#i thought this up and now you must see it and think about it too

[lovifie]

Masterlist Phone Sex with Boyfriend!Simon

"Are you home?"

”Are you home?”

That's the signal that you have learned, and the only one Simon gives you, your phone rings as soon as you send your positive answer.

“Hi, Simon.” You say with a singing voice when you pick up the call, pressing your phone against your ear.

“Hi, darling.” His deep voice grumbles through the phone, making you bite your lips as the sound travels down your body. 

The indubitable sound of his buckle being toyed with sounds loud and clear in the background. 

“Aw, Simon… are you missing me, sweet boy?” You say with a pout in your voice, using your shoulder to hold your phone while you twist off the cap of the nail polish bottle. 

“Every bloody second, sweetheart.”

Your heart warms with his shameless declaration, making you smile even though he can't see your face. 

“My pretty boy, I miss you too…” The line stays quiet for a minute, only his breathing audible; until you break the silence. “Does your pretty cock hurt, darling?”

“Yeah, fuck, yes it does.” He groans, a squeaky sound of the spring of the mattress sounding under his voice. He must be thrashing around on the bed, desperate. And you thought you had trained him better. 

“You should do something about it then, Simon.” You say, raising your foot to rest on the edge of the chair kicking your slipper off. “Don’t you think?”

“Can I?” His breathless voice betrays him, letting you see as clear as day how desperate he is. 

Good boy.

“Of course you can, love.” You answer, chuckling to yourself.

The response is immediate. Loud in the silence of the call, you hear how he gets his belt undone, throwing the buckle back carelessly so his aching member can find solace in the harsh wrap-up of his hand. 

His first moan comes to life right after the first tug, desperate, to the point it makes you wonder for how long he has fought with himself to not call you only to get conquered by the lustful needs of his body.

The buckle of the belt jangles in the background like a metronome with each flick of his wrist, the telltale sound of the rhythm he is setting.

“Talk to me, pet. Please.” His voice is whiny on your ear, desperation oozing out of each syllable, almost enough to make you feel bad about how unbothered you are by it. 

It's not that having your poor boyfriend calling you in desperation to hear your voice so he can actually cum doesn't turn you on, c’mon, you are not made of stone. But it also feeds your voracious ego, filling you with cockiness that you know he will quickly wipe out of you the moment he's back. 

But he is away now, and in this situation, you have the upper hand; threatening to close it around his neck knowing he would enjoy it more than yourself. And it would be such a waste of an opportunity if you didn't choke him a little bit. 

“Have you been thinking about me, love? Hm? Is that why you are so worked up?” You ask, picking the brush soaked in nail polish and applying it over your thumbnail. His whiny moan of your name is all you get as an answer, choppy breaths surrounding it helping it travel right to your core. “Been thinking about me touching you, hm? Wrapping my lips around your poor weeping cock, Simon?”

“Fuckin’ hell, luv…” He groans back, you hear the springs of the mattress again when he moves.

“Are you lying down, Simon?” You ask when you are on your third nail. A weak, high-pitched whine is all you get as an answer, a yes, you assume. “Stop then.”

queaky queaky queaky

“Simon.”

queaky queaky queaky

“Simon, stop touching yourself.”

…

“What?” He's breathing so hard it is almost difficult to understand him.

“Did I stutter? Stop touching yourself. Hands up, pretty boy.” You almost don't recognise your voice, an authoritative tone improper of a civilian talking to a lieutenant.

But he obliges, immediately, if he wasn't breathing so loud you could have heard the soft thud of his length falling red and angry over his abdomen. 

“For god's sake, sweetheart, please.” He groans, but you can no longer hear the mattress squeaking or his buckle being shaken. Obedient little soldier he is. 

“Who called me?” You ask, acting incredulous that he would now not let you do your part. He mumbles a tiny “me” making you smile once again. “Then do as I say, love.”

He huffs without a further complaint, waiting for your next words so he can finally move. 

“Put me on speaker, and the phone on your chest so your hands are free.” You say, moving to paint your other hand. He does as instructed, hearing the rustling of his shirt as he lays his phone. “Now wrap your hand around your dick, both of them, tight. And move, slowly!” 

You punctuate the last word with emphasis, hanging on the line to hear his movements but all you hear are his pretty sighs and puffs. You groan, making him stop in his movements once again. “Not your hands, Simon. Your hips. Move your hips.”

“What? Like-”

“Yeah, Simon. I want you to fuck your fists and imagine it is me the one your fucking.” You say, chuckling when you hear him moan. His voice sounds suddenly loudly and you assume his phone must have slipped up toward his face when he planted his feet on the mattress, thrusting his hips up. 

“There you go, good boy, Simon.” You say, melodic voice making Simon shudder as he throws his head back, moaning shamelessly as his hips move faster and faster to meet the tight embrace of his fists. 

Every time that an especially loud whine falls from his lips you coo at him, the mental image of him with his eyebrows furrowed, teeth digging into his bottom lip to try and catastrophically fail to keep his voice down making your mouth water. 

He calls your name again, begging for your attention as he mumbles incoherent words and you pity him only when you are done with your nails, waiting for them to dry as you turn your attention to him. 

“C’mon, darling.” You half-whisper to him. “Give it to me, love… Think that it is not your hands, think that it is my pretty cunt around your dick right now. I know you can.”

A cry of your name. 

“Think is my sweet cunt sucking you in, hm? Doing that thing that you love me to do.”

A low groan.

“Think that you are fucking me stupid, Simon. Moaning your name and milking you empty, love.”

A minute-long silence right before a chain of curses starts to spill from his lips, the squeaky sounds of the bed growing irregular as he cums over his own chest in thick spurs making him dizzy. 

You blow on your nails, happy with the results and waiting for your dear boyfriend to come down from his high as you sweet talk him. “You did so good, Simon… My darling… My sweet boy… My baby…”

“Watch it, you little minx”

You shiver at the sudden switch, remembering the temporal aspect of your position. Downing on you every single word you just pronounce and every condescending tone you use. 

Luckily for you, his deployment is meant to go on for a couple of weeks longer; enough for him to grow desperate enough and not pay you back with the same coin you just used. 

No need to worry about the consequences of your actions any time soon. 

“And by the way, sweetheart.” He says once his breathing is back to normal, the sound of his buckle jangling again. “The OP was cut short and I'm getting home sooner.”

You swallow. “How much is sooner?”

“Tomorrow's night”

@crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z

@lyralein @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121

@spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @arbesa-mind @cmbghost

@multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles

@cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria

@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow

@hxnneydew @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger

@soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @thesinsoflust

@sodavrr @yuki2129 @idk-justkane @shanhalen @dukeofjjune

@vane28282 @dracu1ara @vivi2e @lordbugs @murder-hobo

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 15

Danny was sitting on his bed, legs crossed with his blue bear set on his lap. He was stroking a thumb over it’s nose, gaze absently out the window.

Jason leaned against the door frame. “Danny?”

The blue eyes snapped to Jason. They were a different color from Bruce’s, just slightly. There was that damning green ring around the outside of the iris, just like Jason’s own, but the green bled less into the blue for Danny.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Danny said with a small smile and a duck of his head. He moved his hand from the bear’s nose to rub at the back of his neck. “I guess it’s just been a long day.”

“Makes sense, lot of busyness all day,” Jason agreed. It really had been. From meeting Steph with breakfast to games after when Tim joined them at lunch, new phone in hand, and then with Duke there briefly for dinner, fully suited up, the safe house had been full all day. Jason had worried about it being too much, but Danny seemed happy, if slightly quiet. But then again, Danny was almost always quiet. “Do you need me to stay? Nightwing will be here in about two hours to change over with B.B., but I’ll stay if you need me to.”

“No, you should go,” Danny insisted. “I’ll just be asleep, I figure I’m going to crash after today.”

Jason smiled a little. It was nice to have Danny sound more like a kid lately. “I bet. Call me if you need, O will make sure that the number on the phone patches into my comms.”

“What if you’re busy?”

“Then O will talk to you herself or pass you to another Bat. There’s always one of us around for you.”

Danny’s smile looked a little wobbly as he nodded, and Jason gave into ruffling the kid’s hair before he left to go make a much needed appearance at Crime Alley.

-

“You’re healing well,” Nigthwing said as he smoothed down the last bandage.

“Yeah,” Danny said softly, ruffling the towel one more time through his hair so that he didn’t have to look at Nightwing.

It was still a marvel to be touched gently like that.

They all showed such care with him and his wounds. It made everything all the more obvious to Danny. Nightwing and the others were interested to see if he was healing so that he could be well. His par— they had been interested for far different reasons.

He hadn’t seen it when he was a kid with scrapped knees from falling off his bike.

Now he couldn’t unsee it.

He was always an experiment to them, wasn’t he? He was never their kid. If he had been their kid they wouldn’t have been able to cut into— to take— to do… to do….

“Danny?”

Danny sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and tried to blink away the memories. “What?”

“There you are.” Nightwing’s smile was sad as he brushed back a lock of Danny’s hair. Hadn’t Nightwing just been wearing gloves?

Danny ran his fingers over his bear, grounding himself in the soft texture. His bear. He was on the couch wrapped in a blanket holding his bear.

He had just been in the bathroom.

Danny blinked slowly. “I, um…”

“It’s okay. You just went away for a bit. I moved you when you stopped answering me. It’s been about seven minutes. Nothing’s happened.”

“Oh.”

Hadn’t he been getting better? He hadn’t thought… Why did he have to think about them?

“Hey, Danny, it’s okay, you don’t have to cry,” Nightwing said, “or, you know, cry if you need to! That’s okay too. Just, we’re not going to let anyone hurt you here.”

Danny sniffled and turned his head to rub his face against the blanket. Nightwing shouldn’t promise that— he couldn’t promise that. They didn’t know what Danny was. They didn’t know who was after him. It was unfair to ask that of them— to make them feel like they had to promise him that.

“I’m okay,” Danny said with a watery smile.

He wasn’t.

“How about a movie?” Nightwing suggested and Danny was grateful for the out.

He tried not to cling as they settled into the couch to watch through the Jurassic Park movies.

“The newest one is stupid in all the right ways,” Nightwing said cheerfully. He must have known that Danny wanted to cling, because he tucked Danny close after everything was set up.

Danny watched the movie without seeing it.

They thought they had to take care of him.

They couldn’t promise that. They didn’t even have the whole story. Sure, Hood had died too, but he was so different than Danny in that. Hood had come back. Hood was alive. Danny didn’t count as alive anymore, not even in this form.

Did Danny ever really count as alive?

He was just an experiment.

A test.

He was never supposed to have ever been.

Danny let his eyes close. What movie were they on now? Did it matter?

Did any of it matter?

He wasn’t supposed to have ever been.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever been, but there he was. There he was, dead and alive. A child and a monster. And he knew, worst of all, because of what he was they would never let him go. Danny knew that, it’s why he had run to Gotham. He thought that maybe if he could just get the money to leave the country somehow… Bruce Wayne had to be able to do that. Even if— even though there’s no way that Wayne would care about Danny, he had hoped maybe he could get the help. A one off to be out of Bruce Wayne’s life forever and not a media scandal. He just needed to…

The gentle fingers carding through his hair started to chase away Danny’s thoughts.

But the Bats had found him.

The Bats had found him and the Bats cared.

Danny wanted that. Danny wanted that so desperately that it hurt him. He’d been just taking advantage of it too, hadn’t he? Because he wanted it he’d been taking it without them knowing what he was. And now they were acting like they wanted him to stay.

But they didn’t know.

Danny’s breath caught in his throat, feeling like it was choking him.

He had run to Gotham. He had run to Gotham but that wouldn’t stop them. They would find him here. They would find him and because of him they would find Hood. They would find Hood and take him too. And then they would find Robin. They would find all these wonderful, kind people that had been touched by death in all these ways and they would take them. They would take them and cut them apart and—

Danny bit his lip so that he couldn’t make a sound.

They would find him if he made a sound.

“It’s okay Danny, just rest.”

Danny’s eyes snapped open. The afternoon light from the window in his room was playing across his face. His heart thudded in his chest. He was afraid.

But he was afraid with a sense of certainty that he hadn’t had before.

-

“Go get Danny for lunch,” Jason said as he flipped the sandwich on the pan with the same intense focus that he did everything these days.

Dick had to fight back a smile. Getting to be around his little wing so much over the past weeks had been great. Sure, Jason was still mulish and snapped easily, but Dick had also gotten to see so much more of who Jason was behind that defense. Dick loved getting to see that. Giving into the urge to smile, Dick gave a little salute and swung himself off the counter.

Maybe if they were lucky all this could continue after they got Danny settled. It had to, right? Jason seemed pretty attached to Danny, not that Dick could talk, so Jason was sure to come over to see their new brother. Dick would still have time with Jason.

Dick gave a soft knock on Danny’s door before opening it a crack. If Danny was still asleep, Dick didn’t want to startle him.

Except Danny wasn’t still asleep.

Danny wasn’t even in the room.

The bed was fixed and Danny’s tablet and phone sat neatly in the middle.

“He just in the bathroom,” Dick tried to assure himself even as his instincts screamed that was wrong. Silently, silently purely out of habit, Dick approached the bed.

The tablet’s screen was on.

Dick picked it up with hands that only stayed steady from years of training.

No.

No, no, no—

“Jason!”

-

Thank you. Thank you for saving me and caring for me and wanting me. Thank you. You all mean so much to me and that’s why I have to go. I have to go before they find me and then find you all too. I can’t let them find you. I’ll never forget you. Don’t look for me. -Danny

--- AN: *puts on my halo* I'm innocent?

This prob could use a few more editing passes but I am still sick and tired so taaaada (no concrit needed, it will get edited before ao3). Hopefully you all still enjoyed(?) it! Stay delightful, darlings.

[pitchsidestories]

healing II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1644

It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that two successful female players, must be in want of the biggest title in Europe, but also want to impress their girlfriend with this huge achievement.

Playing for pride and love on the biggest stage.  The stadium in Bilbao was full of supporters of both teams, although the Barca fans were outnumbering the Lyon fans by far.

Meanwhile the second half had started, and the game was getting more heated and intense, the final was slowly slipping away from the French players fingertips, while the team of your girlfriends was gaining momentum. You watched everything unfold in front of your eyes with Lucy Staniforth who has been a friend of Lucy and Ona for a long time at this point.

“Lucy, have you seen how Lyon knocked over their former teammate?”, you asked her. It enraged you how the Lyonnais players were treating Lucy Bronze on the pitch.

“I did!”, she added in a more calm and reassuring tone, but Lucy is tough.”

“Yes, you’re right, but this was still harsh from them.”, you nodded.

“I agree. But it’s the UWCL final.”, the Aston Villa midfielder reminded you and herself. There was so much to win and loose over 90 minutes plus added stoppage time. You could almost taste the anticipation and pressure radiating from both teams on your tongue. So did your friend next to you.

The match went on, but when suddenly Ona was on the ground and Lucy Staniforth told you earnestly:” Don’t look, y/n.”

Her saying that only caused you to glance at the horrific situation closer, turning pale at the sight of your girlfriend, whose face had started to bleed heavily:” What, why? Oh no, Ona!”

“I said don’t look. That’s a lot of blood.”, she observed quietly. The horror the fellow footballer felt was written in her face too.

“Does she need to get off?”, you questioned her worried.

“No, I don’t think so.”, the midfielder slowly shook her head.

“Ona wouldn’t want to anyway, not when it’s about her first Champions League title.”, you thought out loud.

“They’re checking her.”, Lucy Staniforth remarked.

“Ona’s tough too.”, you mumbled unable to look away from your girlfriend’s red face.

“You’re right, but it’s so much blood.”, the older woman swallowed hard.

“It’s. God, I wish I could somehow do something.”, you cried out helplessly.

“You can’t. Stay here.”, she replied rationally, holding you back with her hand on your upper arm, so you wouldn’t move.

“But-.”

“They covered it. She’s coming back on.”, the midfielder interrupted you. Looking back at the pitch it filled you both with relief, seeing Ona doing alright for now.

You watched on as Ona took the pitch again, a white band-aid on her cheek.

“This will hurt tomorrow.“, you cringed in sympathy for your girlfriend.

Lucy smiled, trying to loosen up the atmosphere: “I’m pretty sure it already hurts.“

“Yes but I guess the adrenaline will help her now.“, you shrugged.

“I’m sure.“, Lucy said, fully focused on the game again.

The game was tight and hard-fought. Exactly the kind of game a Champions League final deserved and you were sure you could appreciate it more if you were less worried about your girlfriends.

