i finally come over and he’s not even here.”

he’s sitting on your other side, his profile strangely reminding you of the very guy he’s asking about. maybe it’s the way his hair is a lighter shade of pink, maybe even his sharp jawline. his eyes are different though, more expressive, and universally soft somehow.

you remember how sae’s can look soft, his teal eyes turning gentle whenever you try to approach him. but it wasn’t that way when you first met him, that’s a given.

“i don’t know, said he was too tired,” oliver sighs, stretching in his seat.

“wasn’t he just with bianca yesterday?” yukimiya asks, oblivious to oliver’s glee.

it kind of stings, but you stay quiet, the alcohol slowly seeping into your system. you can feel eita leaning against you a little bit more, and his presence has always been comforting, so you let him.

sendou hums, index finger tapping against his near-empty beer can. “is that still going on? how long has their relationship status been a mystery already?”

karasu snorts, nudging sendou on the elbow. “salty just ‘cause you tried to ask her out and she rejected you?”

as you sit quietly and observe, it seems that sendou was once at an event with her too—apparently, he had asked her for her number and she didn’t even want to give it to him. and then a month later she “met sae and was all over him”, according to karasu.

with the exception of eita, who sits quietly beside you, they start a debate on whether or not sae’s finally starting to see bianca in a different light. or, as sendou points out, “maybe they’ve been a thing all along and just hid it really well from everyone.” it’s not exactly something you want to listen to, even if you are the most curious you’ve ever been about a guy, so you block it out from your ears. 

but oliver leans forward, resting his chin on the liquor bottle in front of him, staring straight at you. you’ve never really noticed it but his eyes are really beautiful, the different shades of green and purple making him seem ethereal just like that. 

“you’re a girl, y/n, what do you think?” he asks you, a lazy drawl in his tone.

mirroring his actions, you bat your eyelashes at him, looking innocent as ever when you answer him. “i think you guys should stop talking about that her behind her back like that,” you say, earning a raise of oliver’s brows in return. he’s surprised, to say the least, but not in a bad way.

it’s not even that you don’t want to hear about her. you’re wantonly curious, especially since you’re beginning to realise your small hint of emotions towards sae, but something tells you that these guys wouldn’t be too kind with their words if you egg them on.

karasu gives you a nod of approval that you miss before he leans back in the chair, whispering to yukimiya, “at least we all know shidou won’t totally hate y/n.” but it’s too soft for you to hear, and you probably won’t even be able to make sense of it even if you did, not with the gradually increasing level of alcohol in your system.

between intentionally drinking to not be a pathetic mess who keeps thinking about her potential love life and having to drink because you’re usually good at drinking games but not when oliver is around with the way he keeps beating you at everything, you happen not to notice a lot of things.

at one point, oliver has replaced sendou next to you, whispering snarky comments in your ear in between games. he’s not the flirting kind, at least not to you, and he doesn’t push your boundaries physically either—he’s more akin to a friend you’d love to gossip with. that’s why you don’t even think much when he tilts his camera towards you, taking a selfie with both you and eita in it.

just a normal picture of friends hanging out, oliver leaning against your legs, propped up on the chair, your own head leaning into the crook of eita’s neck, all of you evidently tipsy from the dazed look in your eyes.

what neither of you notice is oliver’s smirk as he posts the picture onto his private, betting on his target audience of one to see it.

and now, he’ll just have to wait.

one hour later, the doorbell rings and yukimiya’s eyes glance over to eita, comfortable with an arm around you, and he takes it as his cue to open the door. eita’s probably too reluctant to move and he’ll let whoever it is at the door keep at it for hours before he’ll answer the poor guy.

he’s expecting some random food delivery, maybe from karasu because he’s been whining about wanting some chicken with his beer, or maybe even shidou showing up at the last minute from his other party. but this? the person he’s staring at in the eyes right now, is the last person he expected to see tonight. 

“wait, i thought you weren’t coming?” yukimiya asks, but oliver’s already shouting from the balcony.

“hey, sae, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks from the balcony, taking a swig of his beer.

beside him, you hear sae’s name and your head immediately whips around to look at the door. there he is, looking tired as ever but he’s there, in the flesh, dressed in all black, jacket and sweats, teal eyes finding you from all the way across the house.

sae wordlessly walks past yukimiya, the latter following behind him, still shocked that he’s even present. sure looks like sae always means it when he says he wouldn’t come to gatherings like these.

when he gets to the balcony, earning a cock of oliver’s brow, sae tilts his head, “i was invited, wasn’t i? what’s so surprising about that?”

oliver snickers at sae’s blatant avoidance of the question. deciding he wouldn’t get anything out of him anyway, he shrugs and accepts it. besides, he can already see that sae’s too busy trying to calculate if there’s enough space for him to sit beside you, with the way his eyes are scanning your surroundings. maybe it doesn’t help how eita’s so clingy with you, his arm still around you even when you’ve already straightened up.

both sae and eita are just staring blankly at each other, and everyone is aware of it except for you, because your head’s a little dizzy and you’re still thinking whether sae popping up here is a figment of your imagination.

you’re not that drunk, are you?

you get your answer when a shadow looms over your body, the familiar scent of his cologne wafting into your nose. he smells the same he did that night you kissed him.

“what, this seat taken?” sae asks, and you dumbly look down at the small edge of space beside you.

no, it’s not, but you’re probably going to have to squeeze between him and eita if he sits there, no more legroom. you shift anyway, eita making space (albeit reluctantly), the way sae ends up being so close to you enough to send your mind into overdrive. you’re still wondering why he showed up.

you, and everyone else. not oliver though. he knows why. and it’s not like he wants to intentionally make you cough out your feelings but it looks like the other guys who are oblivious to your feelings are steering in that direction. 

“no bianca today?” karasu asks, a mocking tone in his voice.

sae doesn’t show an ounce of emotion, though. “wasn’t with her.”

“why not? scared we’re gonna make you two make out again like last time?” yukimiya asks, finally relaxing back in his seat. he says it jokingly, although you know the sentence at hand probably isn’t a joke.

“wait wait wait, you two made out?” sendou asks, incredulous, mirroring your exact thoughts. 

a jealousy creeps up your spine, engulfing your alcohol-riddled distractions. some part of you wants to know what it’d be like to be kissed by him. you purse your lips into a firm line, wondering if you were being an accidental homewrecker by kissing him that night.

“it was just a game,” sae responds, making no moves to drink the beer handed to him.

eita pulls his arms away, moving in favour of getting you a drink. it’s not that he even knows anything that’s going on between you and sae, but he can tell by how you’re stiffening up that you’re probably a little affected. he slides a shot over to you, and you down it with ease.

ignoring the way the other guys keep harping on the topic, sae turns his attention to you, flicking the tip of the cap he gave you, and you shift your gaze to look up at him, the small smirk he gives you when you do making your heart flutter again.

why is it so easy for him to do that to you?

“haven’t sold my cap yet?”

you thank the heavens you’re not too tipsy to be normal. “i’m holding out for higher bids, actually,” you quip, grinning. “you can offer one too if you want it back.”

sae hums, head tilted again as he ponders while staring at you. slowly, he leans down to your ear, whispering so only you can hear him, “how much do i have to bid for you to keep it?”

maybe it’s the liquor, but you feel your cheeks heat up. it can’t be his close proximity. it can’t be the way he’s so close that you can see the beating pulse on his neck. it can’t be the way you think you look more intimate here than you should. definitely can’t be the way all the guys have noticed and are giving each other looks.

why does he even want you to keep it? is this some sort of abstract way that he’s using to tell you that you’re not an accidental homewrecker?

you make a mental reminder to yourself to never get drunk in front of sae. you don’t want to end up blurting out some less-than-decent thoughts of yours.

“what’s wrong? too tipsy now to talk back?” sae asks, and you can only pout at him, not in your usual condition to think of smart comebacks. it makes the corner of his lips tug upwards just a little bit more than usual, his hand coming up to teasingly push the cap down further—in that seemingly affectionate way he does.

and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to agree to continue to play games, not when you got roped into never have i ever and karasu, to the delight of oliver, said he has never fucked anyone at this table. seeing that only you and eita put a finger down, everyone can tell there’s probably a complicated history between you and eita. not that you owe them any explanation, though you kind of do feel the urge to tell sae that it was in the past.

you steal a glance at him beside you, the mild look of surprise befallen on his handsome face. you wonder if he thinks badly of you now. you wonder if he’ll think badly of you when he sees what your life is really like. will he think you’re just going to be a stain on his fancy life that it’ll be better off not knowing you?

or maybe… maybe he has a complicated past too. with bianca.

funnily enough, eita loses after yukimiya says he’s never had sex with more than five girls. the disappointing part is you didn’t really get to know anything interesting about sae.

