#he also has it in a soft green too that makes him think of the wolf's eyes too

[angellayercake]

Banchetto: Insalata

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 | Contorno | Masterpost

A caprese salad consists of so few ingredients but as long as they are fresh and ripe they bring the perfect balance. For variety you pick an assortment of tomatoes, blood red heirlooms, green beefsteak and orange roma. The visual appeal of the assorted colours, shapes and texture more than make up for the non traditional choices. Freshly made mozzarella as well, all evenly sliced and then already the preparation is almost complete.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You are reading. Well, you are trying to read but unfortunately the man sitting across from you is proving far too much of a distraction. It was mid morning, breakfast long since eaten and cleared away. You had joined him as you did so often now and it was barely creeping towards time to begin thinking about lunch. Copia had returned your notes and you were still in the process of working through them, adding sticky notes with your amendments into the recipes to help you when time came to make them. That’s what you should be doing at least.

Instead every few seconds you find your gaze pulled back to him. He is also reading, the glasses he only just admitted to needing perched on the end of his nose. They slip further down every time he scrunches his face at whatever it is he is reading and you have lost count of how many times he has paused to push them up carelessly. Every now and then he notices the smudges left by his fingers and removes them completely to wipe them on his handkerchief as he shoots you a smile. He had let his hair air dry this morning so it falls in soft waves over his forehead. The muted sunlight catches in his silver roots every time he pushes his hair out of his eyes. You think to tell him how good he looks at this moment but you don’t want to break the comfortable silence. 

It’s sickeningly domestic but you can honestly say you have never been happier. The shift was subtle at first as you had spent a great deal of time in his rooms anyway but in a matter of days that time grew longer and longer until you rarely left on more than an errand from morning to evening. He would ask you to sit with him as he worked, join him for meals, linger in the kitchen as you prepared and even once attempting to help you clean the dishes. That is until he ended up dropping a plate in his inattention, the resounding crash making your heart skip a beat in a much less pleasant way then it usually did around him. You couldn’t even begin to be annoyed with him though, his apologetic puppy eyes forcing you to let him off with only a banishment to the kitchen table and a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Affection was easier now, not always so underlined with that awkward tension you had almost become used to. He liked to touch you. To lace your fingers together across the table when you ate, rest his hand on your waist when you stood together, play with a lock of your hair as you spoke, press a chaste kiss to hand or your cheek in passing. You had been hesitant at first to return his affection so boldly but the way he would glow when you reached for him first, his wide smile emphasising your favourite creases at the corners of his eyes, was enough to override your self consciousness.

There was still tension there, hot little frissons if you look into his eyes a bit too long or his body rests a little too close. Part of you wants to chase it but you no longer felt the need to rush. Although unspoken it seems you both chose to relish in this period of getting to know each other better, talking about your likes, dislikes, views and opinions or just existing in each other's company. It is comfortable in a way you never imagined you could be with him but you are more sure now than ever that ‘Papa Emeritus III’ who had led the Ghost project and the church was only a very superficial part of who he was.

There’s a childlike glee in him every time he tells you stories of his life peppered with ridiculous puns and dorky jokes that feels so far removed from the persona you had thought you had known previously. And yet you can see how he thrived as a performer and took to that role so naturally. He puts his whole self into recreating the tale he is telling with animated hands, exaggerated expressions and often silly voices whether he is talking about his misspent youth, rising through the clergy ranks or his touring adventures. You would start to feel very uninteresting in comparison until he would start to tease stories from you. Your worst cooking disasters that have him crying with laughter and disbelief that you could ever make a potato explode. But when he asks you of your family and your childhood you see a sad wistfulness in his expression that makes your heart hurt and you hope that one day he might open up about some of the harder parts of his life as well.

The tolling of the 11 o’clock bell brings an end to your romantic reverie. It is time to return to reality and begin thinking about lunch. You uncurl yourself from the armchair, your movements capturing his attention. He beckons you towards him with a curled finger as he places his book down on the settee beside him. You should go straight to the kitchen but as he has distracted you all morning anyway what is the harm in a few more minutes. You are sure your eagerness is obvious as before you know it you are sitting in his lap with his arms around you. 

‘Where are you off to cara mia,’ he says once you are settled. You slide his glasses up and into his hair, pulling the long fringe out of his face and you can’t resist letting your fingers run through the length until you can play with the strands at the nape of his neck. ‘I have been enjoying you watching me so attentively.’

‘And I was enjoying the view,’ you tease. His deep chuckle rumbles through his chest pleasantly where you are pressed against him. He leans up for a kiss, unable to keep the pleased smile from his face. Your lips ghost over his, barely indulging him but leaning down to continue talking in his ear. ‘I am about to start working on your lunch.’

‘How about an amuse bouche first mia cuocoina?’ He is irresistible when he is like this so you indulge him. You press kisses along a teasing path, his temple, his sharp cheekbone and the tip of his nose before finally reaching his lips. He closes the remaining distance between you impatiently and just as you are about to deepen the kiss a loud knocking rings out through the room. He drops his head against the back of the settee with a huff of annoyance and you have to forcibly remove his hands from your hips for you to be able to get up. You open the door to find a ghoul waiting for you on the other side holding a basket and a note.

‘From Papa Primo, for you Sister.’ They hand it to you before abruptly turning to leave and you see Terzo’s head shoot up in interest as you close the door and turn around.

‘What is he writing to you about?’ He glares over the back of the chair, watching you put the basket down on his desk. 

‘Let me open it and I will tell you,’ you retorted. The basket is heavy and you have no doubt that this is yet another offering from Primo’s greenhouses. He hauls himself up from the settee with an exaggerated groan as you unfold the thick paper and read. 

Sorella it is about time my brother gets out of his rooms and I suspect you will have more success convincing him then I. If I could prevail on you to make us a light lunch and bring it along with him to the rose garden I would be very appreciative. Secondo and Copia will also be joining us as well as yourself if you would do us the honour. 

I will expect you both at noon. 

Primo

Terzo. It will be good to see you. Please do not give the sorella any trouble and do as you are bid. 

Handing the note to him you dig into the basket. Underneath the fragrant bunches of fresh herbs you find it’s filled to the brim with ripe tomatoes in a variety of sizes and colours, probably hand picked from the vine that very morning. 

‘Why do you get a longer note than me?’ He grumbles, squinting at his brother's cursive scrawl, clearly forgetting to drop his glasses back down onto his nose. Circling around him you knock them gently out of his hair so he can at least see even if they land a little crookedly. 

‘Lunch is going to be alfresco today,’ you call over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen to get started, not giving him any chance to argue. With less than an hour to prepare this is not going to be your most elaborate creation but you have some freshly made mozzarella and along with Primo’s offering you have an idea that should be perfect. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing for this salad could be as simple as a drizzle of balsamic vinegar but you do prefer to add a little more flavour. To an old jam jar you add olive oil, honey, freshly pressed garlic and of course the main ingredient, balsamic vinegar. Why a jam jar you may ask? Well the trick with a vinaigrette is understanding that the separate ingredients don’t really want to mix together. You can stir it, whisk it, even blend it but unless you are serving it straight away the mixture will begin to separate. You prefer to give it a good shake to mix everything and your trusty jam jar allows you to do that right before the dish is served.  