Only when Alexia came on and scored the 2:0 for Barcelona in stoppage time, you could feel yourself relax. That was it, the game was over. Another UWCL trophy for FC Barcelona.

With the final whistle, you flung your arms around Lucys neck while she pulled you in for a hug to celebrate.

Your gaze drifted towards the players on the grass again.

“Let’s go down there, shall we?“, you asked, trying to keep any impatience out of your voice.

Lucy smirked knowingly at you: “Yes, go to your girlfriends.“

When you entered the pitch, the players were still jumping around in exhilaration and you had to wonder where they got all that energy from after such a game. Your girlfriends stood off to the side.

Lucy was busy examining Onas injury when they caught sight of you.

“Y/n!“, they both called, waving you over.

You hugged your girlfriends with pride: “Hi. Congrats, champions.“

“Hi, babe.“ Lucy pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“How are you both? Oni, yours looked especially bad.“, you asked, eyeing both your girls cautiously.

Ona shrugged a little self-consciously: “I’m okay. I got her studs in my face. It looks worse than it actually is.“

“Promise?“

The smaller defender nodded: “Promise. It’s just a bit swollen right now.“

You had been able to tell since you arrived on the field. Her cheek was red and the swell almost reached her eye. It looked horribly painful.

“We’ll take care of that. Right, Luce?“

Your English girlfriend nodded, a big grin on her face: “Of course we’ll.“

Ona almost rolled her eyes at the two of you: “Loves, I can assure you I’m alright.“

“I’ll get you some ice later.“, Lucy said, completely ignoring Ona.

The Spanish defender let out a sigh: “It’s fine, really. All I want to do now is to celebrate this big win with you two.“

“Ona…“, you started.

Lucy looked at you, smirking at your girlfriend: “She’s so going to regret that tomorrow.“

“Oh, absolutely.“, you agreed, amused.

Ona groaned: “Don’t talk to me like I’m the child in this relationship!“

“We don’t.“, Lucy laughed, unimpressed by your girlfriends annoyance.

“We’re just making sure that you’re going to be alright.“, you sided with Lucy.

“You should better check on Lucy, she’s older.”, Ona only half joked, bumping the fist playfully against your lover’s upper arm.

“Oh, please, I’m good. Plus wait until you two turn thirty.”, the English woman warned you both grinning.

“That’ll take a while, Lucy.”, the younger defender reminded her.

“Very true, sorry Lucy.”, you quickly switched alliances to your other girlfriend.

“I’ll remind you in a few days.”, Lucy decided.

“That’s basically forever until that.”, you couldn’t resist teasing her. Even when it meant that she was throwing you on her broad shoulders, carrying you over the pitch.

“Hey, let me down.”, you protested giggling.

“No.”, the older player replied. The win had made her forget about her knee which always hurt and made her act recklessly.

You looked for the face of your injured girlfriend, crying out:”Oni, help.”

“Lucy, we don’t want any more injuries.”, Ona intervened.

“I’m careful.”, Lucy promised.

“Hopefully.”, the younger defender said, but she did look relieved once your feet touched the ground again.

After you both were inspecting her wound, the English woman announced:” We’ll take care of you now, Ona.”

“I’m okay, really.”, Ona attempted to wave off the concerns you were both having.

After the party where the team, friends and family let loose, celebrating the champions league win, as well as the nearing end of a long, successful, but also exhausting football season, you three reached the comfort of your hotel room.

“Here’s some ice, amor to help with the swelling.”, you told her in a soft voice before it could touch her skin she stopped you with a tortured smile.

“Too late. I look like this in all the photos.”

“Yes, but you will feel better with it on your skin.”, Lucy stated, knowing fully well from her own experiences with injuries that it was at least providing some kind of relief.

Despite Ona throwing her a doubtful look, she let you do your work:” Okay, fine.”

“And better?”, you asked her quietly.

“A lot.”, the Spanish player closed her eyes in relief. Giving you a perfect view of her long lashes and freckles who were scattered around like stars in the night sky while you were comforting her with the eyes in your hands.

 “That’s good.”, you nodded happily.

“Thanks, my girls.”, Ona mumbled gratefully.  

“You’re welcome.”, Lucy whispered, while squeezing the younger woman’s hand.

Watching your girlfriends’ interactions moved you and made you feel warm and proud inside.  Especially when you were thinking about what they achieved today with their team.

“You two really left it all on the pitch today.”, you remarked in awe.

“It helped to know that you were in the stands.”, the Spanish defender confessed as she pressed a thankful kiss to your temple.

“It did?”, you lifted an eyebrow.

Nodding, Lucy joined in: “I can confirm that.“

“But I did nothing…“, you interrupted, feeling stupid to get all the praise when your girlfriends where the ones fighting on the pitch.

Lucy carefully ran her thumb across your cheek, cradling your head in her hand: “You were there. That was enough.“

You could melt at the sound of her voice. “Thanks, girls. Tonight was really special.“

“Yeah, for us too. Trust us.“, Ona smiled softly.

“I do. But now it’s time for healing.“, you decided, nodding towards the bed.

Ona sighed: “But only for a bit.“

You knew how much your girls hated to sit still and relax. Especially when it involved injuries.

You were surprised that Lucy immediately moved towards the bed. She sat down and patted the mattress next to her: “Come on, girls. Let’s try to rest, tomorrow will be just as crazy.“

You crawled into bed next to her. Ona followed you and took the place in the middle.

Happily, you smiled at the two football players, still moved by the events of that evening: “Good night, my champion girlfriends.“

“Sleep well, our pretty WAG.“, Ona grinned back.

You let out an amused huff. You never imagined yourself as the girlfriend of a football player and yet here you were, in bed with two of the most amazing women on the night of the Champions League final.

As you listened to the slowed breathing of your girlfriends, you realized that you would not change a single thing. There was still some concern about Ona's wound, but in overall contentment you also fell asleep.

[josephquinnswhore]

disarmed - joel miller x female reader.

Summary: you’ve been travelling with Joel for months, harbouring feelings for one another. Tommy helps the two of them realise how they feel.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: mutual pining, fluff, mentioned a few times that joel is still grieving Sarah, jealousy, possession, age gap. Joel is in his forties and reader mid-twenties. Post outbreak fic. Reader had some dirty thoughts about joel.

Note: I’ve been awol for three months. Hello friends!! @katiexpunk

"Ain’t gonna give up on me are ya?"

Joel calls out, checking over his shoulder to see if you're still behind him. You two have been travelling for hours, with the crunch of your boots against the snow that began to fall on the previous evening—the first official day of winter. They needed to reach Jackson before a mound of snow covered the area, or otherwise they would never know how long they would be there in this endless stretch of open space. With the possibilities of being stuck in a snowstorm, it dawned on them; the pressure to get to their destination.

Joel's crooked, uneven, scowling facade did nothing to keep you out or to halt your innate desire to preserve yourself by desperately attempting to make a connection with him, but for some reason, you had managed to accomplish what no one else could.

Make him feel affection, which of course, came with the pure unbridled fear at the thought of something happening to you. A fear he had not felt since..

“Not long to go now,” he murmurs, trying not to think about his past, his voice softening as he waits for you to catch up, he can see you are making the effort to keep up, your legs picking up their stride in an attempt to match his pace. Even so, at this rate they wouldn’t make it to Jackson before nightfall.

The weary look you give does nothing to comfort him either, internally, he cant stop any thought about you, wanting to know what you were thinking, what you were feeling, other than the pure exhaustion he could feel radiating from your pained expression and lame movements.

They were nearly at Jackson, to Tommy, after months of travelling and struggling for food, fighting against raiders and infected, Joel had made it his personal mission to keep you safe, to get you to Jackson. They had to make it today, before the sun fell, they were struggling for rations, between them, they had a can of baked beans left, two decades old and barely edible, it's clear to Joel that you’re losing hope.

“I know, not long, right?” You manage to reply after a few moments of thinking to yourself. The two of you had been surviving on scraps for weeks, you couldn't remember what it was like to eat a proper meal. For your stomach not to grumble and ache in hunger.

“When we get to Jackson they’ll have a bed for us, a real bed, probably a proper shower too, an’ food. Somethin’ for us to look forward to.” He glances your way, attempting to lift your spirits.

A crack of a smile stretches your lips, thinking about hot water, a real warm meal. “I don't remember the last time I had a real shower.”

“You’ll be able to finally wash that grease out of your hair too,” he mutters under his breath with a cheeky grin. He could only wonder how bad the two of them must smell at this point. Hes probably grown accustomed to the smell of his own putrid stench. A mix of grease, gunpowder, blood, dirt and body odour. You never complained though.

“Like you can talk, the stench coming from you is foul, old man.” A playful jest comes from you, one that makes joel smile, before feigning offence, he brings his hand to his chest as he scoffs. “Like you're any better.”

His lips turn into a genuine smile as the two of them share a light hearted moment, something that feels like it had been weeks since had happened – he can't help but admit to himself that.. it feels nice. That he enjoys seeing this side of you, that he could be the one to make you happy.

The playful smile on your face slowly slips into the same tight line it had been for weeks on end. The monotonous expression Joel had become so accustomed to.

“Whats on your mind? Somethin’ botherin’ you?” Joel asked, sensing that something was off with you.

“Hm? Oh, no I'm good, just get stuck in my head sometimes I guess.” You manage to excuse yourself.

He knew very well what that was like, he himself spent a lot of time stuck in his head, they were more alike than he had anticipated. “That’s alright, I understand.” He reassures her.

You can't help the way you feel something for him, noting the way his hazel eyes always softened when he looked at you, his voice soft. But the constant fear nagged you, about the age gap, he was in his forties, and you only in your mid twenties. Did he see you as a kid? Did he see you as a woman?

Joel always tried to remind himself that you weren't a little girl, even with the evident age gap between the two, he still saw you as a capable, beautiful woman. He couldn't deny the way he felt when he was the one to make you laugh, those beautiful eyes of yours and how expressive they were. He couldn't deny he felt something for you, which puzzled him, it was a feeling he thought he would never experience.

The snow begins to fall heavier, and with how long they had to go to Jackson, Joel knew it would be best if they stopped for the night, to try and find some shelter for them, for her. As if an otherworldly god hears their thoughts, a small cabin comes into the near distance. You hope wordlessly that Joel would offer to stop for the evening. If not, begrudgingly for a few hours, at least.

He motions for you to follow him, in the direction of the cabin. “That looks like a safe place to camp for the night, whaddya think?” To Joel, this was an easy decision, he was tired of seeing you shiver when you camped outside, clutching to the sleeping bag for a sliver of warmth, the thin material never did much to sooth your chattering teeth. He doesn't want you sleeping outside ever again, if he had any say over the matter.

“You think it’s safe?” Your eyes scan the area, it looks abandoned.

Joel nods as he cracks open the door, scowling as the door creaks open loudly. He leads the way inside the empty cabin, he does a quick scan of the place before he steps inside, out of the snow. Its a fraction warmer inside, something you can appreciate as you close the door behind you.

“Stay close.” He whispers, keeping an eye out, the cabin was clear after searching for a few minutes, it’s a small area, a broken lounge in the same living space as the kitchen. The floorboards in the corner are starting to rot due to a leak in the roof, some of the snow falling through to the inside of the cabin. “Looks like we're all good in here, I’ll look around and see what I can find, we’ll sleep here for the evenin’.”

You shrug off the heavy pack that had been clinging in the same sore spot for hours on end, shoulders aching dully as you roll them, reaching your hands back to massage the sore spots. Your fingers are cold and stiff as you unclip your sleeping bag from your pack, setting it up in the small kitchen area, away from the corner that has a small leak in the roof.

“This place ain't so bad, better than most places we been sleepin’.” Before Joel can relax, he eyes a bookcase, it's large enough to cover the front door, with one push it topples over, with a grunt, the bookshelf falls securely over the front door, keeping them safe inside.

You look around a little in the kitchen, seeing some old trinkets covered in a thick layer of dust, a windchime, it creates a beautiful twinkle as your fingers caress the cold material, clanging against each other. Going through the draws, you have a look at a faded image, picking it up to inspect it, your heart drops, the image depicts a young family, two parents and a small baby, all smiling into the camera, in this very kitchen where you stood now.

You can’t help but wonder how long ago they resided here. If they were still alive.

“Must’ve been a family’s cabin…” His eyes glance at the photo as he leans down to rummage through the cupboards, finding a few cans of veggies that had been left behind, he sets it down on the bench next to you. “We made out pretty good on food this time. Are you hungry?”

Shakily, you return the photo back to where you found it. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“You okay?” He asks, sensing the uneasiness in your voice. He grabs the tin cans of food and skillfully pops the lids open with his knife, handing a can of food to her. He nods towards their sleeping bags and they both sit down on the floor, he can't ignore the ache in his back and knees as he stretches his legs out on the floor. He tried not to think about it, sitting here with you on the hardwood floors eating out of a two decade old can of veggies was nothing worth complaining about, compared to the hell you two had endured over the months.

They were together at least. They made it this far.

“Yeah, I guess. Just doesn't get easier, you know? Thinking about it. They had a baby.” Hesitantly, you start eating with Joel, who seems silent.

He eventually nods in agreement. “Not everyone makes it.” He speaks quietly, even after all this time, he still mourns, he's been reminded of his loss time and time again, the image of the family was no exception.

They eat in silence, and you set the empty can beside your sleeping bag, sighing as you snuggle into the little warmth it provides. “Try and get some rest, we’ll head out at first light.”

“Goodnight Joel.”

He watches you settle, a small grunt escapes him as he keeps his rifle close, he leans against the wall. “Goodnight darlin’.”

“I'm sorry about your daughter Joel.” You whisper, before sparing him a glance and rolling over away from him. Joel watched you, the words pierce him, memories of his daughter haunt him, but he can't blame you. “Yeah, me too.” He mutters under his breath.

Joel stays awake, he's too restless to sleep at the thought of Sarah, losing her, relieving the pain and anguish of twenty years without her. Yet, the pain was as palpable as it was the night it happened.

The sun rises, and Joel rolls his sleeping bag, clipping it onto his pack. He notices you stirring awake. “Mornin’.” He grumbles tiredly. He stretches his neck, a loud crunch fills the air. “We should get goin’. I want to get to Jackson before midday.” He groaned as he stood, his knees clicking into place, worn and aching, the cold didn't help.

You wipe the sleep from your eye and pack the sleeping bag up quickly, not wanting to make Joel wait, he seemed pretty restless. Joel shoves the bookshelf off the door, opening it and takes a weary step outside into the daylight. He couldn't wait to see Tommy, he couldn't stop thinking about a shower, and a decent meal. They had been surviving in the wilderness for so long, Joel wasn't sure what he would do being back in civilization.

You pause in the doorway, watching Joel walk outside, his worn boots crunching in the fresh snow. “Just.. just wait a sec.” You wearily call out to him, looking back inside the cabin.

“What is it?” Joel asked, stopping in his tracks, turning to look back at you, a confused look on his face. You take a few quickened steps back into the cabin, pulling the drawer out to find the photograph of the family, before rushing outside to meet Joel. “Someone should remember them.”

Joel looks between you and the cabin, wondering what on earth you were doing. “Whaddya mean?” He asked, his voice gruff and full of confusion. He stands there for what felt like forever, watching as you return with the faded photograph in your hand. He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

You shove the photograph into the back pocket of your jeans. “Ready to go?”

Joel looks at you, a serious expression on his weathered face. “Yeah.” He motions for you to continue walking, he tries to push behind the thought of the family as they walk from the cabin. For some reason, there was a warmth in his chest, at your actions, something so miniscule could show the kind of person you were. Perhaps not all hope was lost with someone so compassionate like you left in the world.

It was relatively quiet between the two of you for the rest of the trip, only a few miles, the snowfall had come to a halt overnight, so the snow wasn't much of an obstacle, being so far away from any town, there were near to no infected, nor other people.

Finally, ahead, there it was. They had finally made it to Jackson, to Tommy.

“Shit. This is Jackson?” You ask in wonder, taking in the heavily fortified walls, the men patrolling on the walls with rifles. A haven.

“Sure as hell looks like it.” Joel felt himself finally relax, for the first time in months, even if only for a moment, they had made it. “C’mon, we can get inside before the snow starts comin’ down again.” He picks up his pace towards the gate.

“Are you sure they'll let us in?” You knew Tommy was here, but the anxiety of being turned away was palpable. Joel glances back, reassuring you with a small smile. “Dont worry darlin’, Tommy knows we’re comin’.”

The gates open, and the hinges whine in protest.