“hey, you feeling okay? you can stop playing if you wanna,” sae tells you later on, after god knows how many minutes have passed and you’re already onto the next game. you don’t even know why you agreed to play two truths one dare in the first place when you know it’ll just be a shitshow for you. 

over the course of x minutes, you’d managed to learn many things, some of which being that karasu and eita had shared a girl in bed, that yukimiya dared to do a body shot on oliver, that sae would consider bianca an important person to him, and that you really can’t make up your mind to go big or go home because oliver had just dared you to spend seven minutes in heaven with anyone of your choosing.

of course, you can safely choose eita and trust him not to do anything if you told him to. but on the flip side, you can choose who you really want. even if you’re not so sure he’d want to anymore.

“you can always choose me,” oliver jokes, lifting the mood. although the smirk on his face makes you question it. “i’ll definitely show you a good time.”

while you’re having an internal dilemma, karasu and sendou are in the background teasing oliver for being fake, saying that he shouldn’t be offering that if he’s already interested in miss manager.

but you snap out of it when the irritated sigh you hear out of sae somehow feels like the world is sending you a sign. in some way. you’re not sure if you’re reaching—is he bothered by oliver’s comments? and why does oliver look so smug all of a sudden?

you’re beginning to regret not being sober, you can’t figure this shit out. but what you do figure out is what you want to do. why think so much about tomorrow when the present is right here?

so you don’t pay it any more thoughts, getting up and dragging sae with you by the shirt, ignoring all the commotion left behind by the guys, save for eita who only stares blankly at you as you drag sae into his own room and lock the door.

“oh shit, sorry dude, didn’t mean to—”

“for the last time, just friends,” otoya snaps, cutting karasu off, although not even sendou believes him. for someone who doesn’t even care to treat people nicely, sendou can at least see that eita treats you a fair bit better than anyone else.

in the room, sae can only watch blankly as you stumble over your feet before finally settling on the edge of otoya’s bed. the envious, green side of him can’t help but wonder how many times you’d been here, in his room, with him. though it’s kind of amusing how you chose to bring sae in here now.

from what sae can tell, you’re probably a little more tipsy than you should be in these types of situation, and a part of him is relieved that you’re not here with anyone else. if you were here with otoya, would you be fooling around by now?

“so, thought you were too tired to show up—what happened?” you ask from where you are on the bed, body swaying slightly, eyes threatening to close.

the moment he takes a seat next to you, you lean close, your head coming to rest on his shoulder, and sae has no doubt that you’d already drank a lot before he came. proximity this close, he can smell the shampoo in your hair, can feel how soft it is.

“i couldn’t sleep, got bored, that’s all.”

your shoulders vibrate slightly as you giggle, pulling away, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “damn, and here i thought you came for me.”

even when you’re intoxicated you still have such a smart mouth. sae shrugs, his gaze turning ever so soft, like every time before when he looks at you. there’s something about you that he can’t quite place, something that makes him act so differently than he usually does, and for once he doesn’t hate it. “did you want me to?”

not taking the bait, you keep up your casual demeanour, even if your eyelids feel heavy and you’re about five seconds away from just passing right out on the bed.

“you know, it’s fine to say you missed me and wanted to see me,” you tell him, grin wide as ever, almost infectious. you’re only surviving on liquid courage right now, the way you unashamedly try to flirt. though, if sae isn’t moving away, does that mean he doesn’t mind?

he looks off to the side, pondering for a while before turning back to you with a straight face, “i missed you, wanted to see you.”

for a moment, you feel like your heart might stop.

“is that what you wanna hear?”

almost instinctively, you grab the stray pillow lying on the bed and fling it at sae, earning an amused laugh from him but you barely realise it, too caught up in the frustration that his words were just strung together to entertain you as opposed to his actual feelings.

crossing your arms, you look away, the exhaustion of the day coupled with the dread of tomorrow nipping away at your consciousness. “don’t patronise me, itoshi sae,” you huff, and you miss the way he looks at you with a smile on his face.

will you remember any of this tomorrow? you’re not drunk, but you’re not exactly thinking straight either.

“were you… very busy this past week?”

your question is voiced so softly, almost like you’re afraid to ask, and sae realises maybe he should’ve at least told you he wouldn’t be able to make it as early as he thought he would.

“yeah, i was.”

technically, he isn’t lying. he was back in japan last saturday, but maybe he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to do anything else.

“with bianca?”

it’s even softer this time, and for some reason, sae’s almost kind of relieved you’re asking. he just doesn’t know what it is.

“no, not really,” he tells you. it’s complicated, and you don’t even have context; he wouldn’t even know where to begin talking to you about it.

you put your legs up on the bed, hiding your face between your knees, and sae’s left wondering whether alcohol really makes that much of a difference. you seem bold, shy and teasing all at once. his hat is still on your head, your thoughts coming out into the open.

“are you… involved with her?” your voice is muffled, but he hears you loud and clear.

a small smile dawns onto his face, safe from your view. he doesn’t really know the implications of you asking the question, but he likes how you don’t beat around the bush. it’s nice not having to constantly guess what you really mean.

and maybe it’s you rubbing off on him, but he doesn’t answer it straight.

“curious, y/n?”

when you lift your head up to look at him, you see the widest smile he’s ever given you, objectively much smaller and way more subtle than everyone else, but it’s a smile all the same and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“yes,” you answer honestly, because you’re not sure when exactly you’re going to pass out but you have a feeling it’ll be soon and eita’s bed is just so soft.

sae is only mildly stunned by how straightforward you are, so he decides to do you a favour. he doesn’t usually like divulging things like this; topics that bring gossip and are undoubtedly going to come back to him if it gets out. what’s more, you work for a sports magazine so you can totally use this against him, but it isn’t even that you’re intoxicated right now, but more so that he feels he can trust you with it.

slowly, he reaches his hand over, and for once he tips the cap upwards a little so he can see your eyes when he tells you, “stupid, i’m not involved with anyone.” is that clear enough for you? he’s not sure why but he hopes it is.

what does he even want with you?

the moment you hear it, you break out into a wide smile, genuine and actually infectious this time because sae feels the corners of his lips threatening to pull upwards even more. what the heck is this feeling?

“really? i’m so relieved,” you exhale, voice a little airy, looking a little too pretty that sae immediately pulls the cap back downwards. “so,” you move on, adjusting it back in position, daring to move closer to him, face so close to his own that he has nowhere else to look except straight into your eyes. “we have four minutes left. will you grant me whatever i want, itoshi sae?”

you have a habit of calling him by his full name. he makes a mental reminder to get you to change that. not tonight though, he doesn’t want you to forget.

it’s weird how he feels around you; why does he feel so overwhelmed yet want more both at the same time? he swallows the lump in his throat, keeping his composure, “depends, you’re pretty demanding, tell me first and i’ll consider.”

“itoshi sae, i’m not!” you refute, punching him playfully on the arm and he has to hold your arm to stop you from falling off the bed. “i don’t know. the guys outside are probably expecting us to fuck or something.”

there you go, unfiltered and he kind of likes it. his fingers are still around your wrist.

but the answer is crystal clear to him.

“no.”

“huh?” it takes you a while to process. given that the only thoughts in your head as of right now are only: what does sae think of you and eita? and bianca is important to him. “what if it was just a kiss?”

he hums, then shakes his head. “nope.”

“wait, am i not pretty enough for you or something?”

you’re whining and sae finds it cute of all things. you have a tendency to misunderstand, so maybe he needs to adjust how he talks to you. he’ll see. but before he can even say anything else, your head falls into his chest, your regular breathing the only sound that fills the room after. he’s perplexed and amused all at once; how did you manage to fall asleep so quickly?

contrary to your thoughts, sae has always thought you were pretty, ever since the first night he met you. even in your private account where you post yourself in hoodies too big for your body and no makeup, clad in sweats—still pretty.

sae sighs, his fingers stroking your hair now that you’re asleep, and whispering in your ear only when you’re not able to hear him.

“if i do that, i think i’ll end up wanting more.” and you’re drunk and that’s not what he really wants.

but he does give you what you ask for, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

that’ll have to do for now.

“so, nothing happened?” sendou asks, bored, as sae carries you on his back as he comes out of the room.

you’re passed out and drooling on his shoulder and he doesn’t really care about that.

“it’s sae, c’mon, did you expect something?” karasu laughs, all of them coming in from the balcony because in the seven minutes both of you had spent in the room, it managed to start raining. “maybe if it was bianca, y’know, then maybe.”

sae ignores all their passing comments, choosing to walk over to otoya, “hey, she passed out, i’m just gonna take her home.”

as much as sae isn’t particularly fond of otoya, he’s probably your closest friend here and he doesn’t want him to think he’s just going to take advantage of you.

otoya’s green eyes flicker to the clock on the wall before he shakes his head, speaking softly so the others won’t hear. “nah, just put her in the guest bedroom. i’ll send her back in the morning. you can head back first.”

there’s an irritation that builds up inside him, but sae maintains his emotionless expression, remembering that otoya knows you much more than he does. “i could just—”

“she doesn’t want to go home tonight,” otoya cuts in, a warning glare in his eyes. “trust me.”

suddenly, sae remembers the last time he met you, your swollen cheek and the way your eyes were glazed over. and he wants to ask otoya what it’s all about but this is about you, and he really shouldn’t ask someone else.