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Prepping a quick salad with what Primo had sent you takes around half an hour but you are done with time still to spare. Terzo had disappeared to his bedroom after grumbling to himself about his ‘fratello esigente’ and was yet to return so you took the time to grab some leftovers to make this lunch a little more substantial. There was half a loaf of bread that you sliced up, some stuffed peppers and olives, cuts of ham and cheese and even some pepper taralli that had become a constant request since you had first made them all those weeks ago. 

With everything that would fit packed away in the little basket you go to find Terzo who had yet to reappear. Even with the amount of time you were in each other's company you still hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in his bedroom. You understood, you supposed. It was his one sanctuary away from everything but you hoped one day soon he might invite you even there. The door is open when you round the corner and you see him standing before his mirror, a pile of shirts sitting on the bed next to him. 

‘I’m ready to go Terzo,’ you say after knocking on the door frame. He turns to you with a frown on his face but your attention is drawn to his open shirt. His dark chest hair and olive skin contrast beautifully with the stark white of the shirt he is trying on. He starts to button it from his mid chest leaving an enticing glimpse but you can see his frustration build as he gets further and further down. His once flat stomach now protrudes slightly from his waistband, not enough to have the buttons pull but the shape of his body is visible. He looks incredible.

‘I can not go out like this cara mia,’ he says, turning back to his reflection to scrutinise his outfit. 

‘Why not?’ you ask. You cross the room coming to a stop behind him so you are looking at the same thing he is in the mirror. 

‘Look at me,’ he gestures up and down the length of his body before settling his hands where he seems to be most self conscious. You can’t have him thinking he looks anything less than irresistible for even a moment.You wrap your hands around his waist sliding them under his own,where he is holding his belly. You caress the soft swell back and forth while you try and catch his gaze in the reflection. 

‘I am and I see a happy healthy man who has enjoyed delicious food made for him by someone who lo .. cares about him very much.’ His eyes flash in surprise before he looks over himself again from your perspective, a smug smile growing on his lips. You hope he is just about to accept your compliment and didn’t catch your little slip but you end that train of thought there. 

‘Oh is that so?’ His spark has returned, your compliments feeding his usual confidence in his attractiveness. But there is something else in his expression like he has just figured something out. ‘You like me like this, eh?’

‘I like you. Full stop.’ He preens but you sense that he wants to push you further. Hopefully the time limit you are on will stall him for now. You aren’t sure that you are quite ready to admit how much you have enjoyed feeding him up.  

‘Mmm ok,’ he responds thoughtfully, turning in your arms and pulling you flush against his soft body. He kisses you soundly, chasing your lips every time you try to pull back. Before long though his playful mood shifts as he steps back. He takes your hands in his but otherwise maintains some space between you. ‘There is something we need to talk about though before we go.’

‘What is it?’ There is a hint of worry in his voice but you try not to let yourself speculate. You needed to just listen to what he had to say. 

‘Please don’t misunderstand me when I say this.’ He pauses for but a moment to press a kiss to your knuckles trying to reassure you of his sincerity. ‘Until very recently I have never truly felt my life was my own. I had a set path that I was to walk down and very big shoes to fill as leader and well, you have seen my brothers.’ He is torn between a fondness and frustration that you can understand. ‘No matter what I do I am their fratellino.’ He locks his eyes on yours willing you to understand. ‘This, I mean what we have, I don’t want their input not yet.’ 

‘I understand Terzo.’ It is a relief to know this was all he was concerned about. You had seen for yourself how they had treated him during the intervention you had been witness to. Even though you wholeheartedly agreed with them at that time. You can understand why he would want to keep what you have private, especially so early in whatever it was that was happening. Not to mention you had your own reasons for not wanting them to know.

‘You do?’ You can’t help but smile at the relief on his face. 

‘Of course. I think you are right.’ You had long since stopped worrying about the distinction between your work for him and your relationship but you are well aware of how it might look to others. How unprofessional you were being. ‘Your brothers asked me to do a job and they might not be happy to know that I have taken on additional duties.’ You say with a wink, trying to lighten his mood further. You’re rewarded with his deep rumbling laugh as he pulls you close again. 

‘Si, si. We should review these additional duties. I think I have some additions.’ He leers at you and you can feel your cheeks heat up in response.

‘Stop that we will be late.’ You swat at his chest and get to hear him laugh yet again but it really is time to get going. ‘And I am going to need your help carrying all this food.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Now for your favourite part, making it all look pretty. You lay out your slices of mozzarella first, randomly placing them across the large tray you are using for this dish. The slices of beefsteak and heirloom tomatoes next trying to keep the colours balanced. You use the bright orange roma tomatoes to fill in the remaining gaps and then all that is left is fresh basil leaves tucked between the slices. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Sorella you spoil us!’ Primo says helping you unpack the basket onto the table that had been set up. You had never paid much mind to this shady corner of the rose garden but it does seem like the perfect place for an alfresco lunch. The wrought iron dining set is well kept with only specs of rust appearing on some of the joints between the ornate decorations. Five chairs are positioned around half of the oval table giving everyone a view of the garden. The table had already been set with a plain table cloth thrown over, shining silver cutlery, pretty floral plates and a bottle of red wine, already been decanted, a lace cap sitting over the opening to discourage any tempted bugs. 

‘Oh it was nothing at all Papa. Most of this I had already prepared and the salad was simple enough.’ He smiles at you warmly, his light paints emphasising the creases of his expression. He had taken the centre seat and he gestures you into the seat to his right, patting your shoulder gently. You aren’t entirely sure why you have been invited to this family gathering but it would be rude to question his invitation. 

Secondo is sitting to his left already sipping on a glass of wine but he offers you a smile, a subtle lift of the corner of his mouth before his attention is drawn to Terzo. You glance to your right where he is sitting looking uncomfortable, even hidden behind his dark glasses. He seems to be staring into the nearest bush trying to ignore the presence of his brothers. As you take a seat you try to subtly rest your hand on his knee and give him a gentle squeeze, about the only reassurance you can, given your agreement not to give away the nature of your relationship to his family quite yet. He glances at you offering you a weak smile but he rests his hand over yours before clearing his throat.  

‘Is Copia too busy to join us now?’ He asks, sounding oddly formal but finally looking in Primo’s direction. 

‘He said he would be here,’ he replies calmly as he pours everyone a glass of wine, topping up Secondo’s last. After accepting his Terzo slumps back into his seat nursing his glass. Primo tuts at him. ‘Vieni adesso, Renzo, non vorrai essere scontroso con il nostro ospite, vero?’ He sits up abruptly lifting his glasses so he can glare at Primo. 

‘Quindi è per questo che l'hai invitata? Quindi mi comporterei bene?’ Secondo tries to conceal a laugh at his Italian outburst which only earns him a share of Terzo’s glare. 