“Joel, you ugly bastard is it really you?” A southern voice calls out, as the gate opens, and you watch as a man embraces Joel, similar in looks, if anything, less grey hair. “The hell took you so long?” The man asked, a joyous tone in his voice as he embraced Joel.

“Yeah, were not easy but we made it.” Joel huffed out a laugh. Tommy waves his hand, a brief gesture for the pair to follow him inside. Tommy looks over Joel’s shoulder as they walk. “Who’s this?”

You stand behind Joel, a meek smile on your lips as you introduce yourself. Tommy smirks at Joel. Joel's face reddened, his younger brother’s stare made him heat up.

“Just get us set up Tommy.” Joel muttered, avoiding the amused gaze from his brother. Tommy’s wolfish grin doesn't slip. “Sure thing, follow me.”

The odd interaction does not go missed as you watch the pair, following them to a house that Tommy had organised specifically for Joel. Tommy lets them into the house to look around and Joel speaks up. “We've been out in the wild for a long while, and we're happy to finally be able to settle down for a bit.” Joel explains, looking at Tommy.

“I can imagine. Well, i'll leave ya alone to settle in for now. Were havin’ a get together later tonight at the hall, you should come. It’ll be good for you to spend some time away from each other for a bit.” Tommy jests.

You look between the two men, confused. “So where am I going to be staying?” You knew that Joel would probably want to be away from you, now that he had done his part in bringing you here safely.

Joel's head snapped in your direction and he stared at you for a moment. “With me.” He said, a little too quickly. “You'll be staying with me, here.” Joel’s eyes dart back to Tommy as if he was warning him against some smart arsed response. He looked a little embarrassed.

It didn't take an idiot to notice the glance you and Joel shared. Tommy smiled ear to ear as he watched the interaction between you two. “Alright.. Well you two can get settled here. Holler at me if you need anything, alright?”

As Joel nods, Tommy steps outside the house, leaving the pair alone again. Setting your pack down, you admire the house. “Nice place..”

Joel hums, nodding in agreement, setting his pack down next to your own. “Its alot nicer than where we've been campin’. And there's electricity.” Looking at the light Tommy had flickered on when he walked in.

“You mean we can shower?” Joel grins in amusement at your sudden excitement. “Hot water and all princess, why don't you go on and have the first shower?” The bathroom itself was simple, but it felt surreal to have electricity and running water.

“Are you sure?” Joel nods, “I can wait, its all yours.”

Joel closes the bathroom door behind you, and explores the bedroom, ruffling through the closet as he decides what to wear to this stupid get together tonight.

The hot water feels incredible, soothing the aches in your body, as you lather the vanilla scented soap, spreading the suds to wash the grime off your body. The colour of the water that runs down the drain is appalling, dark brown from grease and dirt. The shampoo is fruity, and a divine smelling scent you hadn't ever smelt in your lifetime. Lathering the clear concoction, you take your time to scrub the grease and disgusting things that stick to your strands of hair and scalp.

Its almost painful to shut the water off, but you know that Joel deserves to experience the hot water too, stepping out, you run your hand over the fogged up mirror, and hardly recognise yourself.

You slip on the clothes that had been provided for you, dark wash jeans and a long sleeved, tight fitting brown shirt. It accentuates your body shape wonderfully.

You look like a brand new woman as you emerge into the bedroom seeing Joel sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey.”

Joel looks up at you, his eyes widening as he takes in your form. You were even more beautiful than before, you looked radiant. He quickly stood, clearing his throat and he tried to keep his composure. “Hey darlin’.” He manages to utter out, his voice a little low.

Your cheeks warm under his intense gaze, hazel eyes roaming your body. “You gonna have a shower before we go?”

Joel glances down at himself, he now looked completely filthy compared to her, realisation sinking in.

“Y-yeah I think I will.. I can wash up in a minute.” As he looks back up at you, he notices your lingering gaze on him.

Were you checking him out too?

The tension is broken as Joel walks to the bathroom, taking his turn for the shower. Your mind wonders as the water runs, wondering what Joel looks like under all those clothes, if the hairs on his chest travel all the way down his torso, wondering if his tanned skin is the same delicious colour all over. A soft groan echos through the bathroom, gartering your attention, ears perking at the wonderfully intimate noise.

Something inside of you tingles in excitement at the thought, it's a hard thought to squash as you put your boots on. Joel's hair was damp, slicked back, the greying strands on his temple looked lighter than ever. The green and red flannel shirt hugged his torso and arms snugly, the jeans looked a size too small, clinging to his thick muscular thighs. His hazel eyes stared down at you as you looked him over, admiring him, he cant quite read the expression on your face.

Now it was your turn to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Ready to go?” Joel was still trying to come out of his haze as he stared at you, still trying to process the way you were checking him out. “Y-yeah…” He muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, let's.. Let's go..”

The hall is set up nicely, small bulbs hang from the ceiling emit a full yellow hue, there's an old record player, with vinyls underneath the bench it’s set up on, the melody of an old song echos through the hall as they walk in together, they gain some looks, from people dancing, young and old. Joel is brought into another hug by Tommy as he greets them. “Hey, look at you!” Tommy grinned. “You clean up nice.”

You silently agree, Joel looked as handsome as ever.

Joel's face runs hot as he hears Tommy’s tease, turning a rosy pink across his cheeks. He quickly brushed it off, rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to maintain his composure. “Shut it, Tommy…” Joel muttered. Tommy grinned as he watched his brother's reaction, his eyes then shifting to you. “And you… look beautiful tonight.”

Joel watches your reaction to his brother's compliment, seeing you squirm a little. “Thanks Tommy. So… what exactly is this?”

Tommys grin remained as he motioned for you both to follow. “It's a get together, we do them to blow off a little bit of steam every once in a while, you know how it is.” Joel grunts in annoyance, not enthralled by the idea of being social, nor in the judgemental gaze of the community folk.

Your eyes follow the couples as they dance to the music. A sense of yearning overcomes you, wishing it were you and Joel dancing so intimately. It's something Tommy notices.

“What, you want to dance, girl?” He asked, a mischievous grin on his lips. Joel's eyes widened as he tried to get his attention. “Tommy…” He muttered in warning, his voice a low grumble.

You didn't decline tommys suggestion. “You offerin’?” Perhaps, if anything, you would be lucky enough to make Joel jealous.

Tommy nods, taking you by the hand as he drags you to the makeshift dance floor, away from Joel. “Of course.”

Joel could feel the annoyance bubbling up inside him. He wouldn't admit that he was starting to become jealous at the sight of his brother dancing with you.

You and Tommy dance, occasionally sneaking glances at Joel, who still looked unimpressed by the situation. Tommy laughs whenever he sees Joel’s scowling face, enjoying winding his brother up. Tommy took his turn to tease you. “So… what's it like travelling with my grumpy ass brother?”

“He's not grumpy with me.” You answer simply. This, Tommy raises a brow at. “Oh really?” He glanced over her shoulder at his brother, who was now glowering at the pair. “Looks real grumpy to me..” He teased, letting out a small chuckle.

“Only cause you're pickin’ on him.” You counter.

“You're probably right.” It wasn't uncommon for Tommy to tease his older brother like this, the more he saw how annoyed Joel was becoming, the more he wanted to keep this up.

“I like him, alot.” You murmur between the two of you. Tommy’s teasing expression dies down, shifting to an expression of empathy. He was quiet in thought for a moment before he spoke. “I can tell…” he glances at joel. “He's got it bad for you too.”

“Thats a lie if I’ve ever heard it, Tommy Miller.” You scoff.

Tommy’s brows furrowed a little as he scoffs as your disbelief.”You can't seriously tell me you're that naive, it's obvious he likes you, girl.” Joel's gaze darkens, eyes fixated on them from across the hall.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“Have you seen the look on his face? He's got this…” Tommy gestured to his own face. “...stupid look on his face since we've been dancin’. And he's lookin’ like hes seconds away from murderin’ me.”

You shrug. “He's just protective of me.”

“And how do you two interact?” Tommy asked. “Like, he dont seem too fond of me touchin’ you.” Joel's eyes flicker down to the way his younger brother's hand held your waist.

“I’m guessin’ you got some kind of plan, then, to prove me wrong?”

Tommy’s face lit up when you say this. “What do you think, girl? Are you up for it?”

A groan leaves your lips. “What’re you thinkin’?”

Tommy smirks, gently and suddenly twirls you, bringing you flush to his chest, the action makes Joel scowl. “We’re gonna piss him off just enough for him to come over. Sound good?”

You don’t miss Joel's reaction, maybe it did mean something..

“Okay, let's see what you got.”

Tommy grins, he pulls you close to him, dipping his head down to your ear, whispering. “You tell me if he gets too annoyed for yer likin’... I don’t wanna cross no boundaries.”

Tommy is an impressive dancer, you admit, and as nice as it is to be spun around the dance floor, your mind wonders what it would be like to dance with Joel, how he would hold you, where he would place his hands, how firm his grip would be.

Tommy dips you, making sure to keep a tight grip around your waist, and his body as close to yours as he could manage without dropping you, Tommy leans in, his nose close to yours. “Bit dramatic don't you think?” You mutter, eyeing tommy. There was a chance Joel would kill Tommy for this, and Tommy leans in, as if he was intent on kissing you.

That was it for Joel, he reached his breaking point, watching as his younger brother's actions grew more bold and more suggestive. As soon as he saw how close you two were, how intimate that moment looked, he pushed his way through the dancefloor, barging people that were dancing to get to them. Tommy’s plan seemed to work, getting the reactive reaction out of Joel, your eyes widened as Tommy straightens you up, the older Miller brother approached them.

“Now you've done it.” You mumble.

“Oh no, what have I done?” Tommy teases. Before he could say anything else.. Joel yanks Tommy’s shoulder, separating him from you.

Joel lets out a low growl, pushing Tommy further away from you. “What’re you tryna pull, Tommy?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Tommy protests, shrugging his shoulder out of Joel's grasp. “I’m not pullin’ nothin’. I was dancin’ with the girl, is that a crime?” Joel grits his teeth together, trying to stop himself from punching his own brother.

“He wasn't doing anything Joel.” You murmur softly, trying to calm the man down, but it seems to only agitate Joel that you seemed to defend Tommy’s actions.

His nostrils flare as he looks at you. “You're takin’ his side then?”

“Hey, come on, it ain't like that.”

His irritation grows, did you really think this was okay? That this was just friendly dancing? “You really think he was just dancin’?” He mocked.

Your brows furrow as you sense Joel’s rising irritation towards you, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “Yes, that's exactly what I think.”

Joel lets out an annoyed huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest, this was not going the way he wanted. “He was all up on you and you think this is innocent? You’re more naive than I thought.” He sneers, a low grumble leaving his lips.

It hurts, hearing Joel talk to you like this, and you shove past them before he can see the tears welling in your eyes. Tommy stops Joel from chasing after you.

Joel lets out an annoyed huff, turning to look at him. “Get outta the way, Tommy.”

“She likes you, Joel.” Tommy said, his hand not leaving his older brother's chest, needing him to listen.

Joel rolls his eyes, not believing that statement for a moment. “No, she doesn’t. She was just humouring you.” He tries to push past Tommy again.

“It was my idea joel. I thought if I turned up the heat a little you'd show her you're sweet on her.”

“...what?” Joel's face flushed pink hearing that. “You.. you were just trying to…” When he realised that this little stunt was all an attempt to show that they liked each other, it surprised him, was it so obvious?

“You know I wouldn't dream of makin’ a move on yer girl. Go on now, get her and tell her how you feel before she runs off on ya.”

Joel stares at his brother for a moment as his words sank in. Once it did, he nodded, understanding now that this was an attempt to try and make Joel admit his feelings for you. He didn't say another word as he turned out of the hall, rushing back to the home where he knew you would be.

You felt humiliated by the entire thing, by Joel being angry at you, he had never looked at you with that look of unbridled anger. It was always directed towards other people, the ones that had tried to hurt you. Never you.

Joel’s footsteps are heavy, easily recognisable to you. As he makes his way to you, where you’re packing your things into your pack, tears streaming down your swollen cheeks.

He calls your name, and you don’t respond, shoving things angrily into your pack, you know he’s at the bedroom door, watching you.

His heart sinks as he watches you, he steps closer to you, reaching his hand out to touch your shoulder, in an attempt to stop you. “Stop.” He muttered softly. “Stop packin’ yer things.”

When you don’t listen, Joel takes the pack from your hand and tosses it across the room, your possessions all spilling out into the wooden floor. “What the hell is your problem?” You snap.

“Would you just stop it?” He exclaims, frustration evident in his tone. He grabs your arm, firmly enough to garner your attention. Spinning you to look at him. “Why are you doin’ this?”

“You humiliated me!” You quip, voice trembling.

He exhaled, the warmth of his breath fans on your cheeks. “Listen..” he muttered. “Whatever you thought happened, it was the complete opposite. Tommy told me the whole plan, he was.. tryin’ to make me admit somethin’ to myself.. to you.”

Your cheeks warm as you realise Tommy snitched. “..oh.”

His large hands reach out to cup your face, turning your face upright, so your gaze would meet his own. “I care about you a lot…” he spoke after a moment, his expression softening. “I know I’m not real good at showin’ it, but I really..”

“I really do like you, darlin’.”

You sputter a response. “Tommy.. was right?”

Joel nods, his expression growing bashful as he tries to hide his embarrassment with a small snort. “Yeah.. stupid bastard was right.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to stumble over his words. “Have done since I saved ya all them months ago.” He confessed.

His hand runs through his hair again, something you’ve picked up as an anxious tick of his. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

It was a question Joel hadn’t really thought of himself, until now. “It’s hard for me to be vulnerable..” he admits. “I’m just… not really like that.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time he had trouble opening up about his feelings, but he wanted you to understand that he wanted to try, with you.

“Especially with.. the way the world is now.. I thought I shouldn’t get myself tied up in somethin’ that could just get me hurt later.”

The words that went unspoken, you understood. He was afraid of losing you. And suddenly, her eyes softened. “What changed? Seein’ me with Tommy?”

It was an embarrassing truth, one that he had to face. “Yeah..” he agreed, glancing away from you a moment. “It felt like someone was just punchin’ me in the guts. Seein’ you dancin’ with him I felt..” he groans. “Jealous.”

Unintentionally, you bat your lashes at him. “I was so convinced you wouldn’t like me, I made such a fool of myself.”

His brows scrunch together as he realises how his actions made you feel. He gently takes your face in his large hands, his thumb rubs your cheek in a soothing motion.

“Hey, you didn’t do any of that…” he murmured. “If anything I shoulda told ya ages ago.”

With his reassurance, you wrap your arms around his midsection, fisting the soft material of his flannel on his back. He doesn’t resist, although he relaxes from his tense stance, bringing his own arms around you. “How about we start over an’ I’ll do this proper?”

Your eyes widen, looking up at him. “Proper?”

He couldn’t suppress the smile creeping onto his lips, your words make his heart flutter. “Y’know.. with you as my girl…” he murmurs nervously. “If.. if you’d like that?”

“I would like that.” You accept without hesitation, your voice soft as Joel leans his chin on your head, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Don’t ever try an’ run off again. I’ll hog tie ya to the bed if I have ta.” A soft laugh leaves your lips at his threat, and you raise a brow.

“That right? Maybe I’ll take off one day, just to test you.” Joel’s eyebrows raise, a daring look in his eyes, arms tightening around you as he lifts you off the ground effortlessly, tossing you onto the plush bed.

“Yer mine now sweetheart, ain’t letting you go, ever.” He murmurs against your neck, hovering over you, pressing a small kiss to the soft skin of your temple.

“Mine till the day I die.” He growled possessively, the tender touch was a concise movement, one that contradicted his possession.

Somehow, you had disarmed him. And from now on, Joel wasn’t going to fight it.

[after-witch]

The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period and Mahito wants to run a few tests.

Word count: 3465

notes: yandere, consensual relationship, reader is on their period, mentions of other people's torture and death, humiliation relating to period, Mahito being Mahito is his own warning

It’s not often that Mahito bothers with your bathroom. Only, in the past, when you’ve been in it--naked and wet and usually mid-shower, as he apparently finds it entertaining to see what noises you make each time he surprises you. 

(Once, after comparing him to the killer in Psycho, he’d demanded to then watch the film. ‘But I didn’t stab you and you didn’t bleed chocolate syrup,’ he’d said, simply, after the scene in question.)