“fine,” sae concedes. if whatever’s at home makes you miserable, he won’t bring you there. “i’ll put her in there before i go.”

there’s a lot more otoya would like to ask sae, because oliver’s not the only one curious at sae’s seemingly odd behaviour. he wants to know what exactly he thinks about you, but everyone’s still around and it’s not a good time, so he sucks it up and lets it go for tonight.

as sae puts you down on the bed and pulls the blanket over you, he gets a brief flashback of the night he set bianca down in her hotel room. you’re both so similar, and yet not at all.

and when he’s about to turn and go, your fingers reach out to tug at the hem of his jacket sleeve, almost effectively making sae’s heart leap out of his chest. your eyes are still shut, so there’s no chance you’re actually conscious right now. still, your mouth opens.

“stay with me?”

sae stills. do you know it’s him? or do you think he’s otoya? either way, you and bianca really are similar, even when you’re not completely awake. so why… why are his reactions so different?

it’s not like he has anything on tomorrow, so it’s really no imposition.

before he knows it, he’s sitting on the floor, right next to where you sleep on the bed, your fingers enveloped in his palm, his head propped on the mattress, his own exhaustion catching up to him.

it’s been a messy week; trying to gather his thoughts about you every single time he’s free, having to talk to bianca and thinking about that, and then coming back just to see oliver and otoya so close to you that it bothers him a little. finding out about you and otoya takes the cake, though.

how special is otoya to you?

the question lingers unanswered as he drifts to sleep, both of you subconsciously finding comfort in the other’s innocent warmth.

the next morning when you wake up, you’re half shocked half happy to find sae where he is, sleeping there peacefully, the previous night’s exhaustion dissipating from his face.

did he take care of you last night? you can only hope you didn’t puke in front of him. that would be embarrassing.

you’d like to stay, wait for him to wake up and talk to him and make sure you didn’t say or do anything too out of line because your memory’s a little foggy, bits and pieces that you can’t quite piece together or even tell if they’re real or dreams.

but you can’t.

you remember what day it is today and reluctantly get out of bed. though, feeling a little cheeky, you quietly grab a small black marker out of the drawer, suppressing a grin as you scribble on sae’s palms, hoping he won’t wake up from this.

a couple hours later, by the time sae gets up, the bed is cold and still undone. it’s already noon, and somehow the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up is you—are you already home? did otoya send you?

but the question that pops up in the forefront of his mind when he sees otoya lazing around on his couch later on is none of that.

and to be fair, otoya has the very same question in his head.

“do you like her or something? y/n.”

otoya is the one to ask, eyes still glued onto his phone screen, typing something out. sae can’t help but wonder if he’s talking to you. 

“what’s it to you?” sae asks. he can hear the snores of the other guys coming from otoya’s room.

otoya shrugs. “just curious. she’s my best friend after all.”

there’s a certain possessiveness in the way he says it that rubs sae the wrong way. still, sae supposes that if otoya’s your best friend, he shouldn’t be too impulsive with his words.

“maybe i like her,” sae says, the tension in the air getting thicker.

“in what way?” otoya still hasn’t looked up from his phone.

“same way you do.”

“i don’t know what you mean.”

otoya scoffs, both of them acting coy with one another. “bianca and y/n, huh? busy guy,” otoya sighs, tossing his phone aside and getting up, walking towards sae, hands in his pocket. both of them are staring the other down, feeling the situation out. “i think i suit y/n better, you can have bianca.”

now it’s sae’s turn to scoff, sharp eyes piercing through otoya’s own. “why don’t we let y/n decide for herself, huh?” he quips, before grabbing his car keys out of his pocket and leaving through the front door.

as he settles down in his car and turns the engine on, it’s only then that he realises the black marks on his palm. 

thank you ᡣ𐭩

somehow, just one look at it is enough to ease the tension on his shoulders.

you really can do wonders.

extras !

otoya’s hostility towards sae was intentional.

sae didn’t try to wash your writing off—he let it fade away naturally.

if yn was sober, she would’ve not been as straightforward as he was in the room with sae. but she definitely would’ve flustered sae a lot more with her playful personality.

the whole time, oliver was live recounting the events of the night to miss manager, all of which are left on read.

if bianca had been there, sae would have been a lot more cautious about his actions and probably wouldn’t have acted too close to y/n.

random fact #1: otoya plays bass, used to perform in a band back in university. part of how he got so many girls interested in him but he was always with y/n which made a lot of them unhappy.

random fact #2: sae has never really been jealous before so now that he’s feeling it, he’s a lot more sensitive to it than normal people.

taglist! @yuzurins @saeskiss @raphsimp @lust4rin @mxplesyrvp @chieeeeeee @yumekolovesyukimiya @kunirayuna39 @auranny @sereniteav @gskill @saesgrl @riseena @rikijbol @sagejin @shironagi @veecynii

[ghostlykeyes]

Hi, love your writing! Could I perhaps get some headcanons of Hearsteel with a (GN) tattoo artist partner? I'm a tattoo artist (apprentice) myself, and very curious. Thanks! 💕

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HEARTSTEEL /TATTOO ARTIST READER ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW ♡ No TW's ♡ I did Sett, Yone, and Kayn since they are the only HS members I'm writing for right now. ♡ Anon!! I would love to see some of your work sometime if you're comfortable sharing !! <3

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KAYN

Inspired by your art, Kayn buys a shitty tattoo gun off Amazon and messes around with it. He's not serious about tattooing, not really, but he thinks it's super cool that you do it. And, like anything he thinks is cool, he wants to try his own hand at it. (Plus, he wants to impress you. Oh, he may act like the picture of Rhaast he inked into the top-right edge of some practice skin is no big deal, but he actually spent like four hours on it and inside he's just screaming for you to compliment it.)

Protect your practice skin fiercely, because Kayn will absolutely nab some if he's bored. It's not uncommon to pull out a rubber sheet of practice skin and find scratchy sketches of demon masks and glowing eyes.

Kayn lets you tattoo him, as long as he gets to pick the design. He assures you he'll sit well, but it's a lie. He's a squirmy subject. Not because of the pain, mind you—he doesn't care about that. No, he's fidgety at the best of times, and with you so close to him, with you breath and your hands sending tingly heat across his skin? How is he supposed to keep still? Threatening you'll never kiss him again if he doesn't chill the fuck out might do the trick, though. Contemplating a life without good-morning kisses has him doing his damndest to sit still and let you do your work.

While Kayn likes all of your work, he's especially fond of the dark, the creepy, and the ultra-stylized. The more morbid drawings fit his bad-boy image, and the stylized ones? He respects innovation in all its forms, and he loves to see your artistic boldness so plainly expressed.

Kayn often sends you pictures of graffiti that he's proud of. In truth, he does it more for the property damage than artistic expression—but that's besides the point. He's picked up some skills along the way and of course he's going to use them to impress you.

If you ever, ever have a problem client, Kayn will explode in their face. Expect loud words, shoving, maybe a punch or two getting thrown. And if you don't want him exhibiting that kind of behavior in your shop? Well, fine, he can play nice. Just don't be surprised if you find out your little problem client finds themselves with "DUMB FUCKING CUNT" keyed into their car door. Kayn denies any and all knowledge of doing this. "Must've been Rhaast," he claims, but you're not so sure. Either way, it's a warning signal for your future clients to behave.

SETT

After you're sore from a long day shrimp-hunched over someone's leg, you don't even have to ask Sett for a massage. He already knows you're cramping up and he knows just how to make his fingers work. "Lay down," he tells you, and waits for you to get comfy before straddling your back. "Hold still, 'kay? I'm gonna take care of you, don't even worry 'bout it." His strong fingers gently rub at the knots winding up and down your spine, and he smooths the pain from your muscles. And this isn't some five-minutes-and-done back rub, either— he's committed to getting you right. Chat about your day, ask about his. He'll be up there for as long as you need.

Even if he's not interested in getting tattoos yet, Sett still loves your art, and he's willing to commit to something a little less permanent. Any time he's about to leave on tour and won't see you for a few weeks, he asks you to Sharpie a design on him. Whatever you want, wherever you want (just try not to abuse the privilege—he will never forgive you if you draw something embarrassing on his pecs the night before a huge show). He thinks it's sweet to have that little reminder of you etched on his skin. Sett will send you periodic updates of your sketch. If it's holding up well, expect to witness Sett twisting around awkwardly to show you in his daily post-gym selfie. When it's gone? He sends you a photo of blank skin, with a solemn text: "he's dead :(" . Don't worry about the untimely demise of this picture, though—you can draw him another as soon as he gets home!

Sett keeps some of his favorite flash designs of yours framed in his room.

It doesn't matter that he doesn't have any tattoos—if you or your shop sells t-shirts, Sett will wear them, and he'll do it proudly. He loves to represent you. All someone has to do is ask about it and it'll send him on a ten-minute (minimum) rant about his kickass tattoo artist partner, how talented and awesome they are. If you don't have a sleeveless option, though, don't be surprised if the sleeves "mysteriously" disappear.