‘I have my reasons fratelino, but let’s not argue today.’ He looks at him sternly. ‘Por favore.’

‘Nessun tipo di compagnia potrebbe farlo comportare da adulto,’ Secondo mutters but whatever he says seems to upset both Primo and Terzo. ‘Ey!’ He shouts, rubbing the back of his head where Primo had just administered a quick slap. 

‘None more of that! From either of you, capisce?’ He points at the two brothers waiting for them both to nod in agreement before sitting back down. The four of you sit in silence just waiting for Copia’s arrival but just when it begins to get unbearable you hear a commotion heading towards you.  

‘Sorry I am late,’ Copia calls out breathlessly as he rushes around the corner in a blur of red. ‘Meeting with Sister Imperator ran over,’ he pants collapsing into the chair next to Secondo. He had forgone his cassock today but was still buttoned up in one of his formal suits in spite of the seasonal weather. Clearly one of the perks of being a retired Papa was being able to dress more casually. You are not sure if you had ever seen them dressed this casually during any of their reigns. 

‘Everything has gotten so behind with the Ghost project since, well…’ He trails off glancing at Terzo. He clears his throat, deciding not to continue with that line of conversation. ‘Terzo, Papa, you are looking well.’ 

‘Thank you Cardinal, you look like you could do with a good night's sleep.’ He smiles but it is sharp, Copia’s misstep digging at his still sore pride. 

‘Well, shall I tell you all what is on the menu?’ You interrupt not wanting the awkwardness to linger any longer. 

‘Yes please do, Sorella,’ Primo says, relieved at your quick thinking.

‘What you sent over was absolutely perfect for a caprese salad because just yesterday I had made some fresh mozzarella so that is the main attraction of today’s lunch but I also brought some leftovers we had to make sure no one left hungry.’ You may be waffling slightly but they all listen politely as you point out all the separate dishes. 

‘Yes I see my fratello has not been going hungry of late.’ At least Secondo waited until after you finished but you watch nervously for Terzo’s response but he just relaxes back in his chair smirking at his brother. 

‘You are not wrong I have been kept most satisfied by Sorella.’ His double entendre makes you wince slightly but you just hope they mark it down to Terzo being Terzo. 

‘No need to tell us that we can see quite well, ' he says, patting his own distinctly flatter stomach. ‘Primo you were right to call us here today. We need to help Terzo by eating all of this food so he doesn’t have to.’ 

‘Ah ha,’ Terzo laughs. ‘So this is another intervention then no?’ Primo shakes his head but doesn’t intervene this time, deciding that this back and forth was mostly good natured.

‘Si, an intervention for your growing waistline fratello,’ On the surface it is harsh but you can tell this is familiar ground for them, teasing and competing to one up each other. You imagine there were many similar conversations had when Secondo lost his hair. 

‘I do not mind so much,’ he shrugs, resting his arm on the back of your chair and letting his fingertips graze your shoulder. ‘I think there are plenty of people who enjoy a well fed man.’ You feel your cheeks heat as he says it remembering back to your conversation and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, gaging your reaction. If you look at him now you are sure your cover will be blown.  Instead you hide your embarrassment by serving out salad between your plates but you miss the pointed looks shared between Secondo and Copia.  

There is a period of peace across the table as they all enjoy their food, the only conversation a series of compliments as they work their way through everything you brought. You are glad you decided to bring all the leftovers as you watched Primo using the last slices of bread to dip into the dressing, the only remains of the caprese salad and Copia groaning and rubbing at his stomach as he polishes off the last of the stuffed olives. 

‘I can see how you got so well fed Papa,’ he smiles in your direction. ‘I feel as if I could burst but I still don’t want to stop eating.’ You smile at his praise but you are pleased to see them all nodding in agreement.

‘Luckily for you Cardinal, all that is left is some taralli.’ You offer them each one, finishing off the last of your supply. 

‘You are lucky I didn’t know she had packed up this,’ Terzo grumbles. ‘Giving my favourite to these idioti.’ 

‘I will make you some more Papa, don’t worry,’ you reassure him. ‘I think I have the recipe down perfectly now if I do say so myself.’

‘Where did you get the recipe, Sorella?’ Secondo asks. He looks down at the taralli in his hand. ‘I can’t say I am an expert like Terzo here, but these taste exactly like the ones I remember. The ones your Madre used to send us, before.’ Before what you wonder? You glance between Terzo and Secondo but this time it seems they are sharing a fond memory instead of making digs at each other. 

‘I just found it online after Papa mentioned he would like them.’ You glance at Terzo but he doesn’t try to stop your white lie. 

‘It’s a shame you don’t have any of her recipes Terzo,’ He thinks aloud while eating his last bite. ‘I’m sure she had made the best food I had ever eaten.’ 

‘It is a shame, yes,’ Terzo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘You know we weren’t allowed to keep anything from before.’ You look at Primo but he is staring down at his plate in defeat.

‘For what it is worth I am sorry ragazzi,’ He squeezes Secondos forearm and offers Terzo a sad smile. You feel like an intruder in this moment and as your eyes meet Copia’s you think he might feel the same. That is until you notice him tilting his head and looking at you deep in thought. You suspect piecing together the translations you asked him to look at with the conversation he had just heard. He takes in a breath looking like he is about to speak but you shake your head as subtly as you can until he clicks his mouth closed. That is a conversation for later.

‘Sorella, thank you for allowing us to share in your exquisite food,’ Primo says, drawing a line under the conversation that had just ended.

‘It is no problem at all Papa.’ You start to gather up the dishes, wishing you had brought another tray so you could give Primo back his basket. 

‘No no, leave the tidying to us please,’ he fusses, taking the pile of plates from your hands and handing them to a disgruntled Secondo. ‘Seeing how you convinced Terzo to actually come outside, why don’t you two go for a walk.’ There is a twinkle in his eye you are sure you have seen before. If the two of you hadn’t been so careful you might think he knew there was something between you. 

‘What do you say Papa?’ You feel like you finally have permission to properly look at him, and he looks breathtakingly handsome in the warm sun. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’

‘If it gets us out of doing dishes then I am in,’ he says, almost jumping up from his chair. 

‘It was good to see you Terzo,’ Primo says to him so softly it could have been missed.

‘It was good to see you all too,’ he matches Primo’s tone looking at all three of the men still sitting at the table for a moment more before turning to you with a dazzling smile. ‘Come now Sorella lets escape while we still can.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing you add last right at the point of serving. The jar has one last good shake before you remove the lid and pour it evenly over the whole salad. For some extra flair you start pouring at the centre and swirl until all the dressing is used. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘So that went well right?’ You are some way away from the patio so you risk moving closer, brushing your shoulders together but he doesn’t hesitate taking your hand in his.

‘Ah I suppose those nosey stronzos,’ he grumbles but there is no real bite to it, a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

‘You know what I think?’ He only hums absentmindedly in reply, eyes following a butterfly as it dances amongst the flowers. ‘I think they missed you.’ He tips his head towards you giving you what you suspect is supposed to be an intimidating side eye but it misses its mark entirely when all you can see is the soft affection in his eyes and the sun shining off the silver grey strands running through his hair.  ‘And I think you missed them too.’