Today, though, he’s decided that there must be something interesting in there, because he’s spent the better part of 5 minutes rummaging--you can hear the sound of items being moved--in the closet and, judging by the sound of rustling, he’s now fiddling with the trash can.

“Hey,” he says, finally sauntering out of the bathroom. When you turn to greet him, a sarcastic remark about having fun digging through the trash on your lips, your heart stutters. 

In return, Mahito simply blinks at you.

“What’s this?” He asks, dangling one of your used pads from his hand.

The smear of dried blood in the center of the white pad feels accusatory, out of its proper context in the trash can. A bit of toilet paper sticks to the end of it, remnants of the ball you created to cover up your mess. 

“Oh fuck,” you say, reflexively. “Put that down! That’s--it’s--”

“It’s blood,” he says, giving the pad a sniff. “Smells funny though. Why’s it in your bathroom? Why’s it on this thing? When did you get hurt? Why were you hiding it in the trash?” The questions come simply, nearly rapid-fire. He probably says them as he thinks them.

Your cheeks burn something awful by the end of his questions, and your answer comes out half-stuttered. “It’s--I didn’t get hurt. I’m on my period.” 

One of his fingers is stuck to the bottom of the pad, and he peels it off deftly, holding it closer as you wish you could snatch it from his hands and forget this ever happened.

“Oh,” is what he says, eventually, with a quiet hint of curiosity. “I guess I’m lucky then. I’ve been wanting to study human menstruation for a while now.”

The word study sticks to your chest, but you aren’t able to peel it away so easily. You don’t want him to study you; don’t want to be under his scrutiny in such an obvious way. It’s easier to pretend he knows about people, about humanity, when you’re firmly playing at something closer to a normal relationship.

As if anything about this was normal. 

“Can’t you study one of your… experiments?” 

Experiments. Oh, what a simple, inoffensive word for what they really are--you shake that thought away as easily as a mosquito, though it never truly leaves the room. 

At this, Mahito’s eyebrows raise, and the edge of a smile tickles his lips. 

“Oh,” he coos. “That’s awfully selfish to say, even for you.”

He closes the distance between the two of you now, and you don’t bother resisting when he gives your chest a poke--thankfully with the hand not currently holding your used pad--and encourages you to sit back down on the sofa.

“I want to see.” Simple and clear, like most of the things he says to you. His directness with you is something that does make him stand apart from most people. If he wanted attention, he told you so; if he wanted to be left alone, the same. There weren’t mind games with him or--or hell, if there were mind games, you were too stupid to notice them and that was just fine with you, because the alternatives of your past relationships had been far worse. 

“Why?” You ask, if only to delay the inevitable.

Mahito shakes the pad on his hand, smiling a little at the way it sticks, before he peels it off and sets it on the coffee table. He sighs. “Movies never show it. They always show the woman eating ice cream or screaming at her boyfriend or cuddling with pillows, but they never show what’s actually happening down there.”

You squirm without moving.

“It’s just blood.” Your tone stays flat, uninterested. If he thinks it’s boring, he might move on. “Nothing special about that.”

Mahito’s smile reminds you of an eel. 

“Then show me.” 

It’s not a request that you can parry off, so you don’t bother; instead, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt so that Mahito won’t do it himself. You might just lose the garment entirely, if it was left up to him.

Mahito claps, then crouches down in front of you, getting far too close to your pad-clad underwear for comfort. He takes a sniff and you’d like to die on the spot.

He gives the pad a poke. 

“Why do you put this in there? What’s it called again?”

You close your legs a little--instinct--and he holds them open for you. It’s easier that way, you think. Easier when he takes control and you don’t have to fight your instincts. 

“It’s a pad,” you force out. “I put it there to absorb the blood.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Your nose wrinkles at the question. “So it doesn’t get on my clothes or everything I sit on.” A ghost of a memory pushes through your brain--blood stains on school bus seats and church pews--and you force it down.

Mahito tilts his head, and you think he’s about to ask what you’re thinking about, but instead he sighs and rests his head against the edge of your thigh.

“Humans are so squeamish.” His fingers reach up and climb up your leg, dancing on your inner thighs, towards the pad. You twitch--it tickles--and he smiles. “Does everyone use pads?” 

“No,” you say, as he grips the top of your underwear and begins to slide them down. You do move, now, but not to oppose him. It would be pointless. Instead you hike yourself up a little, so that your bare privates aren’t touching the couch. “Some people use tampons,” you finish, as if you’re not sitting here, hunched on your sofa, while a curse pulls down your underwear to get a look at what’s underneath.

Mahito glances up at you. He wants you to elaborate.

“A tampon is like a cotton stick, I guess? You put it up--there--and it absorbs like a pad. But from the inside.”

“Oh!” The edge of Mahito’s fingers play with the pad on your underwear. “I guess some of my experiments have been on their period, then. I wondered what those were.” He pouts, just a bit. “Maybe that’s why some of my experiments haven’t been working out right. I wasn’t taking menstruation into account.”

The thought has your stomach roiling. But you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it--what Mahito does, when he’s not here, and how what he does is just as much a part of him as the moments when he’s snuggling with you in your apartment or fucking you into your mattress.

When you look back at him, he’s grinning.

“You’re squeamish, too. About my work.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Don’t worry. It’s cute on you.”

With that, he gives up all pretense, and peels the pad away from your underwear in one swift motion.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Keeping it.” He sets it next to the already used pad. In contrast, the pad he’s just peeled away still has mostly brighter red blood on it, rather than the dull, brown old blood from the bathroom trash can. “I want to see how long it takes for you to bleed through your underwear. And some more things,” he adds, casually.

Oh, you think. This is too far, too weird. It’s puncturing the bubble you’ve created around you and Mahito in a way you don’t like.

“Mahito, I am not--”

In an instant, his eyes are on you. It’s a look that says, “You are,” and your lips feel like they clamp shut without hesitation. Something low climbs into your stomach and takes root there. When your shoulders slump, defeated, he pats your knee in appreciation.

“We’ll have a slumber party this week,” he tells you, voice getting more giddy as he goes on. “For three days? Four? However long you bleed.” He stands up and begins to survey your apartment, but for what you don’t yet know. “I can get a lot of experiments done in four days.” 

You don’t have the heart--or the stomach--to deny him.

--

When you were thirteen, you once got your period in the middle of class. You didn’t know it until you leaned forward in your desk to get a closer look at what the teacher wrote on the blackboard--your needed glasses at the time, and didn’t yet know it--and one of the boys behind you let out a distinct tween boy guffaw, snickering just loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dude, that’s fucking nasty.”

And then you’d felt it--wetness clinging to the inside of your black pants. And you’d scooted back, looked between your legs, and there it was: a smear of red on the dull grey chair. 

You were too embarrassed to do anything but sit back down, cheeks so hot that you began to sweat, and listened as everyone behind you began murmuring about your period. You had wanted to die for almost two weeks, and for the rest of your school career, you wore a sweater around your waist just in case you started without warning. 

That incident, as life-defining as it had been, was not as embarrassing as what you’re going through right now.

“Mahito,” you mumble, voice thick from your tightened throat. “Is this really necessary?”

Mahito, seated at a folding table he’s hauled into the living room, glances up at you. You, naked as the day you were born and perched awkwardly on top of a porcelain bowl that Mahito had shoved underneath you.

“Which part? The bowl or you being naked?”

“Both,” you blurt helplessly.

Mahito smiles. It’s such a pretty, awful little smile. “The bowl is,” he admits. His eyes leer over your body, awkward as it must look right now. “I just like to look at you.”

God help you, you feel flattered; the warm flush in your skin tingles with the new emotion. Mahito’s praises never failed to make you feel like that, even in the midst of something like this.

Mahito abandons the table and squats in front of the sofa, peering in between your spread thighs at the bowl underneath. You squirm, and he smacks the inside of your thigh sharply. You stop moving.

“I thought it would come out faster.” His tone is soft, low. Detached to everything but mild curiosity. Like a child studying an insect in a chair. “But it’s more… oozing than anything.”

“Don’t call it oozing,” you say. 

Before he can answer, a timer resting on the folding table dings delightfully. Mahito doesn’t waste time and yanks the bowl out from underneath you, leaving you to land flat on the sofa with your bare ass.

“’Hito!” You whine. “It’ll stain!” Thoughts of having to get the smeary blood out of your couch override the desire to keep your whining to a minimum, lest Mahito get annoyed with you. But, you think, it doesn’t matter much now. He’s not even paying attention.

Instead, he whisks the bowl over to the table and places it on the scale to weigh.

He sighs out something like disappointment. “It’s not that much blood at all, really. I don’t know why women complain about it so much in movies.”

He wasn’t paying attention to your whining earlier, but he does hear your incredulous intake of breath at his words. He glances back at you, confusion written on his face.

“What? It really isn’t. Now, when someone loses a limb, that’s real blood loss. And it spurts out, instead of oozing.” He nods, affirming his thoughts to himself. “That would be something to complain about.” 

“It’s not just the blood,” you say, half absent. Your mind drifts to when and where and how Mahito might see someone lose an arm. Did he cut it off? Or another curse? Did the blood droplets spray over his face? Did the person die right away or--

While you were lost in thought, Mahito left his post at the table and returned to crouch in front of you, now sitting flat on the sofa despite the inevitable stains. 

“Go on,” he says simply, all the while pushing your thighs apart with his hands. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the inside of your thighs and he leans forward to give it a lick. The awful feeling nesting in your stomach bristles. 

“Don’t.” 

Mahito blinks up at you. “I want to,” is all he says, before he does it again. 

The look he gives you--Will you try to stop me?--is met with you dropping your chin, just in time to see him smile. He gives another lick. “Tell me what else makes you complain when you’re on your period.”

You think about the sneering boys behind you at school, the way one of them tapped you on your shoulder and said, voice full of glorified condescension, “Aren’t you even wearing a pad? That’s nasty.” 

Instead, you rest your hands on your naked stomach and murmur out the answers Mahito wants to hear.

“Cramps.” You swallow, forcing yourself to taste the ghost of your milkshake from lunch this afternoon and not the bile that wants to come up. “From the um, uterus contracting. It can hurt really bad.” 

One of the girls in the class discretely handed you a pad, but your embarrassment had been so awful that you pretended not to see her, even when she waved it in front of you. “What a bitch,” she’d murmured to a friend afterward. 

“Back pain,” you continue, voice cracking. “And you can get tired. You want to eat but can’t… or you don’t want to eat at all, sometimes. It’s just… a lot of stuff.”

Your body jolts when Mahito puts his hands on your stomach--he wouldn’t transfigure you, he’s said that, and you remember his words well. But it doesn’t stop you from imagining.

“Is that why women get angry when they menstruate?” The mild glare you give him is met with the most innocent of expressions. “What? It’s what all the movies say. Though the man usually gets hit with something after he says it.” He smiles, as if daring you to hit him. You don’t.

Instead, you keep talking. Maybe it’s a way to ground yourself. Maybe you just want to talk to fill the space where dead, disfigured women, corpses created at Mahito’s whim, exist.

“Your hormones can fluctuate.” You smile a little at the forced nostalgia. “Sometimes I get really upset over dumb things. Especially when I was younger. One time, I sobbed because my mom said she was going to get fast food for dinner and she changed her mind.”

Mahito rests his elbows on your thighs, digging into them harshly. His hair tickles your skin, and you wonder, idly, if he’ll get your blood on the silver strands.

“Do you want to cry now?” He asks, almost sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Do you want to cry? No. You might, though, if things keep going the way they are. So you dig your teeth into your lip and shake your head.

“No. This is just… embarrassing, I guess.” To be naked. To be bleeding. To have Mahito sitting there, your blood on his tongue.

Mahito quirks his head, then scoots back to pry your thighs farther apart so he can get a better view of your bleeding privates.

“I don’t see why humans get so embarrassed about their bodies. It seems silly.” He rests his chin on his elbow for a moment, hums, then hoists himself up and returns to the table where he’s got a few used pads and the bowl still lined up. 

“Mahito?” You ask, while he’s tinkering with his findings. “Can I put my clothes on now. And a pad?”

“No,” he answers, voice light, without even looking behind him. “I need to put this inside you first.”

You do move to get up off the couch now, a pang of fear shooting through your stomach, but you stop when he turns around with a wrapped tampon held aloft. Where did he get it--the thought flickers, and turns into something more pressing: Why does he have it?

But you know the answer, don’t you?

“I don’t use tampons.” A useless thing to say, but you say it anyway.

He simply blinks at you, and crouches back down in front of you, parting your thighs like air.

“They’re uncomfortable,” you try, louder.

This time, he stops moving, and a little bit of hope flickers through you just long enough for him to furrow his eyebrows.

“But when I make my penis, it’s much bigger than this, and you don’t say it’s uncomfortable.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and your tongue sticks to the inside. It’s stupid to argue with him when he’s got his mind set on something. So you don’t.

When you don’t continue to complain, he nods, then unwraps the tampon and skims the back of the wrapper. At least he’s reading the damn instructions, you think, in the instant before he awkwardly shoves the tampon inside you--too rough and hard, and you whimper as it pinches  in an entirely awful way.

Mahito’s lips quirk. He checks the back of the wrapper again, tsks at himself, and pulls it out. This time, the insertion is less chaotic. It’s still sore, but no longer painful. Just… uncomfortable. 

“Aw.” He pats your thigh. “You did great. Let me start the timer!” He jumps up, hair swinging as he rushes to begin the timer for whatever phase of the experiment he’s on.

“Can I put some clothes on now?” Though you’re no longer hoping to avoid staining your sofa, it wouldn’t be awful to be a little less vulnerable in the moment.

Mahito taps his chin with his thumb, considering. Then he shakes his head. “I want you naked. But we can cuddle on your bed for this part, so you don’t get crabby!” 

There’s no time to voice a complaint or offense; he hoists you up, some of the blood that had smeared against your bottom rubbing off on his arm as he carries you into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem to mind; he simply plops you on the bed--fuck, your comforter--and hops on to wrap himself around you.

Silence stretches around you, even as he wraps his arms tighter and presses his nose against your neck.

“Are… we done after this?” You venture to ask, quiet and tired.

Mahito talks into your neck, cold breath--is it even breath?--ghosting your skin. “Oh, no. I have lots of things I’d like to find out this week.” You can feel his smile pressing into you. “You’re being very helpful, you know.”

“I am?”

Mahito hums against you, and sniffs your hair. His answer is so light and sweet, the contrast makes you feel a bit sick.

“Earlier, I’d considered just grabbing someone to experiment on instead, but since you’re being so sweet about everything, I figured I’d just use you instead.”

The dread in your stomach puffs up, its sodden hairs standing on end. 

“So you saved me from having to find at least one woman to test my questions on. Maybe two,” he adds, voice still light. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Nice?” You ask, voice hollow.

Mahito presses a smooch to your neck. “Don’t most people feel nice when they do a good deed?”

A good deed, to stand in for women who might have otherwise died horribly. For women who would have spent their time not thinking about humiliating childhood period experiences but their families--their partners, their children, if they had them. 

A good deed to snuggle with Mahito, while miles away, someone was begging for death from underneath a mass of twisted flesh.

“I guess.” Your voice cracks, but it doesn’t bother him. You suppose a lot of things don’t bother Mahito and so often, you try not to let them bother you. 

He sighs against you, and presses his hands lightly where you’d laid them earlier to indicate your cramps. His fingers dully stroke against the spot, and you wonder what it would feel like for his fingers on you not to bring mild comfort and the growing tingle of affection--but terror and pain and fear.

You wonder, too, if Mahito ever thinks the same thing.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Somewhere Only We Know

Dustin wants to know why Eddie despises you over every other member of the dark side. You're just some cheerleader, right? What could you have possibly done to incur Eddie's wrath?

Starts off with Dusty Buns POV, then Eddie then yours.

Mentions of weed, Jason being a prick, Eddie pines but won't admit it... Mdni. Vecna? Who's Vecna.

🖤💌

Dustin truly thought Eddie Munson was one of the coolest people he had ever known, Steve of course was on that list of total badasses as well.

However for all, Dustin knew of Eddie and that was a lot (the guy made his feelings loud and clear on a variety of things, conformity, Jason Carver, why metal was the superior genre of music, Jason Carver.

But in the few short months since Dustin joined Hellfire and was taken under Eddie's wing, there was one topic he wasn't so clued up on, and that was you and the mystery of why Eddie seemed to despise you above everyone else in this school.

He had tried to casually bring the topic of you up, sure you were a cheerleader and on the dark side and Eddie hated conformity and shit but clearly you had done something painful to Eddie for him to hate you like this.