YONE

Yone is interested in getting some traditional Japanese work done, but not for some time yet. Just know that whenever he's ready to ink up, if you're willing to tattoo in that style, you've got a client for at least a full sleeve, if not two. And when the day comes? Oh, Yone sits like a dream. He's the client from heaven, barely flinching and only taking breaks when you need a second to stretch. It's a bit difficult to convince him to put down his work, though, so be prepared to listen to Yone building some song beats with his free hand while you're buzzing along his other arm.

You both have rather demanding jobs and schedules, but Yone enjoys your quiet moments working together. He plugs away at his music while nearby, you finalize designs for clients and work on new flash pieces. Whenever he needs a break, he comes over and tenderly rubs your shoulders. Yone watches you work, occasionally breaking the silence to ask about certain design choices or what kind of client this tattoo is for. Watching you draw gives him a sense of peace.

Since he knows you work long hours, Yone always gets you a drink on his morning iced coffee run. He gets you lunch sometimes, too, if he knows you'll be spending the day in one long session and might not want to leave the shop. Yone knows what it's like to get lost in your work better than anyone, but he wants to make sure that even if you're in the zone, you've got something to drink and a bite to eat nearby. Now, if only you could get him to take care of himself the same way...

Dating Yone brings you a lot of new clients. Even though he left the mainstream music industry some time ago, he's still got friends within it. If anyone asks him for advice on where to go, of course he recommends you, which means you get your fair share of music artists coming to your chair. Of course, they always tip fabulously (they risk Yone's wrath if they don't).

Yone comes to you for advice on a lot of Heartsteel's artistic visuals. Their loud, messy, brash style meshes well with tattoo aesthetics, so he likes to run creative choices by you before implementing them. He also asks you to design some merchandise, if you're okay with doing that. Whatever you come up with, the guys absolutely love. Consider yourself the creative lead for all future merch endeavors.

[cheegu3]

Maybe whenever you can no rush! If u can do a Yandere ENHYPEN hyung line where the reader maybe has a pregnancy scare it’s up to you if the reader actually is or isn’t pregnant:)

tw / trigger warning; yandere themes, NSFW, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, talks of abortion, forced abortion, murder, pregnancy, possessiveness, jealousy, pregnancy scare, breeding/preg kink

this is heavy so don't read if it makes u uncomfortable !!

note; I could NOT find a matching pic for heeseung 💀💀

Enhypen - reaction to s/o having a pregnancy scare

Heeseung

Probably has a breeding kink and has waited a long time to get you pregnant. Heeseung believes it's the ultimate way to be connected to you forever, which is all that he has ever wanted.

If you were on birth control, he'd hide them from you or purposefully try to make you forget to take them by distracting you.

Therefor he won't let you have an abortion even if you wanted to. He'll prevent you from leaving his house; putting up cameras and asking for help from the people around him to watch you.

It's also to make sure you won't have an '' accident ''. If he's watching you 24/7 no such thing will ever happen, and it puts his mind at ease.

You told him before even taking a pregnancy test that you thought you might be pregnant. The early symptoms were there - nausea, fatigue and light cramps, as well as a missed period.

You dreaded his reaction, just because you knew exactly what it'd be like. Your boyfriend might've thought you didn't hear what he said while he was fucking you, but you did. After some time, you realised he was trying to get you pregnant by interfering with you taking the pill, it seemed that you had only realised it too late.

The door opened and you blurted it out without wasting much time as soon as he stepped in.

'' Hee, I think I'm pregnant. ''

His movements stopped, and slowly his lit up eyes met your sad ones.

'' Fuck, I've been waiting so long for this. '' he whispered, almost eerily obsessive.

Jay

Doesn't want it at all and there will be no arguments about it. When you told him about your missed period, he felt sick to his stomach.

Knowing the decision was ultimately up to him however made him feel a little better. But he hesitated to force you to get an abortion. Jay wanted you to think he was the perfect boyfriend, that manipulated you into thinking you had a choice at all times, giving you a sense of control.

In reality, if you didn't want to get one after he'd gently bring it up as a suggestion, then it would disappear one way or another. Carefully he'd research how to get rid of it at home.

Your food would be tampered with and not long after, he would have to comfort you as you mysteriously started bleeding.

Of course, it was only a scare though. So thankfully he didn't have to put you or him through that. But still, there were a lot of things you weren't aware of what he was capable of doing just yet.

'' What does it say? ''

You both held your breaths.

'' Negative, '' you murmured, feeling your face drop.

You were trying to control your disappointment, not wanting it to show to your boyfriend who must be devastated. But when you saw him in the corner of your eye, your mouth fell open.

'' You're...happy? ''

His smirk that was spreading quickly turned into irritation as your sniffles filled the small bathroom.

Jake

He's fine with whatever you want to do. If he was being honest with himself, the thought of you being pregnant with his child made his chest swell with pride and turned him on at the same time.

It would be a definite way to make less men flirt with you. In Jake's sick head, that child would be proof to those men that he was the one who was fucking you and finishing inside you. He wanted them to know that so that they'd keep their eyes off of what was his.

Having his arm stuck around your waist wasn't enough. He needed them to see that you were a happy family and he was the man of your life that would always be there.

If it was just a scare however, he'd be disappointed, having already imagined himself as a dad and doting husband and fantasizing about it whenever he was alone. But he was also okay with it, knowing it was coming soon anyway.

'' I think it's real this time. '' you groaned, slowly turning the pregnancy test around.

Jake was grinning, he already had a feeling that it wasn't a scare this time as well.

Positive

You barely had time to react before he threw himself into your arms, kissing you and mumbling over and over how much he loved you.

The hands that hovered over his back, slowly fell down. Your mood was way different than his. You didn't want a lovesick freak to be the father of your kid, that's no way to live.

Sunghoon

He didn't want a baby but for different reasons. Firstly - the thought of having to share you with someone else made him feel hot with anger. He believed your attention should be on him all the time and you should only love him.

Second of all he was a bit scared of the complications that could come with you being pregnant. Although he was rich and had access to the best care in the world, he was terrified of any possibility that involved losing you.

If you died in childbirth, he knew he'd forever hate that kid for taking away the one thing he loved - and that was also another thing, he wouldn't love the child even if it was his own. He only loved you, and that's how it would always be.

'' Thank god. I don't want any kids. ''

Your forehead furrowed as you glowered at him.

'' I do, '' his head snapped towards you, looking angry now too. '' At some point. ''

'' No. ''

You scoffed at his stern and short tone.

'' What? What do you mean no? ''

'' I don't want any kids, you only need me. ''

'' But- ''

'' Do you want to get punished? '' he growled, voice growing dangerously low.

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 4

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Love Letters, mentions of stalking and cheating.

Word Count: ~1k

Masterlist Previous Next

x x x

“Though we face a perilous fight in the sky, I am most afflicted by you when my feet are on solid ground. Try as I might to evade your presence, I am only a man plagued by my jealousy and affections.”

His knuckles cramped as he gripped the pen, the words pouring onto the page, this time his printing was messy less concise. It obviously hadn’t worked the first time, writing a letter to relieve his thoughts, they still overwhelmed him. He was sure no one else had noticed you had been acting strange lately, maybe your friend but none of the men you interacted with. There was a curiosity in your gaze, as if you were always trying to decipher if they were him. He had left his last letter on your pillow, nearly getting trapped in the cabin as your group returned to base, being in there felt wrong, he would find other ways to leave any future letters. The letter he currently wrote would never be met by your eyes at all.

He knew he was being foolish, he could not feel such jealousy while he hid himself behind paper and ink. Yet, there you were in the window, simple but ever so captivating and unknowingly fuelling the growing fire. The letter he had tucked in his jacket pocket in a rush now felt like it was burning the skin underneath. You were distracted by the coffee, he tucked the paper beneath the ledge without you or anyone else around noticing.

Another party was in full swing, their mission had been successful- they had lost only one plane but they had made it to Scotland for Curt and his crew to land safely. You sat in an armchair in the corner, once again alone. Half of your job was to converse and boost morale so sometimes it was nice to have a little serenity; the girl wouldn’t let you stay alone in the billet, you had tried that. You had not noticed that Major Cleven was seated in the armchair beside you until you heard him chuckling along to the boisterous, out of tune ‘singing’ of John Egan.

“How does does a stoic man like you befriend someone like Major Egan?” You genuinely questioned, their difference more apparent than any similarities besides both men were talented pilots and great leaders.

Cleven glanced over to you, never really having an interaction unless he was getting a coffee in the morning. “He didn’t really give me the choice.”

“He is very social, especially with women yet you sit here alone. Are you married?” You knew that you were potentially overstepping but your curiosity had bested you.

“Not yet.”

The small longing smile and his tone told that he was thinking of someone back home fondly. “So there is a lucky lady awaiting you back home?”