‘Bah,’ he gestures with his free hand picking up his pace as if to storm off but keeping his grip firm on you so you are forced to come with him. ‘Think you know me so well eh cara?’ It is a challenge but a playful one. There was a moment that you worried that the teasing and prodding of his brothers might have made him withdraw again but it seems that was not the case. ‘Let us see, where in this garden do you think is my favourite place?’ He stops in the middle of the path reeling you back towards him but he drops your hand to fold his arms over his chest. He thinks he has stumped you, you can tell by the smug look he is failing to conceal but you are certain you know the answer.

‘Do I get any clues?’ You ask. He thinks for a moment, tapping at the dimple of his chin.

‘It is the reason I insisted on the rooms I have.’ Maybe he thinks he is being cryptic but now you know for sure, but you don’t want to let on quite yet.

‘Ok so it is near your quarters.’ You affect a look of exaggerated deep thought and he grins at you, glad that you are playing along. Wandering slightly away from him you look about you as if looking for more clues all the while ignoring his suppressed chuckles. When the two of you spend time in his little kitchen, especially now, you spend most of your time stealing looks at one another. So often he has caught him watching you over the rim of his coffee mug except from when his attention is caught just outside his window.  Which not only gave you the chance to admire him as you so enjoy doing, but it also gave you a very good idea about his favourite part of the garden. Just in view of his window was a sculptural fountain depicting the Temptation of Eve.

‘Mmmm you are getting warm,’ he teases as you start to lead him back towards that part of the Abbey.

‘Anything else?’ You are just about to enter the walled garden when he catches up to you. He slides his arm around your waist and pulls you back against him and then lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back. 

‘It’s almost as lovely to look at as you,’ he whispers in your ear. You have to try to suppress the shivers that work your way down your spine but he is pressed so close you are sure he can feel it.  

‘Charmer,’ you chide, stepping away towards the centre of the square. ‘Stop trying to distract me.’ He reels you back in until he can rest his chin on your shoulder.  The fountain dominates the space, the nude figure intertwined with the vicious looking serpent while holding a perfect apple, poised to take a bite. 

‘You can see the fountain from the kitchen,’ you state matter of fact. You can see the very window from where you are standing visible amongst the trailing plants that climb the Abbey walls.  

‘Si and from my bedroom.’ He points towards the larger window at the end of the building as you try to orient the layout in your mind.  

‘Oh it’s like that is it,’ you tease.  

‘Hush I am trying to be sincere,’ he chides but there is no bite to it, not when he skims a kiss against your cheek. 

‘My apologies Papa.’ He clears his throat, the sound jarring in your otherwise soft conversation. ‘Terzo,’ you correct yourself. Happy now he nudges you forward until you are both standing at the edge of the splash pool and you watch for a moment, the ripples overlapping the reflection of the two of you in the water. 

‘Tell me cara mia, what brought you to this life?’ He leads you towards a bench carved into the wall surrounding this part of the garden, helping you to sit comfortably before taking a seat himself. 

‘To the Church of Satan you mean?’ It has been a long time since you thought of your life before the Ministry. 

‘Mmm,’ he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

‘I was raised in the Christian Church,’ you begin. ‘For the first say fifteen years of my life that is all I knew. As I got older though I found myself questioning. Everything I wanted went against what I was taught and I just couldn’t understand why all these arbitrary rules were put in place to stop people being themselves.’ He nods along giving you his full attention. 

‘The arguments I had with my parents when I told them I wanted to go to culinary school, well it’s laughable now but I felt like my life was ending before it had even started. They were talking about me getting married and starting a family when all I wanted to do was learn and travel and live.’ Remembering that time fills you with that same frustration. They never were able to give you an answer other than it was God’s will and that was not enough for your questioning mind.  

‘So I left. I did everything I wanted to do and then one day I was working at a festival.’ He snorts, interrupting you for the first time. 

‘I can’t imagine you in a burger van,’ he sniggers to himself. You knock his shoulder with yours but that only makes him laugh harder.  

‘I was cooking for the VIP guests, thank you very much!’ You reply haughtily. In all honesty there was nothing wrong with working in a burger van, good food is good food, but you dread to think what mental image he has conjured up of you. ‘And that's where I saw Ghost for the first time and spoke to Papa Primo.’

‘Primo recruited you?’ He looks shocked and you are surprised he didn’t already know. 

‘Well I think it was more like I volunteered and he accepted,’ you explain. ‘He had requested some wacky off menu dish and I somehow managed to make something passable and he came to thank me. I joked about his costume and how I might consider joining if I ever found a real Church of Satan.’ 

‘And he told you about this place.’ he says thoughtfully. 

‘He did! I didn’t believe him at first but I came to visit first for a week or two, but it was like as soon as I walked in the doors it felt like I had found my place.’ You had felt at home for the first time in a long long time.  

‘What about your parents?’ He asks. ‘What do they think about you coming here?’

‘It took them a long long time to accept me straying from the life they wanted for me, even though they still don’t like it.’ They had only really accepted it when you had found success which always seemed ironic to you. ‘My being here? We just don’t speak of it. I’m sure they told all their church friends that I decided to join an obscure convent.’ It was a game you liked to play every now and then, wondering what they said when people at their church asked after you.

‘Ha! But here you are getting seduced by Satanic Popes,’ he lifts his eyebrows, clearly proud of his success in corrupting you from your fictional convent. 

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ You roll your eyes at him but you are relieved that he joined you in finding humour in your strained relationship with your family. But it was his turn to share. ‘Now tell me why this is your favourite place.’

‘I used to come here when I felt lost.’ He looks down at his feet kicking at some lose stones. ‘When you have lost your way there is no one better than the Mother of Sin to help you remember what is important.’ It is a lot for him to admit given his leading role in the church. Many wouldn’t ever believe a man in his position could have ever had doubts. 

‘The bible says she was tricked into eating the apple, that her weak feminine mind was so easily warped by the serpent. But I think she made a choice. Perhaps she realised that if you are threatened and scared into ignorance you will never be free and that people deserve to choose for themselves what to do and what to believe.’ You sense his beliefs are as personal as they are philosophical. ‘Especially when so many things that bring people joy are supposed sins.’ 

You are reminded of sitting in the chapel and listening to him preach every word reaffirming your faith. He was an incredible leader and it makes your heart ache for him that he was removed from that position in such a humiliating way. You don’t voice this though. You have no doubt that these very same thoughts plague him but he is doing so much better now then when you had first properly met.  

‘Enough preaching for one day though I think,’ he laughs trailing off when he realises how long he has been talking and as much as you would happily listen to him talk for hours you let him leave the topic aside. ‘Where is your favourite place in the garden cara mia?’