Dustin wasn't exaggerating either, anytime you and Eddie were in the same vicinity of each other it was like the temperature dropped in the room and Dustin was chilled to the bone at the icy glares between you and Eddie.

Literally, the mention of your name had Eddie's eyes filling with disdain. "She's a traitor and can't be trusted, don't ask about her again Henderson" Eddie snapped during one lunch break when Dustin brought you up out of curiosity.

"Uh meaning?" he asks confused but not wanting to piss Eddie off any further. His question is ignored until Gareth answers it quietly.

"She used to be in Hellfire, then she tried out for a spot on the cheerleading squad and got in. Refused to choose between the two, said she could do both and that Eddie was being an asshole, they had a big fight and she left Hellfire. It broke Eddie's heart even though he pretends otherwise"

Well, shit. "Don't tell him I told you that dude and don't bring her up again. Touchy subject" Dustin nods and expects that's the last he will hear about you.

It's not.

💌

Eddie ignores the chatter around him while his gaze is solely focused on you. Jackson had been hanging around you constantly and for some reason, it pissed Eddie off. Couldn't he enjoy his pretzels and Yoohoo in peace without seeing such a sickening display?

If Eddie felt a twist in his gut every time Jackson got too close to you then that was his business.

"Can't they go to the bleachers and hash it out so I don't have to bring up my lunch every time Jackass decides to flirt" Eddie snaps and narrows his eyes at you, Gareth rolls his eyes and Jeff hides his snort behind a cough when Eddie's glare is aimed at him.

"Dude she's not even interested in him. He was an asshole when they dated and she got sick of him within two weeks" Jeff is apparently very informed on the matter and this annoys him even more.

"You're very informed on the dating lives of the dark side Jeff?" Jeff shrugs and mutters something under his breath, something suspiciously like he still talks to you from time to time.

This would be Eddie's next rant. Giving the time of days to traitors was not in the Hellfire handbook, just because they had pretty eyes and a sweet but deadly smile was not an excuse to break said rule.

Unfortunately, he has a deal to make, the rant would be adjourned to another time. "Gentlemen, I must leave you now to embark on a quest for gold in the deep dark woods" he bows then heads out to his spot in the woods.

Waits for ten minutes and thinks that whoever it is isn't coming. All he had to signify the meeting was a note in his locker and he's still unsure if he's walking into a trap by Carver.

Impatient and just about to give up, he gets up and then stills when he sees you walk into the clearing. What the shit... Since when did you smoke weed? He's never known you to do it in any of the time he's known you.

"Munson" you nod and he closes his gaping mouth as you join him on the table, he expects you to be tense but you close your eyes and enjoy the cool wind and the peace of just the birds singing and leaves rustling gently. He forgot how much you liked being out here.

He clears his throat refusing to get lost in memories and you sigh, open your eyes and he stares back impassively. "Surprised Jackass isn't hanging off you like a limpet" he snarks and you roll your eyes at his tone.

"Jackson' you emphasize ''needs to take a hint. Look, Megan asked me to pick up weed for the party this weekend, so we can cut to the chase" Eddie snorts, you never did have time for bullshit.

"How much do you want?" you shrug and place twenty-five bucks on the table.

"Carver is paying apparently" There is a glint of mischief in your eyes and you smile impishly. Eddie does not get lost in that smile, no way. He clears his throat and smirks.

"Well if it's Carver's money" he takes the full amount and is surprised when you unsuccessfully try to hide a smile. He sobers up and plays with his rings, looks at you briefly then speaks again.

"Uh, it's potent so just make sure that you don't get overboard" he spits it out quickly, like he doesn't care either way what you do. You pause before getting up and there's that soft smile again.

"Careful Munson, anyone would think you still care about me'' there's a sadness to your tone and Eddie watches you go. There's an ache in his chest that feels all too familiar.

💌

You loved cheerleading, the closeness you felt with the rest of the team, learning routines together and having each other's backs. The close friendship you had with Chrissy and Tina. It was senior year and the cheer squad were on the precipice of winning a trophy for the school.

In that sense your life was perfect. In other ways not so much. You hated Jason but tolerated him for Chrissy. Jackson wouldn't stop bugging you to go back out with him, even though you had barely dated him for two weeks and grew tired of his jealous and demanding behaviour.

No way were you going down that road again. Then there was Eddie Munson, who hated you and made that feeling known, he was the bane of your existence and yet you were so tired of the animosity between you both.

Most of all you were sick of Jason and his stupid superiority, boy did he never let you forget that you didn't belong with the cheer squad. He all but cornered you after lunch to rant at you for laughing at one of Eddie's stupid jokes at Jason's expense.

It was a reflex. That's all and it was funny to see Jason brought down a peg or two.

"Don't think I forget where you came from freak, you can easily go back to obscurity playing Dungeons and Dwarves with Munson and his band of geeks" Jason snaps and you meet his gaze with unwavering intensity.

"Dragons", He looks confused and you smirk ''Its Dungeons and Dragons, dumbass" you tack on dumbass at the end just to piss him off even more, how dare he threaten you? Who did he think he was?

Sometimes you wished you could just go back and be a part of Hellfire Club again, a club that so easily accepted and looked after their own. Cheerleading was similar to that but the people in your friends circle sure liked to ruin any sense of security you felt. Mostly Jason and some of his Neanderthal friends.

Jason snorts and then he slams the locker beside you hard and it rattles you but you don't show it, when that doesn't work Jason knocks the books out of your hands and they go flying and he stomps on them before he leaves.

His laughter echoes down the hallway and you shout after him that he's an asshole, gather the books as best as you can and freeze as your well-loved copy of The Hobbit which already isn't in the best state falls apart completely.

Tears pool in your eyes and you hastily wipe them away, it's just a book, it's just a book you chant in your head but it doesn't work. It's been your constant companion since you were nine and it breaks your heart to see it tattered and broken.

Ringed hands help gather the rest of your work and you whimper. Shit, not him. Not now. Hastily you wipe your tears away and stand up, meet Eddie's gaze as he holds your books for you.

He looks begrudging in helping you but slowly his features soften at your tears, he looks at the tattered book in your hand, at the faint smudge of a shoe print.

"Who...Carver did this?" he growls and you nod still seething but the anger is ebbing away to sadness.

"I've had that book since I was nine and I know I can buy a new one but it's not the same, I hate him and I hate his stupid bullshit king title. He's an asshole and his group of Neanderthal friends and he can't even get the name of D&D right and I miss...'' you swallow and Eddie's anger melts away, his gaze intent on you.

"What do you miss?" he asks softly and you figure you've already spilled out some secrets so why not indulge one more.

"I miss Hellfire and I miss y...everyone" you hurriedly say and hope Eddie didn't notice the slip ''but everyone hates me now"

Eddie gently hands you back your books and you thank him. He's silent for a moment then speaks up.

"Everyone misses you too" he is about to walk away when you stop him. Your heart is racing but you have to be sure.

"Everyone?" you confirm and he knows what you're asking, if everyone includes him. He nods and reaffirms what he said.

"Everyone sweetheart and one more thing... no one hates you" he walks away at that point, runs to catch up with one of the freshmen in Hellfire and steals his hat. A laugh bursts out from you as you watch Dustin? as he chases Eddie around the hallway.

Yeah, you do miss Hellfire...and Eddie.

♥️

When you get to your locker on Monday morning there's something jammed in your locker so that it isn't fully closed. When you open the locker, a book falls out and you recognise the cover immediately.

A new copy of The Hobbit. You pick the book up and hug it to your chest, eyes sparkling with tears. You know exactly who left it in your locker but the little note of crumpled-up paper falls out.

It's clearly ripped from a Dungeon Masters notebook. All that's on it is a small message in a messy scrawl but it makes your heart skip several beats anyway.

Since Carver ruined the first copy, I thought you might want another.

E M 🖤

💞💞💞💞💞💌

[prettyboykatsuki]

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in  when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up.  The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

__

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

__

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks.  Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

__

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while,  but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?”  You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

 These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

 He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

Oh.

__

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

 Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

__

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s  your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

__

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

__

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

__

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad  he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

__

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

__

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

[sunny44]

You have to share

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Mom!wife!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: your son thinks that Max needs to share.

I was at home, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility after a long and victorious Formula 1 season. Sitting on the living room sofa, I watched Oliver playing with his toy cars on the rug. At that moment, I caught myself thinking about how big he had gotten and how quickly time had passed. It seemed like yesterday that Y/n told me she was pregnant, and we were at the hospital watching him being born. Now he was already four years old, and I was thinking about talking to her and seeing what she thought about trying for another one.

"Daddy, can you come play with me?" Oliver asked, his voice full of enthusiasm.

"Of course, champ." I replied, smiling as I got up to sit with him on the rug.

I sat next to Oliver, picking up one of the cars. We started an improvised race, Oliver's laughter filling the room and making me laugh along with him.

Of course, he made me be myself, and he was Uncle Lando.

After a few minutes, Oliver suddenly stopped and looked at me seriously.

"Daddy, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, what's up?" I asked, surprised by the sudden change in tone.

"Why do you win all the championships? Don't you think it's a bit selfish not to share with the other drivers?"

I admit I was extremely surprised by the question. I had never thought that Oliver could see it that way.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because Mommy always says we can't be selfish, that we have to share and we can’t have everything just because we want to. But you always have the victories, and that's not fair.” he said simply, and I understood his analogy about selfishness.

"Look, Oliver, I love what I do. I love racing, and I love winning. It's something I've worked for my whole life.” I began, trying to explain.

"But, Daddy," Oliver interrupted, "if you win everything, the other drivers never get a chance to feel what it's like to be a champion. They must be really sad."

I was silent for a moment, considering my son's words. I had never thought of my victories that way, obviously, because that's not how the sport works, but I also had never thought of explaining it to him so he wouldn't think I or any other driver was selfish for winning.

"I understand what you're saying," I told him. "But Formula 1 is a competitive sport. All the drivers train hard and want to win; there's no rule that says each driver has to win once. When I win, it's because I worked hard for it. And I know the other drivers also work really hard, and when their time comes, they will win too."

Oliver frowned, thinking.

"But wouldn't it be fairer if you let the others win sometimes? That way, everyone would be happy." I smiled at him, proud that he thought that way.

"You know, Oliver, the joy of winning comes from effort and dedication. If I just let the others win, it wouldn't be fair to them either. They want to win honestly, knowing they were the best that day and not because someone let them win."

Oliver nodded slowly, understanding.

"So you win because you're the best? And they also want to win because that shows they're the best?"

"Exactly," I replied, satisfied with his understanding. "And that's what makes victory so special. Each driver has their victories, their achievements. And we all respect each other for that."

Oliver smiled, now more relieved.

"So, when I grow up and race for real, I'll train really hard to beat you!" I laughed, hugging my son.

"That's right, champ. And when that day comes, I'll be very proud of you."

After that, we continued playing with the toy cars, and about half an hour later, my wife walked through the door with her bag and a pizza box.

"Hi, my loves," she said, closing the door, and I was immediately abandoned.

"Mommy!" Oliver shouted, running to her, and she hugged him, picking him up.

"What are my two favorite boys doing?"

"We're playing Formula 1," he said excitedly, and she gave me a peck on the lips.

"Hmmm, sounds fun."

"Do you want to play with us?" He gave her those big blue puppy eyes. Y/n knows how to resist, but he always wins me over with them.

"I would love to, but I'm starving and really craving that pizza."

"You brought pizza?" he asked, excited.

"Yes, I did."

"Then what are we waiting for?" he said, starting to squirm in her arms to be put down. "I'm going to wash my hands."

And with that, he ran to the bathroom, giving me a few minutes alone with her.

"How are you?" I asked, hugging her waist as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Tired but good, counting the days until vacation." She kissed me again.

"Oliver asked me today if I didn't think it was selfish of me to win all the championships and not let the other drivers win too." She started laughing at that.

"Where did he get that from?" she asked, going to set up the pizza for us to eat.

"He asked because he thought it was unfair for me to win everything and because he thought the other drivers would be sad."

"Ugh, he's so cute," she said, and I agreed. "I miss when he was a baby."

"About that," then she looked at me, "I was thinking about having another one."

"Do you want another kid?"

"Yes, don't you?"

"I do, actually, I just didn't know if you wanted to."

"I would love to have another four," she laughed.

"That's not going to happen. If it were you giving birth, I'd agree, but since it's not," just then Oliver came in and sat in his chair, and I served him a slice of pizza and a glass of juice.

“Hmm I love pizza.” He said with his mouth all covered with sauce making us laugh.

After we had dinner as a family we all went to bed to watch a movie together.

Bonus scene!

Y/nverstappen instagram stories

“Daddy and Oli time. And yes, he looks exactly like his father, I was just carrying him for 9 months.”

[baohanhanesel]

Calling them by their Call-signs.

Mentioned: John Soap Mactavish, Simon Ghost Riley

The reader is a civilian. The scenarios are separate. The reader is not gender specific.

John Soap Mactavish

"Soap!" You shouted from the other room, which earned you fast footsteps to the said room. The door was swung open and there stood John Mactavish in all his glory.

You had a basket in your hands, leaning it against your hip and holding it upright.

John was frowning at you, unusually quiet. It was obvious he wanted you to have the first word.

You, all too aware of what you had done with the name-call, smiled innocently and started speaking.

"Do you have any black clothes I should throw in the bin?"

John audibly relaxed before cursing.

"Yer think dats funny, hen?"

"What do you mean, Soap?"

"Nae. Nae. Nae. Dats nae reserved for ya. Not when we're home."

You shrugged. You knew exactly why. Soap was who he was on duty. The man who would kill with orders and clean the field with efficiency. The name meant John was on track. That he was ready to make a run for it. And it being spoken in this domestic setting...? It made him upset. The fact you were doing it knowingly? He was annoyed.

"I don't understand, Soap. Why don't you want me to call you by your name?"

John's eyebrows furrow, and he lets out an exhausted grunt before making his way to you. He grabs the bin and just throws it to the ground before scooping you off of the ground.

You don't act surprised, you were kinda rooting for this. A grin betrays your play of innocence and stretches wide on your face.

"Soap aye? Soap. Fucking Soap? Fine. Let's go w' it."

"What--"

"Let me remind mah name, bonnie. Maybe muscle memory will help ya?"

John throws you on the bed a little roughly, and you can see just how annoyed he is.

"Wait John--"

"Och, it is John now? There we fucking go. Told ya muscle memory helps."

You grumbled, face incredibly red and a smirk accompanying it.

"Wait where are you going?!" You sat up abruptly, about to stop John because he made a move to take a step away from the bed.

"... Aye ah wasn't serious... Ah would never initiate without... ye ken... That's nae very... okay ta just throw ye like that cause lil ol' me was pished."

"John if you do not get your hands on me I swear to god---"

"Do nae have to tell me twice."

You add the clothes in the bin after.

Simon Ghost Riley.

You grab the remote and raise an eyebrow at Simon. He isn't looking at you, he is looking at his phone; scrolling away.

"Hey Ghost, you won't watch with me?"

Simon snaps his head up the moment the name is out of your mouth. He stops. Looks at you with widened eyes and a piss poor expression. What did he do?

"Sorry, love. Yes, yes I will."

"Hop close big boy." You pat the spot next to you and Simon plops himself right next to you. What did he even do?

He just sighs, throwing an arm around your shoulders and looking at the screen.

"Ghost, you think we got popcorn?"

"What did you just call me, love?"

"Ghost? Your name?"

Simon frowns. His blonde lashes flutter aggravatedly. He huffs in annoyance and slowly wraps a strand of your hair around his point finger.

"Since when I am Ghost to ya?"

"What are you saying?" You fake innocence, but don't make the mistake of looking at his face. You can't. You know how upset he must be- how annoyed he must look.

Ghost is, well, the Ghost. Ghost is cold, he is a weapon. He is a man who dug his own grave and crawled out of it like the legend he is. He is no man. He is more than that. Simon thought he had told you that. That the Ghost wasn't meant for your lips. He was always Simon with you in his house. He'd never dare to look at you when he is Ghost. When he is dirty, when he is corrupt.

The dark memories make him frown deeper. His eyes darken noticeably and you think about giving up on this name calling here and now.

"Ghost?" Simon parrots, then he laughs.He laughs, with tears in his eyes. "You think that's funny?"

"You are laughing...?"

"Call me that again."

"Simon, love--"

"No, none of that. Call me by my name."

"Are you sure I--" You turn to look at him. That's not the reaction you thought you would be triggering.... You clear your throat. Asking if he is sure is stupid. "Ghost."