“Marge.” He handed you the small photograph that he kept in his breast pocket. You studied her beauty, clear skin, perfect curls and joyous smile.

“She’s real pretty Major.” You returned the photograph, “And lucky to have someone so dedicated to her. I’m betting you that most of these men dancing around here tonight all have unsuspecting sweethearts waiting for them at home.”

The Major nodded, his eyes meeting those of his approaching friend, “I am not a betting man.”

Egan occupied the empty armchair on the other side of Cleven, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, “Your bombardier is one of those men if I do recall.”

“Dougie and I are merely friends, sir.” You once again defended yourself, feeling less embarrassed and more adamant.

“No fella waiting at home?” Egan asked, having overheard your previous comments about the ever so lovely Marge.

“Not at home,” Suddenly the men’s gazes felt heavy on you, or maybe it was your heart in your chest that felt heavy. “I believe he’s across the continent now, and I am no longer his to consider.”

“Just means you can dance with any man here.” Egan shrugged it off, sensing the tenderness of the subject. “Say Brady, why don’t you take our girl for a spin around the floor?”

John Brady looked up with his wide eyes upon being volunteered.

“Oh, You don’t have to John, I am perfectly capable of finding my own dance partner.” You assured him but he was already tucking away his pipe but then you were interrupted by a frantic Douglass.

“Helen was telling me about some letters?” His voice was low but not quite a whisper, attracting the curiosity of the men around you.

“Please, excuse us.” You sent the group a tense smile before dragging the bombardier by his elbow into the quiet night air.

It seems like he’s trying to give you a stern look but it comes off more as concerned. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “They are just letters of admiration.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Dougie, they’re just from some harmless airman who had nothing better to do.” You simply brushed off his concern over the matter.

“They are clearly depraved, watching you like that, taunting you.” He insisted, his voice lowering to a whisper as a small group approached to enter the hall. You led him further away from the entrance to keep anymore of your conversation away from prying ears.

“And when you were gonna tell me that you have a sweetheart at home?”

It was his turn to sigh, fidgeting uncomfortably at the topic. “That is complicated.”

He was not expecting your heel to harshly slam against his booted toe, pain exploding throughout his foot. “Ouch. What the hell was that for?”

“Stop being an idiot.”

“This isn’t about me, it is about these letters.”

“Which everyone knows about now, thanks to you.” Your voiced raised louder than you had heard it in months, your frustration with the situation reaching its limit. “Good night, Dougie.”

You left no room for the conversation to continue as you wandered off into the darkness. Your night had been ruined and no one could stop you from your serenity now.

x x x

Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers @jointherebellion215 @gretagerwigsmuse

[lakesbian]

Put the Undersiders in a busy airport or train station. How do they handle it? Who gets onto a the wrong flight/train? How many times would Aisha use her power to get into the cockpit or engine room of the train?

oh my GOD how is putting the undersiders in a busy airport or train station not one of the Situations we've put them in yet. this is great. paging @simurghed urgently. everyone please share your undersiders go to busy airport or train station thoughts this is my favorite kind of autism to engage in

brian is like. You know he's being brian about this. you know he's got his schedule printed out and all the tickets pointed out and they're in some little binder and he's making sure he specifically is carrying it the whole time. and the one time lisa casually reminds him to make sure he has xyz necessary item he's like I Have It, Don't Be Neurotic, because his coping mechanism for being nervous and feeling like a woman is questioning his Authority (<- assumed as the main and eternal coping mechanism) is misogyny. love him.

obviously taylor is bringing bugs with her wherever they go and i like to imagine if theyre sitting down in an airport waiting for a really long time and they were in one of the areas where the birds have gotten inside and are nesting + looking for food (that's a universal airport feature right? the birds that got indoors and just live there now?) she might entertain alec and aisha and also herself by flying bugs around 4 the birds and leading them on little hunting excursions and into loops and shit.

aisha takes selfies in the cockpit or engine room (shes posing next to the pilot and making bunny ears behind their head with her fingers) whenever she gets bored and then comes back to show them to alec and brian realizes theres Muffled Laughter happening in their row after aishas been Not There for a while and is like. hmm. that cant be good. and is doing a really bad job of trying to twist himself out of his seat casual-style to find out whats all that then. i can also imagine him insisting on seating himself next to aisha

...three seat plane rows. brian sitting in the middle of aisha and alec and having a wretched time. taylor rachel and lisa lezzing it up in the row in front of them.

i think alec would really enjoy take-off on a plane because Wheee he's all floaty :) and then spend the next however many hours experiencing boredom-induced ego death. possible activities include: fiddling around on his ds. making a little teenager-typical 2011-era flipaclip animation. accidentally falling asleep on brian's arm and starting to snore and drool while aisha is doing the same thing on his other arm. watching a bad movie on his little in-flight tv screen and hopefully trying to engage both brian and aisha in conversation about it because he wants to have friends.

okay i diverged from the point of air Port or train Station sorry. ive never been in a real train station so i have less to speak for there but i think it would be fun to watch the undersiders get crotchety with each other in a long line for overpriced airport food.

imagine if you will brian and taylor trying to fit comfortably in a Nappable Position in the chairs in the flight waiting area. leg cramp city

i think this would all probably be very stressful for rachel :( maybe she andt aylor should hold hands about it. to be safe.

i want to see how lisa tries to make waiting in an airport an enriching and fulfilling activity for taylor so bad. honestly it would probably be no matter what. real bonding experience.

brian laborn tries to carry 9 suitcases at once: and other fun adventures in toxic masculinity

alec vasil has to go pee, right now, for approximately 10-15 minutes, when he's asked to find something in a heavy bag: and other fun adventures in shirking responsibility

aisha laborn's mysterious magical snack manifestation: and other fun adventures in robbing the airport

you know if they were at a busy train station brian would do that thing where he ushers the undersiders around physically and it is fully an indicator of his psychological issues but also it'd be cute. it'd be cute to watch him blocking the crowd so everyone else could move more comfortably and use his Height Advantage to guide everyone most efficiently by pressing on their backs. his psychological issues are endearing

people keep asking about How Much Longer Until Boarding and lisa starts getting bored and providing real-time updates of the Precise amount of time left. if theres a delay she reads out why too

???

its nice. to imagine if they could have a fun time going to locations.

[tokiwarcube]

Hello, I love your writing and hope you're doing well <3

Could you write hc's about Toki before dethklok got famous? Like in his flashback in Doomstar Requiem? Preferably with a reader that's very supportive of him and always goes to his concerts in shitty venues to cheer him on.

Aww, thank you so much! This week has been incredible — very tiring, but incredible all the same. And it’s been nice to come back to the hotel (or in this case, hang out in the airport) and work on fun requests like these! Below the cut! <3

Fresh out of Norway, Dethklok was nothing short of a dream come true for Toki. He doesn’t believe in God, but this is the closest thing he’s ever felt to divine intervention. That doesn’t even graze the gratefulness he feels for you — he can’t even begin to string together how much you and your unwavering presence mean to him.

He lives for the crowd, whether it be a shitty dive bar or… well, a less shitty dive bar. But frankly, this is his first time ever doing this — he’s gone from complete isolation to performing in front of others basically overnight, and he’d be lying if it wasn’t a little nerve-wracking. Especially when the crowd isn’t feeling it quite yet — there always seems to be a few people at the barrier who are clearly just there for the next band, and it can feel pretty damn crushing. But then he looks over at you, grinning and cheering for him under the neon lights, and suddenly he feels like he could do anything.

(He hates the idea of you tabling for this very reason — because yes you’re pretty, and funny, and you’d probably sell a damn-good amount of merch just by being you… but if he can’t see you in the crowd, he’s not quite the same on stage. And it definitely bleeds through into his performance, and his behavior after the show. He needs his number one fan!)

You’ve gotta keep him from throwing his pick at you every night. You have him — the fans can have a pick or two.

He always links hands with you after shows — hell, he’ll bring you into fan photos if you feel comfortable with it. You might not be on stage, but you're just as much of a band member as he is at this rate.

He begged you to come with them on their first tour — they were only opening for some other band, but still, they’re touring! And despite your better judgement, against the advice of your family and coworkers, love won out… and off you went. And the van was cramped, sure, and the food wasn’t exactly great; and yet, it was the most magical thing you had ever experienced.

(The memories still glimmer sweetly in your mind over a decade later, and even today, he still has all of the photos he took saved.)

It’s fun taking him to weird little American places — doesn’t matter what state you go to, there’s always something new and novel. His eyes light up just about every time you take him somewhere new, and honestly, it never gets old. He always has a myriad of questions, too. Doesn’t matter if its a national landmark or a fast food truck — he will have questions.

He’s particularly interested in zoos and animal sanctuaries, though. The first time he saw one of the big cats, he damn near vibrated out of his skin. You’ve gotta hold his hand pretty tightly so he doesn’t get too close to the leopards and jaguars when they start to chirp and meow in his direction.