‘Well that is easy.’ You don’t need to think for even a moment. ‘It’s the moon garden.’ He tilts his head in surprise. ‘I didn’t appreciate it at first, having all white flowers made no sense to me. One of the most beautiful things about flowers is the vivid rainbow of colours. But then one night I was leaving your quarters and I was on the verge of going to Primo and telling him I couldn’t do it.’ You remember that time well even though so much has changed since. Having to fight the urge to quit every time he rejected another meal. ‘You hadn’t eaten a thing and I was so upset with myself.

‘I owe you an apology, I think for being so difficult.’ He mumbles but the last thing you want to do is make him feel bad. 

‘No I mean you had your reasons,’ you say trying to reassure him.  

‘Maybe I did, I felt that I had nothing to live for I suppose.’ It hurts to hear but it isn’t a surprise that that is how he had felt. ‘But I could only stomach so much self pity before I got hungry.’ He winks at you and even this serious conversation doesn’t stop your instinctive blush spreading across your cheeks. 'Thank you for being patient with me.’ He follows the bloom of colour across your face with the tip of his fingers, his sincerity only making it worse.  

‘It was worth it,’ you admit, lowering your voice to match his soft tone. ‘Something told me I should walk through the gardens that night so I did and then it was like I had walked into another world. Every single white flower was glowing in the moonlight and I had to just sit and eventually I knew that everything was going to be alright.’  

‘And was it?’ His hand cups your face and even such an innocent touch has your heart racing as you work up the courage to say what you wish to.

‘The next day was the day you left me the recipe book.’ The moment feels fragile as he looks into your eyes searchingly. It feels good to have cleared the air of so many of your unspoken things. It’s probably inadvisable to allow him this close outside of his quarters but he looks as vulnerable as you feel right now and there is only one thing you can think to do. This kiss reminds you of the first time in the kitchen. The simple action of pressing your lips to his feels so intimate and for you at least, saying things you are far from ready to speak out loud. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Hi hello yes it is me actually updating. Please no one die of shock. I had about 1000 words of this sitting here for the last six months and then suddenly I managed to write it all in the last three days. I want to promise there won't be another six months until the next chapter but who knows what will happen to my brain. Thank you to @ghostchems and @da-rulah for letting me talk about this endlessly and @writingjourney for cheering me on even when I wouldn't tell her any spoilers haha

I hope you all enjoyed and I will be starting a tag list over again because I have no idea who might even want to read this fic anymore so please just let me know if you want to be tagged in the future chapters 💜💜💜

#papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #terzo #papa emeritus iii #my writing #banchetto

[starryyyeyedfool]

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤:

summary: what the one and only arthurtv would be like as your boyfriend

authors note: tysm for the request anon, i loved writing these! this man is literally a walking green flag like how is he even real. sorry for the slow uploads btw i've been super busy lately

-> the gentleman above all gentlemen istg

-> he's such a caring boyfriend. whenever you are sick or had a bad day, he seems to know exactly what you need and won't leave you alone until you feel better

-> literally gives the best hugs ever. i can't rlly explain it but I feel like his body just runs warm so he's really cozy and you always feel so secure when he's got his arms around you, cradling you into his chest

-> arthur makes getting out of bed in the morning so much more difficult simply because his cuddles are so comfy that you never want to leave

-> not super into pda, the most he will do in public is quick pecks but in private he is SUPER clingy, to the point where he's basically an extra limb

-> whether he's holding your hand/got an arm slung around your waist or has his head laid in your lap while watching tv, he's not happy unless he's touching you in some way

-> we all know arthur is a massive nerd, and you probably are too, so you often go on dates to museums or art galleries

-> also, zoo/aquarium dates are a must in your relationship. he loves to infodump random animal facts and you love to stare at him adoringly while he infodumps random animal facts

-> arthur is always so attentive to you, and notices every difference in your appearance and can tell when your mood changes even if you are trying to hide it from him

-> he also remembers all the little details about you, even the minor stuff you don't remember telling him, and you often joke that he knows you better than you do

-> shows his love for you through small acts of service like always having your favourite food stocked in his kitchen and learning your skincare routine so he can do it for you when you are too tired

-> would also give you his shoes without hesitation if your feet started hurting on a night out. he doesn't care how uncomfortable it is for him or that he looks like an idiot. he just wants you to feel as comfortable as possible

-> arthur absolutely adores the soft domestic moments together. very much a quality time person, and he loves that you can make even mundane chores seem more interesting

-> george and arthur hill like to tease him about being a simp, but they genuinely think its so sweet how happy being around you makes him

-> george once told you, when you were over at the boys' house and your boyfriend was in the bathroom, that in all the time they've known each other, he has never seen arthur smile as much as he did when he was with you

-> similar to george, he has a very busy work schedule so he tries to treasure the time you do have together. unfortunately, he does sometimes miss your dates due to filming overrunning but he always feels terrible and tries to make it up to you the best he can

-> your relationship is so sweet and supportive. you're the kind of couple that you can tell, just by looking at them, how inlove they are with each other

#arthur frederick x reader #arthurtv #arthur frederick #arthur tv #arthur hill #atv #arthurtv x reader #george clarkey x reader #george clarke #george clarke x reader #sidemen x reader #sidemen #cariad rambles

[cheynovak]

Sugar - Part 3   

Soldier boy x F/ reader  (Y/N)    

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, age difference, ...   

Side note: English isn’t my first language.      

*Does not follow The Boys storyline * 

--   

Y/N is a college student who pays her apartment, bills and school tuition with the money she makes as ‘sugar baby’ for Soldier boy. What started as just being a companion on lonely moments became quickly more physical.    

But how will Y/N cope with the dominant side of Ben when he finds out she has a life beside pleasuring him?   

-- 

 

Y/N woke slowly, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow around the room. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, until she felt the warm, solid presence behind her.  

Ben's arm was draped over her waist, his hand resting gently on her stomach. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, the comforting rhythm of his breathing.  

She smiled, snuggling closer, savouring the warmth of his body against hers. His broad chest was a reassuring presence, a shield against the world outside their little cocoon. Y/N closed her eyes again, remembering last night, after their rough adventure in the woman's restroom.  

“What are you waiting for... Claim me.”  had she said before he followed her up to her apartment. For the first time in the last 6 months did he sleep in her bed. And it felt good.  

Her memory slowly drifted away when feeling Ben shift slightly, pulling her even closer.  

His chin nestled in the crook of her neck, and she felt his breath against her skin, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. 

 "Morning," she replied softly, her fingers intertwining with his. They lay there for a few more moments, enjoying the peace and the connection between them. In that quiet, shared space, everything else faded away.  

It was just the two of them, wrapped in each other's warmth, content in the simple joy of being together, Y/N knew she could never have a relationship with Ben like she had with her boyfriend.  

The reality of their arrangement loomed over her, a stark contrast to the tenderness she felt now. Ben would leave soon, paying her for her service, and she would be left with nothing but the fleeting memory of this morning.  

Despite that knowledge, she wanted to hold onto this moment a little longer. She turned slightly in his arms, enough to see his face, still softened by sleep. His eyes opened, and he looked at her his perfect green eyes had an expression that seemed almost tender, almost real. "You're thinking too much," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She gave him a small, sad smile. "Maybe." He leaned in, kissing her forehead gently.