"That's it, you want the Ghost?" Simon hooks his fingers all around your hair and grabs a fistful.

"Ghost, please, I was just joking." You are sweating. You look into Ghost's eyes; they are not as bright. His thoughts are not very bright either...

He grabs your hair and makes you face him, rotating your head however he likes gently with the grip he has on your hair. His lips catches yours, and immediately drowns you into a deep kiss.

The dark thoughts, the memories... All of them flicker away as if your lips was all he needed all along. His mind clears, and he can't even feel anything but a strange giddiness. He doesn't let it show on his face, or the pace of the kiss.

When you part away, you pant for air. Your lungs are burning and heart is skipping multiple beats. "My love..."

"Shhh shhh..."

It is no surprise that Ghost is a petty man. It is a surprise that it is turning you on. You swallow hard, his hand pulls your hair and positions your head however he likes. He has a go at your neck, down your collarbone and all under your jaw.

His heart is light, his mind is empty. He smiles as he presses his lips all over your warm skin.

You stop when Ghost has left your torso bare of cloth.

His eyes search for a hint of discomfort in your body, he finds nothing akin to it. Not with you. Never with you.

"Are you mad at me?" You barely manage, mind too foggy.

"I am having a good time. Are you mad at me?"

"For pulling my hair?"

"And for stripping your chest bare."

You laugh, holding his face in-between your hands. "I am having a good time, Simon."

"Y'know... I don't mind being the Ghost with you."

"No?"

"No."

[theodorenmyth]

Riddle brothers who’ve always been protective and possessive over reader who is oblivious to their behavior. One time a student was trying to ask reasserting for notes when Tom and mattheo popped up with scary expressions…the poor student almost pissed their pants😕. Like literally reader has scary dog(s) privilege. Some students might say that the reader tamed snakes metaphorically.

- 🎊anon

The Snake Tamer's Privilege

Pairings : Tom Riddle x GN! Reader x Mattheo Riddle Summary : At Hogwarts, you unknowingly wield the protection of Tom and Mattheo Riddle. Their intimidating presence keeps others at bay, leading to rumors about your ability to "tame snakes." Despite the fear they inspire, you find safety and comfort in their constant, fierce loyalty. A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : Nothing! Word count : 1k+

You’ve always thought Hogwarts was an enchanting place, with its high towers, moving staircases, and halls filled with ancient magic. It’s a world where mysteries and knowledge abound, and you’ve thrown yourself into your studies with enthusiasm. You’ve made friends, found favorite spots in the library, and discovered a love for potions. Yet, amidst all this wonder, you’ve remained blissfully unaware of the storm that rages around you.

“Hey, can I borrow your notes from last week’s potions class?” The timid voice of a fellow student pulls you from your thoughts. You look up, blinking as you recognize the boy from your house. He’s standing a few feet away, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Of course,” you say, offering him a friendly smile. “I’ve got them right here.”

You rummage through your bag, oblivious to the growing tension around you. It isn’t until you hand over the notes that you notice the student’s eyes widen in fear. He’s not looking at you anymore but at something behind you.

“Is there a problem?” you ask, turning to see what’s causing the commotion.

Standing there are Tom and Mattheo Riddle, their expressions dark and menacing. Tom’s piercing gaze seems to bore into the poor student, while Mattheo’s more casual demeanor does nothing to lessen the threatening aura he exudes.

“Is everything alright here?” Tom’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Y-yes, I was just borrowing some notes,” the student stammers, his face paling.

“Notes?” Mattheo steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not bothering our dear friend, are you?”

The student looks like he’s about to collapse. “N-no, not at all! I’ll just… I’ll just return these later. Sorry to bother you!” He practically sprints away, clutching your notes as if they might save him.

You turn back to the Riddle brothers, confusion written all over your face. “What was that about? He just wanted to borrow some notes.”

Tom’s gaze softens when he looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “We were just making sure no one’s giving you a hard time.”

“Yeah,” Mattheo adds, his tone lighter now. “You never know what some people’s intentions might be.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I think you two scared him half to death. He’s probably going to be too terrified to even look at me now.”

Tom steps closer, his expression sincere. “We’re just looking out for you. Hogwarts can be a dangerous place.”

“Dangerous?” You raise an eyebrow. “It’s a school, not a battlefield.”

Mattheo laughs, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “You’d be surprised. Anyway, let’s get you to class. Don’t want you being late because of that little incident.”

As you walk with the Riddle brothers, you can’t help but notice how other students part ways for you, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe and fear. You’ve heard whispers, of course. A group of first-years were whispering among themselves, casting furtive glances your way. You could hear snippets of their conversation.

"Do you think it’s true? That Y/N tamed the Riddle brothers?"

"Must be. I saw them scare off a seventh-year the other day."

Rumors about how you’ve somehow managed to “tame” the Riddle brothers, metaphorically speaking. They call you the “Snake Tamer” behind your back, not that you understand why.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you say, glancing between the two boys.

“Sure,” Mattheo replies, his grin widening. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why do people seem so scared of you two? I mean, I get that you’re both… intense, but it’s like they think you’re going to hex them or something.”

Tom chuckles softly. “People fear what they don’t understand. And we’re not exactly the most approachable people, I suppose.”

“But with you,” Mattheo interjects, “it’s different. You see us for who we are, not just the reputation that precedes us.”

You frown, trying to process this. “So, you’re saying people are scared of me by association?”

“More or less,” Tom says, his tone gentle. “But it’s not a bad thing. It means they won’t bother you. You have… how should I put it? Scary dog privileges.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head. “Scary dog privileges? That’s one way to put it. I just hope I don’t end up isolating myself because of it.”

“You won’t,” Mattheo assures you. “We’ll make sure of that.”

The days pass, and you become more aware of the way the Riddle brothers’ presence affects those around you. Students give you a wide berth, professors watch you with a mix of curiosity and caution, and the whispers follow you everywhere. But through it all, Tom and Mattheo remain by your side, their protectiveness both endearing and bewildering.

───────♡───────

One afternoon, you’re sitting in the library, buried in a particularly challenging potions text, when a shadow falls over your book. You look up to see another student, this time a girl, her expression hesitant.

“Hi,” she says softly. “I was wondering if you could help me with something from potions class?”

Before you can respond, the Riddle brothers appear as if from nowhere, their presence looming.

“Something wrong?” Tom asks, his voice smooth but laced with warning.

The girl swallows hard, her eyes darting between you and the brothers. “N-no, nothing’s wrong. I just… I’ll come back later.” She scurries away, leaving you staring after her in exasperation.

“Guys, really?” you say, turning to face them. “She just wanted help with potions.”

“We’re just making sure no one takes advantage of you,” Mattheo says, his tone unapologetic.

You sigh, closing your book. “I appreciate it, really, but you’re going to scare off everyone at this rate.”

Tom’s expression softens. “We’ll try to be less… intimidating. For your sake.”

You smile, touched by their concern. “Thank you. I know you’re just looking out for me.”

As you gather your things, preparing to leave the library, you can’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. Hogwarts might be full of mysteries and dangers, but with Tom and Mattheo Riddle by your side, you know you’re safe. After all, not everyone can say they’ve tamed the metaphorical snakes of the school.

[cheeeeseburger]

It might be worth it for once

Fernando Alonso x Reader

A/N: English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes! This was inspired by the song Slut!, by miss Taylor Swift! Enjoy!

You had just posted a picture on Instagram of Fernando driving you took when you were in the passenger seat, on your way to date night. You thought your caption was hilarious: “shut up and drive”, quoting the song by Rihanna. An hour later though, as the hate comments poured in, it suddenly wasn’t as funny.

Leaning on the railing of the hotel room you shared with Fernando, you scrolled through endless comments calling you names, criticizing you and your relationship. Of course, the classic “gold digger” was there. Even after four years of being publicly in a relationship with Fernando, people still didn’t get it. Even though you were used to it, it still hurt.

“Mi sol,” Fernando joined you on the balcony, pulling you into a hug from behind. He noticed that you were scrolling through the comments, “Same old, huh?”

“Always. Don’t they get tired of hating me, hating us together? It must be exhausting, after four years.” You replied, sighing.

Fernando took your phone away from you and put it in his pocket. He spun you so you were now facing him, with your back against the railing.

“You cannot let them get to you, mi sol. None of what they said is true. These people don’t know anything about us or our relationship. I love you, and that’s the only thing that matters.”

He tucked a few loose strands of your hair behind your ears, trying to comfort you. He could see that the comments had made more of an impact on you than they usually did.

“I know, baby, and I love you too. It’s just that we’ve been together for a few years now, and I had expected the hate to slow down. So what you’re older? That doesn’t change anything!” You were getting frustrated.

He kissed your cheek, wanting to calm you down.

“You’re right, it doesn’t change anything. We are just a normal couple, doing things the right way. We moved together, we’re gonna get married someday, have our own family, grow old together…” He laughed a little, “Well, I’m gonna get older earlier than you, but who cares?” He shrugged it off, not noticing your eyes were as big as saucers.

“Fernando, did you just say we were going to get married someday?”

He looked confused, and almost hurt.

“What, did you not expect us to get married someday? Or do you not want to?” He asked insecurely.

You were quick to respond: “No, no, I mean, of course, I want to get married to you! I’m just surprised that you would want to marry me!”

“Mi sol, why would I not want to make you my wife? He asked, genuinely surprised.

“Well… It’s just that I expected that you would grow tired of me one day, realize I was too young, not mature enough for you, or something like that…” You replied, looking away.

He forced you to look at him by pulling gently on your chin.

“How can you believe that I will ever get tired of you? Mi sol, I could never have enough of you. I always knew I was going to be proposing to you one day. It has been part of my plan ever since we started dating.”

You were blushing, ashamed of yourself for being so insecure: “Maybe one day you will start to believe the comments on my Instagram posts, and you will leave me because you think that I am a gold digger, or that I’m only using you for fame… Even though none of this will ever be true, of course!”

Fernando took both of your hands in his, then he exclaimed “I could never believe lies like this! Frankly, I am a little disappointed. Do you not have faith in me or our relationship?”

You gasped, realizing you had hurt his feelings: “I’m sorry baby, I did not mean in that way! I know that you love me, and I love you too. I promise, I’ve always imagined us being together for the rest of our lives, I just wasn’t sure if you shared my plan. If you didn’t, baby, I would be crushed to death. In fact, I have so much faith the future of our relationship that I already have a Pinterest board for our wedding as well as a list of potential baby names that suit the last name Alonso!” You admitted desperately, but also sheepishly.

Fernando immediately softened at your words.

“Mi sol, you have a list of names? Which ones are at the top?”

You turned a deep shade of red. “Right now, it’s Santiago for a boy, and Marisol for a girl, because it reminds me of the nickname you have for me.”

“Don't be embarrassed. These are very nice names, all in Spanish too… You’ve really thought about this huh?” He stroked your cheek, then pulled you closer to leave soft kisses on your jawline. He was clearly pleased to learn you had planned ahead.

“Of course. It’s not a simple task, it cannot be rushed.” He could hear your smile in your voice.

“Yeah? I kind of want to put a baby in you right now,” he whispered in you ear. You immediately shivered at his words.

“Me too. God, it would be so hot to walk around the paddock pregnant by a man fifteen years older than me. Everyone would know it was you that knocked me up. Everyone would know how good you treat me.” You were getting turned on by this fantasy and the trail of kisses Fernando left all over your throat. He was getting worked up too, and you could feel it on your thigh.

“I can do all of that, mi sol. Multiple times, even. I would love to see you at the races with a baby or two in your arms, and another one on the way.” He left your throat to give the same treatment to your shoulders, pushing the thin straps of you dress to the side. His hands were working efficiently too, getting access to your thighs by lifting the hem of your dress.

You brought him even closer to you by pulling him by the loops holding his belt in place.

“Baby, go ahead then. We would be the talk of the town. Oh, the scandal it would cause, especially since we’re not married.” The thought was thrilling.

Fernando went back to your neck, one hand lifting your leg and the other one on the side of your boobs.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that part. I want to make you my wife before I get you pregnant. I want you to have my last name before I give it to the baby.”

You were conflicted, but also pleased. On one hand, you really, really wanted to get pregnant as soon as possible. But being his wife before being the mother of his children was also really tempting. You teased him: “Sounds like you are ready. Pretty please, tell me, do you have the ring already?”

Your boyfriend smiled against your neck. “In the first drawer of my dresser, hidden underneath my socks.”

You shrieked: “No way!” Fernando laughed at your excitement.

You hugged him tightly. He really was serious earlier.

He answered simply: “Yes.” You kissed him, and he kissed you back immediately. The kiss was soft and tender and had a thousand words hidden in it. It was full of I love you, no I love you more. It was the kind of kiss that creates buttefly. It was the type of kiss you remember forever. After a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, the driver pulled away.

“Mi sol, I know I haven’t even proposed to you yet, but what if we went inside and practiced for our wedding night?”

You laughed and followed him inside.

A year later, it was his turn to post on his Instagram. This time, it was a picture of your wedding. Multiple songs by Rihanna could have been fitting for the caption: We Found Love, Only Girl, Love On The Brain, and many more. Ultimately, he chose a simpler one: Mi sol.

And when you welcomed your little girl, his caption was similar: Mi sol y mi Marisol. This time, the comments were pretty nice.

[dix0nvix3n]

𖤓°⋆ Chapter 1 °⋆𖤓

⋆☀︎｡Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader  ⋆☀︎｡Media: The Walking Dead; No Apocalypse & Alternate Universe ⋆☀︎｡Pronouns: She/Her  ⋆☀︎｡ Warning: Smoking (Cigarettes), One mention of weed, Talk of a bad past relationship. (That's it I think?) ⋆☀︎｡ Word Count: 2.5k

⋆☀︎｡ Author's Note: It's finally here... the beginning of my magnum opus. Even though I only have this one chapter out, there hasn't been a single day since I came up with the idea for the fic where I didn't think about it at least once. I just wanna thank all the people who let me infodump about it; y'all are true soldiers, cause I can really ramble on. Special thanks to @sinkdownbeneath for helping me write the intro because I was completely stuck for months with almost nothing to show, and being the person who let me yap the most, he can account for me pretty much talking about it every day for the past five months. So, anyway, I guess I hope y'all like my first finished something that wasn't just a blurb. Last night I only had a little over 200 words at 10 PM something, and now it's 7:44 AM with 2.5k words as I write this... I don't know what got into me, but anyway, enjoy!

June 1st, 1992

Daryl finds himself propped up against a tree, catching his breath. The cool summer air around him makes his chest ache with every breath he takes. He had been running, hearing the twigs snap and the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he darted past every tree, trying to evade potential capture from a party that had him jumping out a window when the cops showed up due to a noise complaint.

He spent much of his life within the comfort of the woodland, underneath the thick canopy of leaves and branches, the first roof he ever felt safe under.

He gasped for air, his legs exhausted and his lungs overworked, adrenaline still pulsing through him as he slid down the rough bark of a tree, pulling his legs up to his chest.

He's close to the road, hearing a solitary car cruise past. He can tell it's late from the stars that peek through the leaves that loom above him in the thick black sky, but he spots his glimmer of hope, which seems to be the soft light of a gas station just a bit beyond the road's traffic barrier closest to him.

With a deep inhale, Daryl knew he had to walk to the gas station and reluctantly call for a ride in a phone booth.

After fully catching his breath, he pulled himself off the ground and began walking towards the gas station, already dreading the thought of the phone call.

Reaching the gas station, he saw two cars; one belonged to the lone worker at the cash register inside, and the other belonged to a woman smoking a cigarette at the side of the building. The woman did a quick wave at him, which he found to be a little odd just because most people at this time of night aren't too friendly, but he gave a polite wave back anyway. 

Finally getting up to the phone booth, Daryl looked down at his watch, which read 1:00 AM, causing him to let out a deep sigh, realizing how late it was and how much of an inconvenience it would be for someone to come and pick him up. 

He stepped inside the phone booth, staring at the phone for a minute before popping in the quarters he luckily grabbed from the living room floor of the party. If he hadn't grabbed them, he'd be completely fucked and have to figure out his way back to his apartment.

After dialing the number he knew would pick up, the phone rang just a few times before a tired and clearly just woken up by a phone at one in the morning voice picked up.

"Hey, Mr. H... Could ya pick me up?"

"Thanks. 'm sorry about this; kinda just started walking and didn't stop. Ended up at some party, and now I don' know where I am."

"Yeah. Place is called Peachy Speed, never seen another gas station called this; it must be family-owned or somethin' and the closest road sign says it's on Navel Street. You know where I'm at?"