He gets a very far-off look in his eyes listening to their stories sometimes, particularly as sanctuaries and rescues, but still, he always asks the keeper if you can just stay a few more minutes to watch them. Hand in yours, sat cross-legged on the ground, with nothing but fondness in his eyes.

(In modern times, you have to keep him from buying a big cat. He doesn’t forget the stories he was told, but he does think he’s different, and it’s a Herculean struggle to remind him otherwise.)

He experiments with fashion quite a bit, with… varying success. Truly, love knows no bounds. However, he does find that he does really like having facial hair after seeing how you smile against his lips when his hair tickles you just a bit.

He genuinely lives for your touch, to the point where he can’t really sleep without you at night anymore! But in the beginning, he was very nervous about initiating on his own. He would eat up anything you threw his way — even brushing by him in the cramped as fuck van is electric, to him.

He always asks you to tell him stories at night — anything will do (he loves to hear you speak), but he likes happy stories about you the most.

He loves holding your hand at night, gazing at you under the fluorescent street lights — they’ve become an odd little piece of your shared life, funnily enough. The dying streetlamp outside of your apartment, the highway lights as the boys drive the van around the country… it’s a simple thing, but their shine has lit up more than just the night for Toki.

[simplepotatofarmer]

the real pig hunt

another mini fic for my 'hey loyal write this' challenge, this time based on this post by @curosart! an alternate take on 'hog hunt' and the butcher army execution.

“What if it doesn’t, uh, work?” Ranboo swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in their throat and then swallowed again. “Like, what if it goes wrong or something?”

“It’s going to work, Ranboo,” said Quackity in a tone that made it clear there would be no further debate past this point. “Besides, if it goes wrong, that’s just less work for us, yeah?”

Tubbo nodded.

“Exactly, exactly.”

“But it’s going to work.” Quackity grinned. “And Techno is going to learn a lesson he’ll never forget.”

Techno should have known this would happen. Part of him had been waiting for it, ready, and there was no surprise when he received Phil’s message, just a pit in his stomach that the peace he had wanted to build here was about to be shattered.

And now there was blood on the snow (and he had tried, he had begged, but it was no use) and Quackity had an axe to his horse’s throat.

“Get away from them, Techno, or I’ll kill your horse right now.”

Techno stopped, holding his hands up.

“Quackity, you leave that horse alone…”

“Cooperate or I’ll kill Carl,” said Quackity. “Do you understand? I’ll slay this horse. Now drop everything.”

With a deep sigh, Techno’s shoulders sagged. He knew this would happen, he knew it, and began dropping his items on the ground.

“Okay, okay…”

“Your armor too.”

A moment of doubt made Techno hesitate. If he was going to get out of this, he would need his armor. Sunlight glinted off of Quackity’s axe.

“Do it or I’ll kill the horse right fucking now.”

Techno pulled the netherite gauntlets off and dropped them into the snow. The helmet was next and then the chest plate and he was about to ask what they were planning to do when he heard the unmistakable sound of a potion bottle breaking and the feeling of something wet hitting him.

“What the heck—”

And then the world around him was getting much bigger and Techno hit the ground.

_________________________________________________________

“Is this a fucking joke?” asked Punz.

Dream shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer the question. He needed it to be a joke, it had to be a joke, and yet—

“What do we do now? I mean, this really messes with the whole rescue plan, right?”

It did and if it was anyone other than Technoblade, Dream might have cut his losses right then and there. He groaned, rocking back on his heels.

“Okay, new plan.”

A beat.

Punz looked at him.

“Which is…?”

“Well, same plan for you, I guess,” Dream said. “You get up there and distract them. I’ll get Techno out.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Do you have an extra invis potion?”

Raising an eyebrow, Punz dug through their inventory and pulled out a glass bottle, the liquid inside an almost matte grey in color. They handed it to Dream.

“Good luck, buddy.”

Dream nodded; he was going to need it.

_________________________________________________________

Techno had a brief flash of optimism when they tossed him into the small cage that maybe, just maybe, he could squeeze through the iron bars. That maybe whatever Quackity and his goons had done to him could work in his favor. But the bars were too close for him to fit through and his ear caught on the metal, making him let out a squeal.

This was embarrassing.

He got the point – turn the pigman into an actual pig, haha, very funny – but it was really cramping his style. How was he going to get out of this? How was he going to make sure Phil was alright? Techno could barely turn and he didn’t have hands to hold a weapon or that totem Dream had so kindly pointed him to.

There was a flash of white and then shouting and an explosion. Beneath him, something thumped against the wood plank he was standing on, hard. He didn’t have time to think about that. Tubbo’s voice cut across the commotion.

“Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Bruh, Techno thought, not like this. 

The wooden plank beneath his hooves – all four of them – broke and he fell. He expected to hit the ground and then for the anvil to hit him but someone grabbed him awkwardly, hands almost slipping on his haunches as they yanked him back. The anvil slammed into the ground with a rush of air, barely an inch away from Techno’s snout.

__________________________________________________________

If there wasn’t a saying about how hard it was to catch a pig already, Dream thought there should be.

With one hand still on his axe, he scrambled to grab Techno as he pulled him back and out of the way of the anvil at the same time. It had come too close for comfort and Techno was practically upside down. He adjusted his grip but Techno seemed to be panicking.

“Techno—Techno, stop, it’s me.”  There was an indignant sounding squeal and Dream groaned. He was invisible; even if Techno was in a position to look at him, he would’ve seen nothing but a floating axe. “It’s Dream.”

The squealing turned into a series of oinks that could only be described as laughter.

“Yeah, whatever, laugh all you want,” said Dream.

He tucked Techno under his arm. Above the commotion still raged and it was surprisingly easy for Dream to slip away. That ease made paranoia stick in Dream’s chest and it took all his self-control not to look over his shoulder every few seconds and instead made his way to where Quackity and the others had left Carl.

Grabbing the lead, he pulled the horse towards the tunnel, the sound of shouting and explosions fading into the background.

__________________________________________________________

Techno had thought being turned into an actual pig was about as low as he could get and then he had realized they hadn’t even planned on giving him a clean death. There was no honor in being crushed while trapped in a cage and Techno knew that was the whole point.

And now Dream was manhandling him as if he had never once held an animal before and also was afraid Techno would bite him. Techno had certainly considered it, especially when he had mounted Carl and turned the horse away from his home in the arctic.

He had considered wiggling out of Dream’s grip and taking his chances but he knew Dream wanted him alive, even if he didn’t know why. That was enough for him.

“Whoa.”

Carl took a moment to listen to Dream and Techno snorted in amusement.

The invisibility potion had worn off and Dream tilted his head down slightly to look at him. When he spoke, Techno could hear the frown in his voice.

“Your horse sucks, Techno,” he said as he pulled out his communicator with one hand.

And I’m gonna feed him so many golden carrots, thought Techno, oinking.

“Shut up.”

As Dream typed, resting the communicator on his thigh, Techno tried to peer at the screen, see what it was he was saying, who he was talking to you.

Techno oinked, rising in intonation.

“I’m trying to figure out where’s safe,” said Dream in reply.

Flicking his ear, Techno thought, I take back fifty percent of the times I’ve called you stupid, alright, Dream?

“Damn it.”

That didn’t sound good. Squealing, Techno nudged Dream’s arm, dignity forgotten. Dream tightened his grip on him as Carl side-stepped with a whiny. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “It’s fine—We just need to find somewhere to lay low for a bit.”

We also need to figure out a way to turn me back into a dang person, thought Techno. If something went south, he’d be useless. A pig couldn’t hold a sword and Dream was good but not that good. He oinked.

“What? I don’t speak pig.”

Techno oinked again.

C’mon, Dream, that’s whole problem, man.

He couldn’t see the expression on Dream’s face but the way he looked down at him and then leaned back slightly spoke of a sudden realization.

“Okay, but I don’t know what to do about that so,” Dream said and then nudged Carl lightly with his heels. “We’ll figure it out.”

We better, thought Techno with a soft huff.

_______________________________________________________

Things had spiraled out of control. It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission, just make sure that Techno got out of there alive with his stupid horse, and now Dream’s mind was racing as he tried to plan where to go, what to do next.

How the fuck was he going to turn Techno back to normal?

“Fuck! Milk!” 

In his lap, Techno squealed and the horse shied and Dream had to work to keep him under control without dropping Techno. He pulled the horse to a stop.

“Can pigs drink milk?” he asked, looking down at Techno.

The noise Techno made was somewhere between an oink and a snort and very clearly held the tone of someone who thought they had just been asked a very stupid question. Dream felt his cheeks go hot and he was glad he was wearing the mask.

“Well—Well, to be fair, I don’t know pig biology or whatever.”

Techno snorted again. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Look, we’ll just—We’ll find a cow and fix this.”

__________________________________________________________

It was a good idea.

Techno was actually a little bit disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself but it wasn’t as if he could have told Dream anything. Their means of communication was pretty limited though he had to admit that Dream was quick to figure out what he was trying to say.

So when he felt that odd tingle, starting at the tip of his tail, he had a good idea of what was about to happen. He tried to wriggle out of Dream’s grasp, giving a squeal, but Dream held on.