"We still have some time."  He said with a hint of mischief.

Y/N closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the future and focus on the present. She nestled closer, feeling his warmth seep into her, allowing herself to pretend, just for a little while longer, that this was something real.  

She wanted to enjoy every second, to memorize the feel of his arms around her, the sound of his steady heartbeat. For now, in this fragile, stolen moment, she let herself believe that it could be more. 

It was stupid, yes, she knew he didn’t like her like this, it was all just physical, Ben only wanted the sex. There was no room for the kind of emotional connection she started to yearn for.  

Yet, she couldn't help but cling to the illusion for just a bit longer. As if he could read her mind, Ben's hand began to roam, sliding down between her legs. She tensed momentarily, her conflicting emotions battling inside her. His touch was familiar, electrifying, but it also served as a stark reminder of what this was and what it could never be.  

"Ben..." she whispered, her voice wavering. "Shh," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm and inviting. "Just enjoy it." She closed her eyes, letting herself be swept away by the sensations 

As his lips travelled down her neck, she let out a soft sigh, allowing herself to melt into the moment. The conflict within her was momentarily forgotten, replaced by the physical pleasure of his touch.  

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of his warmth against her. Ben lifted his head, meeting her eyes with an intensity that sent a shiver through her. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw something more in his gaze, something that hinted at a deeper connection.  "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice husky.  

She smiled faintly, her heart clenching at the compliment that felt both genuine and hollow. 

Ben’s hand moved with practiced ease, slipping the fabric of her panties off her. Lifted her leg over his hip, and Y/N felt his growing heat intensify against her. His movements were deliberate, each touch sending waves of sensation through her. She gasped softly as he pressed against her, the anticipation building between them.  

She felt the intimate stinging stretch as he pushed inside her, slowly, with a tenderness that caught her off guard. The usual intensity was replaced by a gentler rhythm, making her heart ache with a mix of pleasure and longing. 

Y/N clung to him, her fingers digging into his back as he moved. Each deliberate thrust sent shivers down her spine, her body responding to the familiar yet different sensation of him. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent, letting herself get lost in the moment. 

He responded with a soft groan, his grip on her tightening as he continued to move within her. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and for those precious moments, nothing else mattered.  

“ Ben," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “Kiss me” she pleaded, and he did, Ben kissed her deeply, his lips capturing hers with a renewed intensity. His thrusts became harder, more urgent, driving her towards the peak of pleasure.  

She clung to him, every sensation heightened, until she finally shattered, her orgasm ripping through her, moaning his name, loud. The waves of pleasure subsided, he held on to the same thrusts all the way through.  

She felt him slowing down, then stop. An irrational fear crept into her mind had she not been enough for him? Did he wanted something else? She tried to read his expression, anxiety tightening her chest.  

It was unusual for him not to chase his own orgasm.

But Ben just looked into her eyes, his breathing heavy, his gaze intense and searching. He stroked her cheek gently, as if trying to convey something unspoken. In that moment, the world seemed to pause, and the connection between them felt deeper than mere words could express.  

"A-are you okay, is something wrong?" she asked softly, his voice a mixture of concern and tenderness. He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I just...” He started but she interrupted him. “Did I do something...wrong? You didn’t come, so... so why did you stop?....”  

“Jesus Y/N! Can't I look at the woman I...." He said almost annoyed but quickly stopped. He took a deep breath and then gave her a small, reassuring smile, his thumb brushing over her lips. "Its more than just good. It was amazing." 

“The woman you what, Ben?” He had piqued her interest, really hoping he didn’t mean the woman I pay. “Just forget about it.” He said. Before she could protest Ben kissed her deeply. His lips urgent and insistent against hers.  

With a gentle but firm motion, he pushed her onto her back, his body pressing down on hers. She could feel him still hard inside her, filling her completely. His thrusts were slow, deliberate, each movement drawing out the pleasure.  

He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto hers as he continued to move. There was an intensity in his gaze, something that made her heart race even faster. With each slow, powerful thrust, he seemed to be communicating something deeper, something she couldn’t quite grasp but felt to her core. 

"Ben," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion and desire. "Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just feel me." She nodded, losing herself in the rhythm of his body, the way he moved within her with such control and purpose.  

Each thrust was a deliberate statement, a slow burn that built up the tension between them. His eyes never left hers, creating a connection that went beyond the physical. Ben's thrusts grew more deliberate, each one deep and slow, driving her closer to the edge once again. 

He cupped her face when he felt her closing in, his eyes piercing into hers with an intensity that left her breathless. "I need you to look at me," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "Don't look away." She nodded, her eyes locked onto his.  

The connection between them felt electric, every movement sending shivers through her body. She could feel the pleasure building, coiling tight within her, ready to burst. Ben's gaze never wavered, his expression filled with a mix of raw passion and something deeper, something she couldn't quite name.  

His thrusts grew more insistent, and she felt herself spiralling towards her second orgasm. "Ben," she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders, needing something to anchor herself to. "I'm here," he replied, his voice a soothing balm. "Stay with me."  

As the waves of pleasure crashed over her, her vision blurred momentarily, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on his. She saw the reflection of her own ecstasy in his face, the shared intensity magnifying her sensations.  

Her body trembled with the force of her release, her eyes still locked onto his, sharing every second of her climax. Ben's expression mirrored hers, his eyes dark with desire yet tender, watching her as she came undone beneath him.  

He continued to move, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure, until he too was swept up in his own release. His face contorted with pleasure, and she felt the heat leaving their bodies, a shared moment of pure, unfiltered connection.  

They lay there, breathing heavily, still looking into each other's eyes. The intimacy of the moment lingered, leaving her with a bittersweet ache. For those few moments, it felt like they were more than just two people bound by a fleeting arrangement.  

It felt like they were truly connected, their souls touching in a way that transcended words. And as they lay there, still entwined, she let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, this connection could be more.  

They stayed in bed, their bodies tangled together, talking in hushed voices, touching, and kissing. The hours slipped away unnoticed as they shared stories and laughter, their connection growing in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Ben's fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin, his lips occasionally finding hers for a tender kiss that spoke of more than just physical desire.  

Y/N felt a warmth in her chest that had little to do with the heat of their bodies and everything to do with the man beside her. She had never felt this close to him before, and for a while, it was easy to forget the boundaries of their arrangement. They talked about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing naturally.  

She found herself laughing at his jokes, her fingers playing with the strands of his hair. There was an ease between them that she hadn't expected, a sense of comfort that made her heart ache with both joy and an unspoken sadness.  

It wasn't until Ben glanced at the clock on the nightstand that reality intruded. His eyes widened slightly, and he let out a soft chuckle. "We've spent almost the entire day in bed," he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.  

She followed his gaze, her eyes widening as well. "I guess time flies when you're having fun," she replied, trying to keep her tone light despite the pang of reality setting in.  