"Okay, cool. See ya in a bit. Sorry again."

After hanging up, Daryl stepped out of the phone booth with his head held down, letting out a deep exhale and running a hand through his hair until he heard a pair of feet shuffling up to him.

He looked up to see who it was, and it was you, the woman who waved at him.

"Need one?" You held out an open pack of Marlboro Reds, with only one cigarette missing from the pack.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." His thoughts stuttered for a moment because he was caught up in the fact that you came over to him. You're really pretty, and now Daryl feels like a nervous schoolboy trying to ask a girl to the prom just because of a simple gesture.

He grabbed a cigarette out of the box and reached to pull his lighter out of his pocket, only not to feel it, and checked the other pocket to have the same luck. "Shit."

You let out a small chuckle. "Need a light too?” You pulled a lighter out of your pocket and handed it over to him.

He nodded his thanks and popped the cig in his mouth before lifting the black bic with a spiderweb seemingly hand-painted on up to the end of the stick. Flicking the flame to life, he took a long inhale and handed you back the lighter, as he really took a moment to take in the sight of you. 

You were in a black tank top tucked into a pair of black ripped jean shorts. Under the pair of jean shorts were fishnets with an intricate pattern of moons and stars, and you had on a pair of slightly battered-up Doc Martens. 

As he exhaled the first plume of smoke into the night sky, he saw your kind smile, which sent a rush of warmth through his face. Your lips had a simple gloss on them, but your eyes were a different story, painted with smokey eyeshadow, sharp graphic eyeliner, and two rounds of mascara on each set of your top lashes. He also noticed the simple yet pretty titanium stud on the left side of your nose and two helix rings on both your ears.

He thought you were gorgeous, his heartbeat a slightly faster pace than what it normally rested at.

"Rough night?" You asked as you lit up a cigarette for yourself, letting out a slight gag at the taste and smell that you weren't used to, which caused Daryl to let out a small chuckle.

"Sorta. More of just hated the fact I had to call and wake someone up to come and get me. First time smokin'?" He said before he took another drag.

"How'd you know?" You said sarcastically as your face contorted in disgust a bit at the taste building up in your mouth and throat after each puff.

"Maybe try a different brand. You'll find one ya like." A small smile graced his lips as he butted off the ash at the end and took another drag. 

"Nah. Think I'm quitting after this one. I'll just stick to weed."

He let out a chuckle. "May I ask, why'd ya even start?"

You let out a small groan, running your hand through your hair in slight embarrassment. "I finally left my shitty boyfriend once and for all. I finally realized he'd never like me for the real me. I constantly had to put on this mask around him, and I finally found out that it was impossible to fix him and the fact he didn't actually like me. I know it sounds weird, but I guess my thought process was that my epiphany about him would stick with me after smoking one like a character in a movie or something." You let out a laugh. "Stupid, right?" 

He snubbed out the end of the cigarette, as it was almost a roach at this point. "Nah, it ain't stupid. A lot of my best thoughts come after smokin' one, cleared my head more times than I can count. You deserve one after the bullshit he put you through, I think. Hope the prick is havin' a shit night after realizin' he's lost you cause ya seem awesome to me so far."

You felt warmth begin to rise in your cheeks at his words. "Thanks. I know I deserve better. I'm just pissed; it took me so long to realize it. So, anyway, what's your name? I can't believe I haven't asked yet."

"Name's Daryl; what's yours?"

You had a few good puffs left of your cig but decided to snub yours out as well since you didn't like it anyway. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Daryl. My name is (Y/N). Do you wanna come sit with me at my spot against the wall? My most likely melted slushy is calling my name to get this taste out of my mouth." 

"Yeah, I can. Might be a bit till my ride gets here, so I might as well sit down." He started walking to your spot, and you followed in tow. 

When you got back to your spot, you looked down at your slushy on the ground. The dark purple concoction of blue raspberry and cherry slushy combo was completely melted. "Goddammit." You didn't fully care though; you paid for that slushy, because you were stubborn it meant you were going to have all of what you paid for, so you drank down the rest of the sugary liquid with a satisfied sigh. It was luckily still cold, at least, and it was just what you needed to get the taste of the cigarette out of your mouth.

As time passed, you and Daryl talked about whatever came to mind as you doodled some intricate pattern on the front of the pack of the Marlboro Reds with a sharpie, ultimately moving to the back when you ran out of room. You found out that he works as a mechanic for motorcycles and cars at a nearby auto body shop, that he rides a motorcycle that he built himself a few years ago, that he loves to hunt on occasion, specifically with a crossbow, and that he ran from the cops at a house party tonight.

You knew your short time with Daryl was up when you saw a 1987 Ford Sierra MK2 pull into a parking spot at the gas station, and Daryl stood up, doing a quick stretch. The man in the car smiled and made a small wave at you, and you did the same back.

"It was nice meetin' ya, (Y/N). I'd talk more, but I don't wanna keep him up any longer." He said as he gestured a hand towards the man who came to pick him up. 

"It was nice meeting you too. Thanks for talking to me, Daryl." You pulled the pack of cigarettes from your pocket and held them out to him. "Take these. You need them more than me. Plus, I just quit." You grinned at him as he took the box from you. 

"Holy shit, thank you." He smiled back as he placed the box in his own pocket and slowly started walking backward towards the car. "Hope ya have a good night and that Nick the dick has a shit one. 

You let out a laugh at the nickname Daryl gave your ex-boyfriend and waved him goodbye with a "You too." You leaned your head back against the wall, staring up at the night sky as your eyes finally began to feel tired, knowing you should head back to your friend's apartment soon and try and get some sleep before your nine AM shift. 

Once Daryl got in the car, he let out a quiet sigh as he looked out the window at you, wishing he dared to ask for your number. You were the first good conversation he'd had in a while, and his schoolboy-like crush on you kept growing the whole time you talked.

"So, who's that?" The man said as he shifted the car into gear, Daryl noticing the grin on his face.

"A girl that started talkin' to me after our call. Name's (Y/N)." He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, mindlessly tracing the pattern of doodles you did.

"You ask for her number? The car was now beginning to be backed out of its parking spot.

"Nah. Mind if I smoke?" Daryl shook the pack and began looking for one of the lighters he left in the glove compartment a few weeks ago. 

The man shook his head with a slight sigh and said, "Go ahead." He wasn't shaking his head over Daryl wanting to smoke, but over the fact he wouldn't ask for your number when he obviously liked you, but he knew he couldn't push him; he understood Daryl's nature.

Daryl looked back out the window at you, opening it as he blew out the first cloud of smoke. He then looked back down in his lap where the box lay, flipping it over to the back to see what you had drawn there as well. His breath hitched as he saw it. On the back was your phone number, and above it said, "Call me" with a smiley face. 

The tips of Daryl's ears were beet red, and he tried to hold back his face from turning the same color. He looked back out the window at you to see you grinning at him this time, to which he smiled and waved goodbye to you as the car pulled out of the lot. In Daryl's twenty-three years of life, he could say that this night was one of his best.

"Daryl, why'd you call me Mr. H again? Son, you've known me for five years; how many times do I gotta remind you to call me by my name? It's Dale for you."

Daryl let out a small cloud of smoke this time, wanting to savor this one on the peaceful ride back. "I'll tell ya again, it happens when I'm nervous; didn't wanna wake you up, s'all, and you still are my boss after all."

"Daryl, you're like a son to me, and I told you to never be nervous if you need help, and that includes coming and picking you up in the middle of the night if needed. I'm here for you." Dale placed his right hand on Daryl's shoulder, keeping his left on the wheel as he squeezed his shoulder lightly before returning it to the steering wheel.

"Now, it's not Mr. H or Mr. Horvath, son. It's Dale."

Daryl rolled his eyes playfully. "Yes, sir," he joked, letting out a chuckle.

It was the next day around 10:30 PM when Daryl picked up the phone on his nightstand and finally called the number you gave him, nervously wrapping the cord around his finger. The phone only rang twice before the other end picked up, "Hey, is this (Y/N)?" 

The inner teenage girl in your brain screamed in excitement, so happy that he finally called. "Omg, Daryl! I was wondering when you were gonna call me. I've been waiting since I got off my shift."

"Didn't know if you worked a mornin' or a night shift, and I didn't wanna leave too many voicemails on your friend's phone."

"Yeah, I worked a morning shift at the diner today. I got off at five. Morning shifts are the fucking worst." You're lying on your stomach on the couch, playfully curling the phone's cord around your finger and kicking your feet back and forth in the air.

You and Daryl talked for an hour, mainly talking about the shitty customers you dealt with today, sounding especially frustrated about the woman who yelled at you just because the diner was out of unsweet tea that you couldn't do anything about because the place was also out of tea bags to make more. What did she want you to do? Just up and leave your job and go buy the tea bags, your fucking self?

"Even though I don't want to, I gotta go to bed 'cause I have another morning shift tomorrow. I get off at five, so call me around six-thirty, okay?" 

"I get off at five too. Works for me. Goodnight, (Y/N)."

"Goodnight to you too, Daryl."

The call ended, and you both looked up at your respective ceilings, smiling as warmth bloomed through your faces. You both slept well that night, falling asleep to the thought of calling each other tomorrow.

⋆☀︎｡ Extra author's note: Here's what Dale would look like in 1992, I took Dale's age of 64 from the show since the apocalypse started in 2010 so he'd be 46 in 1992. I think this picture of Jeffrey Demunn is from when he was 43 maybe? I can't remember but that's close enough to 46 and even if he isn't 43 in the image he fits the look of someone in their mid-forties. Just imagine him without the cowboy hat, okay? There's not a lot of pictures of him when he was younger.

⋆☀︎｡ Taglist: @mrdixon , @yevmarie , and @shadowcitrine

⋆☀︎｡ Divider creds: @ saradika, go check her account out! She has some very cute dividers!

[aka-indulgence]

Imminent Threat: Baby Pictures Confirmed!

I was bitten by the inspiration bug and I do love this idea a lot, heheh…

Wanna see what happens if HT!Sans catches a glimpse of your baby pictures?

(HT!Sans x Female!Reader)

(No warnings just be prepared for silly, fluff, and cute (aggression))

——————

Sans twiddles his thumbs, watching you leave with the dishes into the kitchen. Your parents had forbidden him from doing the dishes.

“You made us this wonderful meal! It’s her turn on the chores anyway,”

“What! I come home to see you and you’re just making me do chores?”

“Yes! It’s to catch up on all the chores you missed these past few months! Hahahah!”

He turned to you and whispered a pathetic little “sorry,” but you waved him off.

“It’s ok, I’m used to it. Might as well treat them since I can’t cook like you, right? Keep them company.”

So here he was, sitting on the table, feeling like he was going to expel the meal he just ate, watching your parents wipe their lips with tissue like they were about to interrogate him.

“So, how’s living with (Y/n) like?”

“good.” no no. too fast. talk more. “she…… she’s nice.”

nice? is that all i have to say about her?

“Ah. That’s good to hear,” your dad replies, taking a sip of tea from a mug.

…

i guess if i said the other things i thought of her, they’d probably want to take her away from me.

“Hey, I hope she’s more active than how she used to be. She used to stay home for days, and we’d have to remind her to go outside and get some sun!” Your mom chortles, and Sans rubs the back of his neck.

“a… actually… she’s the one that wants to leave the house now. i don’t… like leaving. the house is nicer.” Sans forces a grin, but he can’t tell if it’s coming off as awkward or spine-chillingly horrifying.

He can’t gauge how your parents reacted. Your dad smirked, and your mom tilted her head. What does that mean? Do they not approve? Sans usually prides himself in being able to read people like a book- even after the head injury. But his skull is full of thoughts.

“I imagine you’d have to stay at home to hone that cooking skill, then?” Your mom offered, “that stew was amazing! The blend of herbs and spices, the broth wasn’t too thick or thin, and the meat was cooked to perfection…”

Your dad chuckles. “I don’t know about cooking as much as my wife does, but I’ll tell you what, that’s one hell of a stew you’ve got. You could probably start a restaurant,”

“heh… heh you think?” His grin turns more genuine as his cheeks turn a tinge of dark blue.

“How did you learn to cook so well, Sans? Did you go to culinary school?” Your mom pries.

“oh… no actually, i learnt it all myself,” Sans explains, “back in the underground we didn’t have much to go on but we didn’t want to eat something completely tasteless so i learnt how to make things taste good with what we had…”

Sans realizes too late that maybe he brought up the underground a bit too casually, because all of a sudden your mom looks stricken with guilt, and your dad looks awfully uncomfortable.

“O-oh, I’m so sorry Sans, I didn’t mean to…”

“no no. i-i brought it up, you don’t have to apologize,”

Is he smiling too much? Should he be frowning? Wait hold on he’s looking at your mom too much, he should look at your dad now. Oh he’s looking away…

Why was he so bad at this? He’s relied on looking scary and stopping everyone from trying to talk to him. B-but he likes your parents, they’re nice, some of the few humans that actually look past his scary face and see him as… sort of harmless?

Your dad broke the silence.

“Yes, I’ve always tried to make the most of my meals. Like when I have crumbs I’d toss them near the anthill we used to have in the backyard. Hahah, one time when (Y/n) was very little she saw me throw breadcrumbs and asked me what I was doing. I told her I was feeding the ants, and she must have been really impressed with that idea… because,”

Your dad got into a fit of giggles, and Sans perks up.

“Tch… hih! Because the next day I found her standing in front of the anthill… with bread on top of it. Whole wheat, whole bread slice. I asked her what she was doing! And she said ‘I’m feeding the ants!’ She looked so proud I had to take a picture of her! I think I have it on my phone,”

Sans mouth opens. He all but quaked in his chair, having to physically restrain from grabbing your dad’s phone.

“m-m…” Sans coughs trying to regain composure, “may i see it,”

“On it, just… give me a sec…” Sans watched as your dad scrolled and scrolled, until…

“Found it,”

He turned his phone around.

There you were, no older than 3, in a little bucket hat, sleeveless shirt and shorts, with tiny flip flops. You had a bright, sunshine smile on your face, and humorously… a slice of bread sitting amidst the grass and dirt just a foot or two away from you.

Sans’ eyelights shrinks, his grin gone. Carefully, he takes the phone out of your dad’s hands and zooms in on your face. You had dimples in your cheeks, and they… they looked so plump like little squishballs. Your eyes were round and sparkled in the sun. His hands shook.

He must’ve looked unhinged.

“What do you think?” Your mom asked.

“sh…… she’s so small……” Sans breaths, then swallows, turning to your dad. “d… d’you… do you have more…?”

Your dad snorts, his arms crossed. “‘Do you have more’ he says,” he scoffs. “Kid, we have an entire baby album.”

****

You tuned out of the conversation in the kitchen, earphones plugging your ears, a tried and true ‘dish washing’ playlist playing as your background music. It was a nice break. You’re happy to see your parents again, but they can be a bit overbearing at times… ask Sans odd questions about monsters, sometimes mention how tiny you look next to your boyfriend (which had Sans hiding his face… they thought he was offended but he was mortified, worried your parents were hinting at how he was like with you in private).

Though you certainly didn’t miss doing chores back home, you did see it as a bit of a reprieve.

But then over the music, you heard laughter… loud laughter. It didn’t sound like your dad. And Sans doesn’t usually laugh that hard. It started soft at first but it got louder and louder, until you were sure that was Sans. What were they doing to him? It almost sounded like they found his most ticklish bone and was torturing him with him.

A laugh startled you so bad you almost dropped a clean plate onto the floor. You took off an earphone just in time for your mom to walk in.

“Hi dear, this is your dad’s, he’s finished his tea. You don’t have to wash it if you don’t want to…”

“Yea, ok-” you say, distracted and looking over your mom’s shoulder as if you could see what was causing all the ruckus. “What is happening???”

“Oh,” your mom laughed, “Sans is such a sweet, delightful monster. Your dad’s showing him your baby pictures-”

“Excuse me my WHAT?!!”

You threw the gloves onto the sink counter, washed your hands hastily, and yanked the other earphone off, tossing them haphazardly into a pocket. Tripping over your feet to sprint into the room, though you realize you’re too late.

Sans is vibrating on the sofa, having migrated from the table it seems. His eyelight was blown wide, the widest you’ve seen it, glued to the open book in front of him. Your dad flipped a page, looking unaware of the murderous skeleton next to him.

“And here… oh this was on a trip to the beach. She’d gotten scared of water because of a wave too big had brought her out from shore and her legs couldn’t reach the sand. It wasn’t out to sea or anything, but when you’re that small it must’ve been scary. But the hotel had a pool and I couldn’t have my daughter stay afraid of water… this was after a fun session of swimming in floaties and being swung into the pool.”