“Techno! What the hell?”

Oh, this is gonna be awkward, thought Techno.

There was a stretching sensation in all his limbs and then a pop, like a bubble bursting, and he was falling and taking Dream with him. Techno landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of them both. Startled, Carl whinnied and danced away before stopping to munch on some grass just a few feet away.

Techno looked down at Dream.

“Hey, good news, Dream, I don’t think we’re gonna need to find that cow,” he said.

Dream lifted his head and then gave up almost immediately with a deep sigh.

“—we’re never fucking talking about this again.”

With a laugh, Techno got to his feet – the two of them, not four – and reached down to offer Dream a hand. He hesitated for just a moment before taking it and letting Techno pull him up.

“Oh yeah, this is stayin’ between us,” he said and then, “For now, I mean, it is kinda funny…”

“Techno!”

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

can I request some Gigi and Grayson hcs? (Not sure if that’s been done yet!)

gigi and grayson head canons

yesss, i absolutely love them. i hope we get to see them interact in tgg. @catapparently helped me with this one. like i've said in three of my other posts, i'm currently dying bc of my cramps so might be a little crappy, but i hope you like them<3.

gigi thinks grayson should loosen up and wear less suits so she buys him speedos.

they both talk about their favorite romance books bc gigi is clearly a reader and gray is secretly a hopeless romantic.

grayson gave gigi one of his credit cards for plushies and books

gigi regularly drags grayson out to amusement parks, arcades, and stuff. gray wins her stuff and she makes him eat corn dogs.

gigi dared grayson to put on a fluffy pink tutu and bows and twirl around the street

gigi talks shit about her crappy ex-boyfriends/crushes and grayson just sits there wondering why his sister has such horrible taste in men

they are both planning duncan's (sav's shitty bf) take down

gigi buys grayson flowers and takes one out of the bouquet and puts it behind his ear.

gigi, before she met lyra, made grayson a tinder account bc she thought he needed a gf.

gigi teaches grayson how to ride a bike (this dude didn't learn bc he always had someone to drive him places). he fell so many times, that grayson banged his head and ended up getting a concussion.

she takes videos of him and posts them on her tiktok bc her fans eat it up

gigi invited grayson to her prom (i think she's a year younger than avery so that means she hasn't had prom yet) and made him dance to the slow songs with her.

when gigi thinks grayson is overworking himself, she'll jump on him and start tickling him. she won't stop until he promises he's gonna stop.

grayson is the only one gigi feels comfortable venting to. she doesn't like worrying her sister with her problems, so sometimes she'll sneak into gray's room late at night and just talk to him about how much she hates having to pretend to be happy all the time.

although gigi never met emily, she absolutely hates her with a passion. grayson doesn't really like it when she talks shit about her, but knows what she's saying is true.

gigi has an obsession with grayson's baby pictures. she's literally asked everyone she knows if they have any, and has literally stolen phones to look at their camera roles to check for pictures.

gigi loves spying on people for absolutely no reason and will drag grayson along with her.

gigi has tried to cook food for grayson before but she ended up giving him food poisoning instead.

when gigi is feeling down, she'll get grayson to give her a hug bc, according to her, he gives the best hugs.

when she goes out with her friends to the mall, she drags grayson along to carry their bags

grayson only really laughs around her bc he finds her hilarious.

grayson literally hates slate (potential love interest for gigi, might not be one) (or any future boyfriends she might have), and will spy on her dates. he'll head to the restaurant they're eating at and hide behind menus and stuff.

gigi buys him clothes (other than suits) that she thinks would suit him. grayson only wears them bc gigi bought them for him (or that's what he tells himself, he actually kind of likes the clothes)

gigi gets xander to teach her how to hack grayson's insta so she can post cat memes on his account.

gigi has an obsession with iced coffees and milkshakes (overly sweet ones) and always gets grayson to have one when they go out even though he hates it with his entire being.

gigi practices her makeup on him. gigi always makes him keep it on so she can admire her hard work. sometimes grayson will show up at the family dinners with a full face of makeup.

gigi teaches grayson how to knit bc she loves it and wants to have someone to knit with

gigi loves reading romance books out loud. sometimes she'll be hanging out with grayson and just start reading the smut scenes out loud. grayson gets so uncomfortable, he turns red.

when she wants to take grayson out to the mall with her but he says no, she'll grab him by the ear and drag him out despite his protests.

gigi loves basic chocolate chip cookies, so grayson gets libby to teach him how to bake cookies, and he starts surprising her with some every once in a while.

gigi will get up really early and hide in grayson's closet so she can scare him when he gets up to get dressed.

gigi made grayson dress up as a tampon for halloween.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Ooh right — what would you recommend for roleplaying life in the Silo, from the Silo Saga by Hugh Howey?

Theme: Silo Saga

Hello friend! So I looked up Silo Saga thanks to your request, and I appreciate the further details that you provided me. I started looking for games with underground themes, and then went back and broadened my search for games in cramped spaces.

So with that premise, let's see what we have that hits the mark, or gets close to it at least.

Worlds of Legacy: Generation Ship, by UFO Press.

You’re trapped inside the heart of a decaying generation ship drifting between the stars. How will you survive and find a new home?

Your families woke up from cryostasis halfway through a thousand year journey. Now you must find a way to live on a ship that wasn’t intended to support long-term habitation, keep it running, and try to make sure future generations reach the promised land at the end of your journey.

You’ll need the core rulebook of Legacy: Life Among the Ruins in order to play this game, but it definitely fits the bill. Each player controls a Family with a specific role on the ship, as well as a character who has a unique narrative role within that family. Legacy games like to zoom out and look at long-term changes, so you are likely going to watch your families change according to the needs of the ship as time passes - and who knows, you might even get to your final destination as part of your end-game.

Depths Below, by Josh Domanski.

The surface of the Earth is barren. Left uninhabitable by countless environmental disasters. What remains of humanity has moved into underwater cities, the last of which is known as Terminus. 

Take the role of humanity's last hope, doing what's necessary to survive while the elite cower in wait for the inevitable end.  Depths Below is a complete RPG by Josh Domanski. It uses and expands upon the rules and systems developed for 24XX by Jason Tocci.

I think there are some ties to Silo that you might be able to see in Depths Below, even if the setting is a little bit different. The underwater city of Terminus is just as fraught and dystopian as the underground Silo, with political factions and plenty of hierarchies. The world above the waves is much more a mystery than it is in Silo, and there’s not much in the game that encourages you to seek out the surface - which means you are well and truly trapped.

When it comes to how to play the game, you’ll want a number of different polyhedral dice, as the size of the dice rolled depends on your skill level. Rolling a 5 or higher is a success, and you can use your gear to mitigate harm or give you the ability to do something. The actual rules of play only fill about one page of this game, but there’s an extra 12 pages of lore, character options, beasts to fight, and roll tables for the GM!

Underground, by emmy.

UNDERGROUND is an 8 page gm-less tabletop roleplaying game, where you take on the roles of post-apocalyptic factions living within the remnants of a metro system.

The details of the Cataclysm that brought you down here are long forgotten. You now have the chance to forge your own world.

Underground has a similar premise to the Silo saga in that you are groups of people living underground, in a post-apocalypse. However, the apocalypse looks much more recent, and as the players are all representing different factions, I’m not sure if there’s the same sort of hierarchical structure as seen with the different factions of the Silo - it might be if everyone agrees to represent it that way!

The biggest difference is the structure of these underground settlements - they’re not purposefully built to house people, they’re the old metro system that just happened to be there. You use d6’s to help construct the metro map, including spaces that may have not been fully explored yet. The biggest draw of this game is the exploration, so if you want to spend some time just building your own (altered) version of an underground dystopia, this might be the game for you.

Apocalypse World, by Meguey & Vincent Baker.

Something's wrong with the world and I don't know what it is. It used to be better, of course it did. In the golden age of legend, when there was enough to eat and enough hope, when there was one nation under god and people could lift their eyes and see beyond the horizon, beyond the day. Children were born happy and grew up rich.

Now that's not what we've got. Now we've got this. One of the classic post-apocalyptic games in the scene, Apocalypse World might be able to give you what you’re looking for, if you’re willing to establish some serious world-building. This game has been played in all sorts of apocalypses, and the truths of each one is dependant on what the game group is looking for, as well as which playbooks you choose to use.

Pick up a Hardholder or Brainer if you want someone who knows all too much and is trying to hide that information or control it. Play an Angel if you want to be needed. Play a savvyhead if you want to know how things work, and pick up a Hocus if you want to lead a faction of this settlement to a rebellion. You might want to cut out Choppers and Drivers though - underground, there’s not as much room for engines or gangs of roving bikers.

Neon Black, by NotWriting.