Ben turned back to her, his expression softening as he brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I don't regret a single second of it," he said quietly. She smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. "Neither do I." For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the day settling over them.  

The room was filled with a golden light from the setting sun, casting a warm glow over their intertwined bodies. It was a perfect, fragile moment. 

As the golden light of the setting sun faded, Y/N turned to Ben, her eyes reflecting both hope and hesitation. "Would you stay for dinner?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. Ben looked at her for a moment, as if weighing the implications, before nodding. "I'd like that." 

 They both got up, untangling their limbs, and headed for the shower. Afterwards, Ben wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Y/N to get dressed.  

When he walked into the kitchen, he found her standing by the stove, her hair still damp and loose around her shoulders. She was focused on preparing dinner, the soft hum of her voice as she hummed a tune adding to the cozy atmosphere. He paused in the doorway for a moment, simply watching her.  

There was something incredibly domestic and intimate about the scene, and it stirred something deep within him. Quietly, he walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. His hands traced the curves of her body, and she leaned back into him with a contented sigh. Pressing a kiss to her neck.  

He stayed close, his hands never leaving her hips, as she continued to cook. They moved together in a silent dance, their bodies fitting together seamlessly. It felt so natural, so right, that she could almost forget the complexity of their relationship.  

"Smells good," he said, peeking over her shoulder at the simmering pots and pans. "I hope you like it," she replied, turning her head to steal a quick kiss. As they set the table and sat down to eat, the sound of the door opening startled them.  

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she heard her boyfriend's voice, his familiar rambling about his day at work. Panic surged through her. Regretting giving him a spare key.

Her boyfriend walked into the kitchen, "Hey Baby, I stooped by the diner today to surprise you but they said you quited months ago, I understood you just changed your hours..." his expression shifting from surprise to suspicion as he spotted Ben sitting there.  

"What's going on? Why is he here?" he demanded, his tone accusatory. Y/N's mind raced, searching for an explanation that would pacify him without revealing the true nature of her relationship with Ben. "Oh, um, Ben stopped by to, uh, I could thank him for buying my art," she improvised quickly, her voice sounding more confident than she felt.  

Ben nodded, playing along with her lie, but hating it, he just wanted to brag about how he made her come a few times before he walked through the door.

Her boyfriend's expression softened slightly, though he still looked sceptical. "Oh, okay. Well, nice to meet you, Ben," he said, extending a hand. As her boyfriend excused himself to change clothes and shower, as he usual did, before joining them.

Y/N's heart raced with anxiety, trying to hold him back but he was gone, into the room already.  

She prayed that he wouldn't notice anything amiss, that he wouldn't pick up on the lingering scent of their intimacy that seemed to cling to the air like a heavy fog.

But as he stepped into her room, she saw his expression change, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the room. 

Her heart sank as she realized that he had caught the unmistakable smell of sex that still hung in the air, despite the open window.

"Y/N, what's... what's that smell?" he asked, his voice tight with unease. She swallowed hard, her mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't incriminate her. "Um, I... I think maybe something spilled in here earlier," she lied, her voice unconvincing even to her own ears. 

Hearing how Ben had to hold back a laugh. Thinking someone definitely spilled something.

Her boyfriend's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "It smells like... like..." he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say the words. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her palms growing clammy with fear. She prayed that he wouldn't push the issue, that he would let it go and join them for dinner as if nothing was wrong.  

But as he continued to stare at her, the silence stretching between them, she knew that her lies wouldn't hold up for long. She braced herself for the inevitable confrontation, knowing that she would have to face the consequences of her actions.  

Y/N's heart sank as her boyfriend's eyes landed on Ben's wet hair, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place in his mind. The accusatory tone in his voice made her stomach churn with guilt.  

'Is he the reason you could quit your job at the diner? You go to school and still pay for nice things? Is he paying you for.... sex?" he demanded, his voice laced with anger and betrayal.

She felt a lump form in her throat, the weight of his accusation crushing her. She wanted to deny it, to come up with some plausible excuse, but the truth hung heavy in the air, impossible to ignore.  

She met her boyfriend's gaze, her own eyes filled with regret and shame. "I... I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, his expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. "I can't believe this, you said you worked at the diner... I trusted you!" he said, his voice breaking slightly.

Y/N's heart ached as she watched him turn away, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence of the room.  

Y/N walked away from the table to the kitchen sink. Ben's initial instinct was to offer comfort, to bridge the gap between them with a hug. But when Y/N pulled away, rejecting his attempt at affection, he felt a pang of hurt and frustration.  

“Ben don’t, just... please just leave me alone.” she said between the sobs. “I want to be alone for now.” 

His emotions bubbled to the surface, and he couldn't help but react defensively. "Fine," he snapped, his tone sharp with resentment. "If that's how you want it." He reached for his wallet again, intending to leave the money on the table and walk out without another word. 

But when he made the motion to pay her, Y/N reclined, her refusal cutting through the tension like a knife. He reached for the bills. "Ben don't, just go!"

The atmosphere in the room shifted, the silence heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Ben's anger dissipated, replaced by a sense of resignation. He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration.  

"I don't know why I bother," he muttered, more to himself than to Y/N. "I try to do something nice for you, and you just..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.  

He felt hurt, rejected, and angry, but underneath it all was a sense of profound disappointment. He had hoped now her boyfriend knew and left she would be only his. Not understanding how she could be so close to him this morning only to push him away like this.  

Y/N watched him, her own emotions a tumultuous storm of regret and longing. She wanted to reach out, to apologize, but the words caught in her throat. As Ben turned to leave, she felt a sense of loss grip her heart.  

When the door closed behind him, Y/N sank to the floor, the weight of her emotions crashing down on her like a tidal wave. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs echoing in the empty room.  

Realising the mess she made. 

-- 

Let me know what you think, feel free to like, share or comment. Make sure you check out my masterlist.      

Tag list: -> If you want to be added just let me know what you like to read.

@yvonneeeee @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28

@jackles010378 @hobby27 @call-me-mrs-winchester

#fanfic #fluff #smut #the boys #x reader #soldier boy #the boys amazon #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensenedit #the boys hughie #billy butcher #18+ only #18+ content #18+ blog #the boys smut #x y/n smut #x y/n #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x female reader #the boys series #casual dominance #dominance

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for videogeek; Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kal chimes for attention, reaching out eagerly towards Ma, and Kara barely keeps herself from tightening her grip on him again. Ma coos something soft to him and gives him a little piece of yellow . . . egg. They’re eggs, Kara is vaguely aware. Has learned since the restaurant, she means. She’s seen Ma cook them lots of times now. She makes them for “brekk-fist” all the time. She calls them “scrum-bly”, or . . . something like that. “Scram-blee”? 

Something like that, she thinks. It’s hard to remember right now. It’s hard to do anything right now. 

Kal’s so small, and he could’ve died. 

He could’ve died, and it would’ve been her fault. Would’ve been her failing him, and her parents, and his parents, and . . . and . . . 