“ah… HAHAHAH! bright… orange…!”

It was clear to you now. Sans wasn’t laughing from something funny. He was overjoyed. So overjoyed he can’t contain it in himself that he just bursts with it. His eyelights warbled. They looked like hearts shimmering under a running river.

You grabbed your head in despair. “No, no no- what have you done!”

Your dad had looked up immediately, while Sans’ didn’t, holding onto the album. Though… his grin had twisted into something dark.

Dad took a photo out, the one he was just explaining: a picture of you laughing in orange floaties, floral swimwear, carried by your dad in a clear blue pool, looking up at the camera. The sides of the picture were slightly yellow.

“Do you remember this, poppy? It’s weird to think you were ever scared of water now… it’s hard to stop you from swimming, nowadays,”

You can’t help but smile in your heart a little. It brought back happy memories of travelling with your parents when you were little.

Unfortunately, there are far more pressing matters at the moment.

“No, wait, dad… what did you do?”

“What?”

“You… you showed Sans my baby pictures?”

“Baby and toddler pictures,” your dad corrected. “Also there’s no need to be embarrassed, I feel like it’s a right of passage to have your baby pictures shown to your significant other by your parents.”

“No, I’m not embarrassed,” you shake your hands helplessly, “it’s just… Sans is gonna kill me,”

There was an incident, almost a year ago now. You were shuffling through some things you found in a box you never unpacked… at the bottom you found a polaroid of you rolled up in a baby blue blanket and, admittedly, looking pretty darned cute.

You showed it to Sans, innocently. It’s cute, you can admit it, and you knew Sans would appreciate it.

Oh how naive you were.

He held the picture, stared at it. Was at a loss for words, though he kept trying to form them helplessly, bringing it close to his face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he muttered.

“b… baby…… b… baby…”

Then he went crazy. Picking you up, not listening to your protests- usually when Sans gets in a cuddly mood he ignores your complaints but that time, it was like he really couldn’t hear you. His pupil was blown wide and constantly shifted from heart to circle. He squashed you in bed, smooshed your cheeks, kissed you until you were gasping for breath- you don’t even think it’s a sexual thing, he was just overcome with cute aggression!

It wasn’t a one time thing either. Carelessly, you’d leave the picture propped up on the window as a cute memento aesthetic… thing, maybe, but every time Sans looked at the picture too long, he’d get into his violent cuddly moods and kidnap you to the bedroom to squish you. Eventually you had to hide it to avoid inducing anymore ‘cute-induced murderous rage’ in him.

And your parents just opened pandora’s box for you.

Your brows furrow in worry as Sans looks up from the album to you, his eyelight tightening into just a fraction of what it was before, zeroing in on you. His grin was wide and deranged. He chuckled, a low, threatening sound.

“heh heh… i’m going to crush you.”

[xoxochb]

˗ˋ I was enchanted to meet you ˊ˗

warnings: angst with redeeming fluff

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hypnos

summary: based on the lyrics “please don’t be in love with someone else / please don’t have somebody waiting on you”

A/N: @spadekip

you hated how everyone liked percy

you can’t blame them, but he’s your boyfriend

and the more you think about your relationship with him, the more you realize how you’re never really present

you’re always asleep, that’s the problem

and you curse your father for that

you can’t help but fall asleep all the time, and it sucks when you try to have a relationship with someone you really like but all you can do is sleep

“y/n, are you okay? you’re zoning out again” percy frowns at you

“yeah- I’m fine” you stand up, “will I see you later?”

“yeah, I’ll come by your cabin tonight” he kisses your cheek

maybe you should tell him how you feel later

no- he already has enough to worry about

you discard the thoughts for now, continuing on your way to your usual camp duties

- 💌 -

you wake up from your nap to a knock on your cabin

oh, it’s percy, you had forgotten all about him!

you quickly stand up, rushing to open the door

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep” you rub your eyes, adjusting them to the sunlight

“no, you’re fine. can I come in?” he asks

“yeah- of course” you take his hand and pull him inside, closing the door behind you

“y/n, can we talk?”

a look of terror makes its way to your face as you sit back down on your bed

“woah- no, I’m sorry, it’s nothing bad, I don’t think it is. It’s about you” he sits down beside you and takes your hands on his “I’m worried about you, you’ve been distracted recently. do you want to talk about it?”

you think for a second “there’s not much to talk about”

“well there must be something, you can always talk to me” he reassured you

you sigh “well I don’t know, there’s a lot- it started with just worrying about you- everyone likes you, and I’m not exactly that present in this relationship, I’m always sleeping, and I’m scared that you’ll leave me for someone better who can actually stay awake”

“oh y/n…” he hugs your side “I don’t care that you’re always sleeping, I don’t like anyone else, I promise, I only like you, none of those other idiots”

you play with his hands, “but what if you-”

he cuts you off, “no- there is no ‘buts’ I only love you, you’re so special to me, and I love that you’re always sleeping, I think it’s cute how you can always fall asleep in the weirdest places, and I love seeing you so content”

you go to speak but he cuts you off again, “c’mon let’s go to sleep, yeah?”

“percy- you came here to hang out with me not sleep” you roll your eyes

“you love sleeping don’t you?” he looks down at you

“I do, but where is this going?” you look up at him suspiciously

“if you love sleeping, then I’ll sleep too. I’ll do anything to make you happy”

[incogrio]

ch.yj - i'll be your waiter today, sir

pairing: yeonjun x gn! reader, established relationship

genre: fluff, SMUT!

synopsis: you're a waiter at a restaurant and your bf yeonjun comes to visit you. activities ensue.

warnings: bj, general smut warnings, switch! yj, not very well written smut, nothing too crazy

w/c: 1k+

an: first smut... hope y'all like it bc i liked writing it! feel free to jork it to this fanfic, love y'all LOL i have nothing else to say <333

COMMENTS/FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED!!

your feet were killing you and your breath wafting back from your mask is making you wish you could quit your job and run away. your boyfriend, yeonjun would’ve supported you, but you couldn’t find it in you to rely on him like that. you muster up the courage to crack your neck and stretch out your foot for a moment, before getting back to work. just as you look up, you see your co-worker, oscar, welcoming in someone with a black baseball cap similar to your uniform’s, and a mask. he was tall, and looked a lot like yeonjun. you tilted your head as your eyes followed the two men to a little table in the corner, and finally you could see his face. wait a minute, that is yeonjun! what is your idol boyfriend doing visiting your job? you have no one else to serve as of now, and you thought of just watching your pretty boy, before you realized that your co-worker, oscar, was throwing himself at your boyfriend. 

“brother eughh,” you mumbled to yourself, watching yeonjun scootching away from oscar’s hand on his bicep and awkwardly coughing. yeonjun eyed around the restaurant, eyes yearning for the sight of your familiar body. 

when he finally finds you, he darts his wide eyes to your coworker as he takes his order, “help me!” he pleads with only his eyes. 

you smirk at him from behind your mask, your eyes crinkling ever so slightly. yeonjun almost melts at the sight. his little smile behind his mask falls when you shrug and take a lollipop from behind the counter, popping it into your mouth and looking away in faux obliviousness. 

to be honest, all yeonjun could think about was your lips. how they glistened with saliva and melted lollipop, the light from the windows making their gloss even shiner. how he’d love to force you onto your knees after teasing him like this, force his cock into your mouth and watch your lips suck on something meaningful. he’d grab your face harshly, fingers digging into the back of your head as he- 

“all right sir, your drinks will be out in just a second.” oh. right. 

yeonjun nods and as soon as oscar has left his vicinity, you walk up to him. he rolls his eyes at you, turning his back to you in faux anger. 

“thanks for your help back there, y/n.” he says angrily. if he wasn’t your yeonjun, you would’ve actually been worried. well,  a flash of worry washed over you as he used your real name, not one of the pet names he grew to love. 

you pouted, “aww, not baby or angel? you must be really hurt!” you baby him. it’s something you’ve both grown to love. him being the oldest in his idol group leaves him with lots of friends, but not much room to be babied. with you, however, he melts into a copy of huening kai. you can see his cheek pull up into a small from the angle you have on the back of his mask. 

he stays stubborn, and you grow frustrated. “yeonjun-ahhhh!!! you’re so stubborn!!” you whine out, stomping your foot lightly. 

he turns back to your, mask stretching to accomodate his jaw dropping. “aish! you talk to all your customers like that?” 

you look around, making sure no one can see you two, “only the ones i’m in love with,” you reply cheekily. yeonjun smiles, reaching up and slowly pulling his mask down as you lean closer to his lips. your gaze never leaves his plump lips, his staring into your eyes lovingly. he reaches a hand up, taking off your cap and placing it on the table before cupping your cheek. your lips slot together like two tetris blocks made for one another. he swipes his tongue across your lip, tasting the sweet cherry lollipop that had graced your mouth behind hand. he moans softly against you, before you hear footsteps behind you. 

you go to pull away as you hear oscar behind you, “y/n?” he asks, confused. yeonjun does let you pull away, smiling against your lips as you hit his chest softly, getting in a few more sucks on your plump lips before finally freeing you. you don’t face oscar, only bowing your head to look at the wood graining on the table as heat engulfs your face. 

“so… those are our specials!” you say, turning on your heel and walking away. 

once again, you’ve left your boyfriend with a hard-on and dreaming of your lips. 

soon after, yeonjun is fed his food from a newly silent oscar. after he finishes his meal, he leaves oscar a hefty tip and makes his way up to your little podium. 

“i’ll be waiting in the car, yeah?” he says softly. you find it endearing that he tries to not embarass you further. he reaches his hand to stroke the back of yours with his thumb, a silent apology, but not without a cheeky smile hehind his mask. you nod. he mutters, “love you,” before heading out the door. 

the rest of your shift is undeniably awkward. oscar is angry you’ve “stolen” his man, and you can’t stop thinking of the idol whos madly in love with you waiting in his fancy car. when the clock striked ten pm, you couldn’t have bolted outside faster. you walked up to yeonjuns black nissan gt-r, peering inside to find him softly palming his erection through his sweatpants, looking at pictures of you. you giggle to yourself. 

you go to the side where he is sitting and softly knock, causing him to jump and try to hide his previous actions. when he sees your familiar face, his shoulders slump out of relief.

“you’re being so mean today!” he whines as he opens his door.

“am i?” you mutter, climbing to kneel in front of his feet. he closes the door, looking down at you with a smirk. you press a kiss to the side of his knee. 

slowly, you kiss higher and higher, before sliding past yeonjuns erection to his other leg. he rolls his eyes, he tapped his foot before grabbing your jaw in one hand. 

“brat.” he says through his teeth, lips his hips up and pulling his sweatpants and boxers down with one hand. he wraps his hand around his cock, tilting it forward and directing you to open your mouth with a thumb flicking your lip. 

you smile, “won’t you beg me first?” you ask, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

he grumbles, pulling your face closer to his cock, and biting his lips when you refuse. 

“fine. please, please suck my cock baby.” he begs monotonely.

“thats the best you can do?” you ask, replacing his hand on his cock but remaining still.

“for fucks- please baby! it’d make me so happy, i promise.” as he spoke, he fell deeper into the submissive boy you loved to play with. “you wanna make me happy, yeah? please, angel, suck your baby’s cock,” he whines out, voice cracking and blown out eyes tearing up. you silently open his mouth and take his tip between your lips. your tongue flicks against his opening, picking up his precum and he moans lewdly, bucking his hips softly. “oh, fuck, yeah, just like that. soooooo good for me baby,” he groans in a high pitched tone as he throws his head back, arm reaching up to clutch the headrest. you looked up for a moment, taking in his sensual form and finally, you take a deep breath and force his entire dick into your mouth and throat. he is rendered silent at this, tongue almost hanging out of his mouth as he merely let out a soft breath. your nose just barely grazes his taut stomach. 

you moan against him, forcing him to reach to the center console with his freehand to dig his fingers into. “oh god… your mouth was made for my cock, wasn’t it? made just for me, only me.” he takes a few deep breaths as you begin to bob your head up and down, slobbering messily on his huge cock. “god… so fucking good,” he whines.

you keep going, faster and sucking harder as you feel him lose all sense of self. he begins to buck his hips into your mouth wildly. he ruins your rhythm countless times, but you can’t find it in you to tell him to stop.

“perfect fucking fleshlight… yeah, thats all you are,” he says mostly to himself kicking his feet forward onto the acceleration for more control. thank god the car is in park since he pushes his entire weight onto the pedals as he lifts his hips up and off the seat. you moan loudly, his balls slapping your chin lightly as his dick reaches new depths in your throat. “cumming! gonna- gonna fill your pretty mouth… you’ll swallow it all, i know you will…” he trails off deliriously, smiling to himself as his neck pulses from its pressure into the back of the seat. he moans devilishly as his dick convulses, shooting load after load into your mouth.

yeonjun only finds it in him to sit down and let you breathe once you let out a pitiful whine, tapping his thigh in a sign for help. when you’re freed from his cock, you finally are able to take a huge breath as slobber falls from your open lips. he leans forward onto his knees, staring down at you as if challenging you. you close your mouth and swallow all his dna whilst looking in his eyes, to which he smiles and kisses you softly as a reward.

“come,” he mutters, helping you up and into your spot as passenger. he reaches for the napkins in the glove box, cleaning his cock with a tissue before folding it over, cleaning your pretty face with the clean side. 

“did i do good?” you ask, slightly insecurely as he pulls his pants back onto his hips. you always wondered what the sex felt like for him, and despite how much he craved you, you never understood how insatiable he was for your touch, and your touch only. 

“did you-“ he chuckles, “baby, i’m gonna fuck you so hard when we get home. maybe then you’ll get how you make me feel.” 

[deerlino]

WHEN CHAN STUMBLES

— chan, who’s usually super serious and all put together, just totally loses it when he sees you. like, his brain completely shuts down—seriously, someone call 911 because it looks like he had a stroke or something. but nah, he’s just crazy in love with you. <3

words ༯ 0.5k / pairing ༯ bang chan x gn!reader / genres ༯ college au (study night, supposedly), fluff, humor, crack, established relationship / warnings ༯ no warnings for this one, just pure, sweet fluff !

a/n ༯ hey yo heyo! this is my first piece here and i’m lowkey nervous to post it, but here we go! chan is the absolute cutest in this one, love him. hope you enjoy, tho! <3

Chan had always been the epitome of seriousness. He was the guy who could ace an exam, lead a group project, and still manage to hit the gym—all in one day. Your friends had nicknamed him “Superman,” but to you, he was just Chan. Your Chan.

Tonight, you were hanging out in his dorm room, supposed to be studying for your upcoming finals. His desk was cluttered with textbooks, highlighters, and half-empty coffee cups, but neither of you seemed too worried about it. You’d been dating for six months now, and his dorm had become your second home.

“Okay, if I have to read one more sentence about organic chemistry, I swear I’ll scream,” you groaned, dropping your highlighter dramatically.

Chan chuckled, glancing up from his laptop. “You know, you say that every time we study.”

“And every time, I mean it.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Alright, take a break. You’ve earned it.”

You stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh as you leaned back on his bed. Chan watched you with that soft look he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But you noticed. You always noticed.

“So, how’s your paper going?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Eh, it’s going,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get it done.”

“Of course, you will. You’re Chan, the man who does everything.”

He laughed, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it go to my head.”

You rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Can I help? Maybe proofread or something?”

Chan glanced at you, and in that moment, it was like his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. It was like someone had hit the pause button on his brain.

“Uh, Chan? Earth to Chan?” you waved your hand in front of his face, giggling.

He blinked, snapping out of his trance. “Sorry, I just... you’re really... distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Distracting? Me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Like, a lot.”

You crawled closer to him on the bed, closing the distance between you. “How so?”

Chan swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because... you’re... you. And you’re here. And it’s just really hard to think straight when you look at me like that.”

You grinned, your heart swelling with affection. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “God, I must look like an idiot.”

“An adorable idiot,” you corrected, pulling his hands away from his face. “And for the record, I think you look pretty hot when you’re all serious and studious.”

His eyes lit up at your words, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, leaning in to kiss him softly.

Chan melted into the kiss, his serious facade crumbling completely. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed in bliss.

“You know, you’re the only person who can make me feel like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like my brain has completely shut down and all I can think about is you.”

You laughed softly, brushing your lips against his again. “Good. Because I feel the same way.”

© deerlino (est. 030624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3