Neon Black is a role-playing game about a community of poor people fighting back against tyrannical corporations and the indifference of the rich, as well as surviving in a dystopian city state. It’s like real life, but in this world you can kill the CEO’s, rob banks to pay rent, and help your friends do the same. You'll help your community, go on dangerous heists, explore artificial realities, and encounter friendly and nefarious machines. We play to find out if the community can survive amidst warring corporations, an unforgiving climate, and the negligence of the extravagantly wealthy.

When putting together your crew in Neon Black, you need to decide which community you live in, and both the 55 (an apartment complex) and the Chariot (an abandoned space station) are possible candidates for communities with no other place to go. The biggest theme that resonates is the mega-corporations that have put you there in the first place.

Neon Black is a Forged in the Dark game, and it’s exceptionally good for playing a long-term faction game. There will be plenty of groups with interests that align or oppose yours, and you’ll be doing missions to help the people you care about while trying to take down those who don’t care about you. The biggest difference between this game and the Silo setting is the introduction of cyberware. Setting up the game is a bit of work, but I think it has legs!

For Similar Vibes…

White Sands, by Critical kit, has a dystopian feeling and the desire for rebellion, but on an Earth where clean air now has a price tag.

Lost Eons, by David Blandy, is for folks who want to explore the world after they breach their underground Havens, a world completely mutated and changed into a solar punk, sci-fantasy future.

2XXX: Promised Land, by Quasinfinity Games, looks like it starts on a spaceship, and with the horror undertones it presents, I'm skeptical about your cultists ever reaching the planet they're headed for.

My Post-Apocalyptic Community Rec List (has some overlap).

[bories]

masterlist ⋆｡˚☆

can you guys tell i love werewolves?

quick background info: i like to imagine reader as charlie's "adopted shortly after bella left him" kid. so she's close w bella but also kinda lagging behind when it comes to hearing about whats going on around her. this also takes place in eclipse <3

!!! i took some inspiration from @the-wolf-moon-diaries' Hold a Light Back to My Soul and the idea from @lunajay33's My Beast and i highly recommend their stories!

i definitely gotta write a pt 2 where we meet up again, don't i? damn

weird dog ... seth clearwater x reader

word count: 1512, warnings: swearing, running away, giant wolf?? a tad boring

Some days can be rough as hell around here, and dealing with them can be just as hard. There's not much to do in Forks, besides drive down to La Push, or wander in and out of the small stores around town, or even wander the hiking trails. But regardless, you need out, you gotta go.

Everything keeps piling up, looming over you, and it's all about to come crashing down. You're sick of hearing about some vampire army, and Bella's stupid love triangle, and now even werewolves--so you decide to leave. Slipping into some boots, you run out the door, barely caring if you make noise.

Not sure of where to go, you just pick a direction and run. You break out into a sprint until you get stomach cramps.

Slowing down, you walk and catch your breath as you reach the entrance to a hiking trail. It's far too late into the night for anyone to be out there unless they're camping, and even then they'd be holed up in their tents for the night. Regardless, though, you deviate from the path and just wander through the trees, not wanting to run into anyone.

Never slowing down, you begin to think about your safety in the forest so late.

It'll be fine, you tell yourself, Besides, if I get lost, someone'll just come find me like they found Bella that one time. With vampires and werewolves, it can't be that hard.

You roll your eyes at the thought of both species of weird being unable to track you down.

Your stomach stops hurting and you keep strolling through the forest, dodging trees and hopping off any big rocks you find. Taking in the forest around you, you start to wonder how long you've been gone.

No more than, like, half an hour. Maybe 45. D'you think Dad has noticed yet? you ask yourself. Definitely not.

After a few more minutes worth of walking and avoiding thinking too much, you stop in a little clearing. It's less of a clearing and more like trees getting a little more sparse, but you don't mind.

You sit on a rock and look up. The trees here are far apart enough to get a small, but clear shot of the sky.

"Nice," you smile. And for a few minutes, all you do is stare at the stars in silence.

Your eyelids start to feel heavy as your body really relaxes. You slide off the rock so you're sitting on the ground, leaned against it, still looking up.

I mean, this isn't the most uncomfortable pillow I've used. And I don't think I'd make it home anyways, you think, justifying sleeping against that rock to yourself. I'll go back in the morning if no one finds me by then. Sounds like a solid plan.

You yawn and close your eyes while turning onto your side against the rock. The quiet sounds of the forest lull you to sleep as your mind wanders. It wanders from the Cullens, to La Push, to how you miss the beach, to how you might go there next time you want to run away for a night, to how you'd even get there alone.

Being nearly asleep, you don't pick up on the fact that the forest is suddenly void of sound. Any animals around you have left, the leaves having stopped rustling, even the wind no longer blowing. But it's not until you hear the crunching of twigs behind you that your eyes shoot open, wide and aware. You hear panting, slow and steady, and you don't dare move.

Shit, is it a bear? 'If it's black, fight back,' right? We only have black bears around here. God, should I get up? Playing dead only works on brown bears--shit. Mind racing, your eyes squeeze shut until you come to a decision.

You abruptly stumble to your feet and start screaming, trying to scare away whatever's behind you, until you actually turn around. Your scream shifts from "trying-to-assert-dominance" to "trying-not-to-die-tonight" as you register what's found you. Not a black bear, but a brown wolf. A huge brown wolf. It even pulls away from you, startled by your screaming.

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" You stagger backwards and trip over a small rock, falling on your ass. You curse to yourself and look back up at the beast. It watches you, and for a moment, you two just stare at one another.

Your eyes are full of fear, mouth open, ready to scream, chest rising and falling with every uncertain breath. The wolf huffs and its head dips down towards you as it sniffs you. In response, you weakly try to shuffle backwards, unsure of what to do. It lets out another huff, backing away, never breaking eye contact.

To your surprise, it sits. It sits there and just looks at you.

You take a deep breath in and out and try to calm yourself. "Hoo... Okay," you're cautious to speak, afraid of what might happen. "Hey there, uh, buddy?"

It doesn't move. "You, uh--you won't hurt me, huh? Right?"

It huffs. "Great. Very trustworthy."

Standing up slowly, you're wary of the wolf still watching your every move. You relax as the wolf seems uninterested in attacking you.

You sigh, "Now what? One wrong move and I might as well scream for the Cullens to come bite me."

You start talking to yourself, "This is what you get for being stupid. 'Oh, it's just the big bad trees. What's the worst that could happen?' I said. Yeah, right. Idiot."

The wolf's head cocks to the side as you scold yourself.

"And you," you gesture towards the wolf, "what're you gonna do? God, what am I doing? Threatening a giant wolf? I really am a genius."

You stop rambling and take a breath. "Okay. This is fine."

Your shoulders finally slump as you take in the wolf. It's as tall as the average human, taller even, with brown fur that looks darker at night. It's eyes are brown and captivating, almost unnaturally humanlike. Regardless, you can't help but find it beautiful.

"You're not that scary, are you?" You flash it a weak smile, "I bet you're just like a big puppy. You're so big that if you were red I'd call you Clifford," you laugh.

Taking slow steps towards the wolf, you raise your hand as non-threateningly as you can. "Can I pet you?" It watches you with curiosity.

"That's kind of a dumb question, isn't it? You can't really," your hand is inches from its head, "...respond." It leans into your touch as you begin softly stroking its fur.

"See," you chuckle, "you're not so mean."

It huffs and lies down. "What, you're tired? I bet you had a long day of scaring campers, didn't you?" You sit down beside the wolf, "I'm tired, too, you know? You actually kind of woke me up."

It watches you blankly. "I accept your apology, don't worry."

With a yawn, you start petting its fur again. "Pretty soft for a wild wolf," you mutter.

Your eyes start feeling heavy again and you lean against the wolf. "You don't mind, right?" Your words come out slowly, tired.

A huff in response. "Great, thanks. You're a much better pillow than that rock was," you trail off and close your eyes.

As your body relaxes against the wolf, the pace of your breathing matches the wolf's, and your mind starts to wander again. Wandering from how warm the wolf is, to the sun, to how you used to stare at the sun as a kid, to how you miss sunbathing on the beach, to planning your next day at the beach.

You barely mutter a "G'night," and drift off to sleep.

Throughout the night, the wolf watches over you as you sleep curled up with it. At sunrise, it stands, leaving you lying on the ground, and it begins to nudge you awake with its snout. You're startled awake by the wolf in your face and sit up, finding your bearings.

"Oh," you say, rubbing your eyes. "Right, good morning, I guess." The wolf pants at you, mouth open. "God, I really spent the night out here... Shit--has dad noticed?"

The wolf watches as you stand up and look around, looking for the direction you came in. Once you recognize the way home, you turn to say goodbye to the wolf. It stares at you, tall and unmoving.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm about to be in huge trouble."

Its tongue licks its nose. You smile with a sigh and shake your head, "I'll miss you, too. Don't scare too many people while I'm gone, alright?"

It bows its head as you pet it goodbye. "I'll find you again. I'll come back, tonight or tomorrow. And you better be here."

You turn and begin walking away, thinking to yourself, Weirdest dog I've ever met.

You look back once and it's gone. As silently as it had snuck up on you the previous night, it had gone.