Pa sits down at the table with them and Ma serves them all round green plates of “scrum-bly” and “bakkon” and “potoes”–or maybe “potays”?–and short glasses of milk and an orange drink. Kara thinks it’s some kind of juice, probably. Just something that “Kents” grow, she assumes, though she hasn’t really seen any fruit around yet. Maybe it’s out of season, and this is preserved, or from the last of the harvest? She thinks Laborers eat preserved food more than most people do. More than anyone not Warrior Guild, anyway. 

The juice is brightly-colored and smells good and tastes like ash in her mouth. 

Everything does. 

But Ma made it, and Ma shared it with her and Kal even when she didn’t have to, so–so Kara drinks it all, and also all her milk, and also eats everything on her round green plate, and makes sure Kal drinks and eats all of his share too. She doesn’t give him much solid food, still, but–a little, anyway. Enough. He needs to learn how to like this planet’s food, because–because–

Because he’ll never eat Kryptonian food again, Kara realizes distantly, and almost bursts into tears again. She’s not sure if Kal’s ever eaten Kryptonian food. She thought he was old enough for at least a little solid food and he’s been eating it perfectly happily so far, but . . . but maybe she’s wrong, or maybe Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor just hadn’t introduced him to it yet, or . . . or . . . 

Maybe he’s not old enough and he’ll choke or get sick and it’ll be all her fault. Maybe he’ll never know what Kryptonian food tastes like. 

. . . tasted like. 

He won’t, will he. He won’t know what Kryptonian food tasted like, and he might never even speak Kryptonian, and he won’t remember Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor at all, and he  . . and he . . . 

She’s doing this all wrong. 

She doesn’t know how to do it right, though. 

Is there even a way to, anymore? 

Was there ever? 

Ma talks to Pa. She points towards the front door, and maybe at the porch. He frowns, but nods. Maybe they’re talking about the broken railing, Kara thinks distantly. Maybe they’re talking about what an awful, awful protector she is for Kal and how she almost got him hurt. Almost let him die.

She can help fix the railing, she thinks. She doesn’t know how, but–she can, probably. So it’ll be safe for Kal. 

He chimes for Ma again and tries to reach out to her, but Kara just can’t let him go.

#videogeek #wip: kara gets to earth on time

[cx-boxbox]

I was going to write a fic about Lando wanting to wear pretty clothes, but I gave up after a couple scenes. Anyway, here's the only part I kept:

Lando’s fingers twitch nervously as he collects his packages, fiddling with the corners and ducking under the tape sealing the flaps shut, but he’s careful not to accidentally open them where anyone can see. It was already embarrassing enough to ask the concierge for them, and he cringed at the heavily branded boxes. The lady probably now thinks he has a secret girlfriend or something.

It’s nice out in Melbourne, and Lando is more than happy to swap the polo and jeans he wore to the paddock for a new purple v-neck that’s so soft and light to the touch it might disintegrate between his fingers and shorts that are just a tad bit shorter than the ones he ran around the city in. He has already been photographed without his shirt within days of arriving, so if he does bump into someone, it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.

But it is really just Lando’s luck that he quite literally smacks into his teammate’s back as he rounds the corner.

Oscar straightens with his bucket of ice, blinks at him, and asks, “Where are you going in such a rush?”

Lando folds his arms over his chest.

“Dinner. Not a foreign concept to you, hopefully.”

“‘Course not.” What is a foreign concept is how Oscar’s gaze keeps drifting south, flickering between the plunging neckline of Lando’s shirt and his upper thighs.

Oh, how interesting, he thinks, amused. Out loud, he asks, “Wanna come with? I have no idea which places are trainer-approved.”

It takes a moment for Oscar to shrug and respond, “Sure, why not. Teammate bonding and such, right?”

Lando gasps and plucks the bucket from Oscar’s hands. He pokes Oscar’s shoulder for good measure. “We’re plenty bonded, mate!” Not as much as he’d like, but still. “Just admit that you’re simply leaping at the idea of spending time with me away from the paddock.”

“I’m going to bring you to a seafood restaurant.”

“Aah! No, no, don't do that. I dressed up so pretty, I even shaved, and you’re not ruining my hard work with, eugh, fish.”

Once again, Oscar’s gaze travels over Lando’s figure, and Lando is incredibly delighted to see red tinting his cheeks. He preens a little, which he cannot be blamed for.

It’s so flattering that it more than makes up for Oscar’s simple affirming, “Hm.”

God, Lando would be so over this whole flirting-not-quite-boyfriends thing if it wasn’t so entertaining. He just hopes that Oscar’s patience doesn’t run out before either one of them gives in and just confesses. He also hopes that he isn’t misreading anything either. That would be fucking humiliating.

The little smiles and full-body laughter Lando regularly receives from him keeps him hopeful at best and delusional at worst.

On the way to Oscar’s hotel room, Lando asks what he planned on doing with the ice, and he only receives a shrug and a mumbled, “You never know when you just need a bucket of ice.”

“That’s fair.”

“Speaking of ice, are you going to be cold in just that? It gets cooler in the evenings, and your circulation sucks.”

“A price I’m willing to pay. Have you considered that maybe your circulation is working overtime? That it might be doing too much?” Lando retorts in lieu of admitting that he didn’t actually think that far ahead in his nervous excitement. A green hoodie promptly hits him in the face.

It’s not McLaren merch. It’s OP81 merch, and it smells like Oscar. Lando resists the urge to ball it up and shove his face into it.

“Just hold onto it if you don’t wanna wear it now,” Oscar says before disappearing into the bathroom. He re-emerges in a long-sleeved shirt and trousers that don’t have drawstrings. Lando almost breathes a sigh of relief. Small mercies.

Oscar’s hoodie also ends up being one of those small mercies, and Lando burrows into it comfortably as they take a longer route back to the hotel because the city after dark is nice. Oscar raises an eyebrow at him in his subtly gloating fashion, which Lando ignores in favor of tucking his nose into the collar.

“You look prettier in my hoodie,” Oscar mumbles.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. We’re here anyway.”

#ln4 #op81 #my fics #landoscar #twinklaren

[t4tstarrailing]

harpy aventurine headcanons

@c00kieguy and his aven boss form thigh art got me thinking about my harpy aventurine hcs again, which actually evolved from a conversation about fucking boss form aven

contains mostly sfw but does discuss his ruts. i'm mosy yapping to get my thoughts out before I get into the finer details of my harpy!aven smut. dividers by cafekitsune

side note: while gender is not explicitly mentioned, I do write aventurine with exclusively male and gender neutral partners. so this is more leaning towards mlm/nblm content than anything. it's also not necessarily x reader or ship content, moreso just general headcanons, but there are references to his partner. also if you want to bitch and complain about how I write aven as being and make him chubby with estrogen tits, go argue with a wall I really do not care

aventurine's harpy form is the result of him using his cornerstone, giving him some.... unusual birdlike qualities. he isn't a full harpy a majority of the time, only at specific moments does he actually fully shift into a harpy (eg. rut, danger). most of the time, he just has small, soft feathers on his neck and chest that puff out rather animatedly. he gets the occasional peacock tail feathers growing from his scalp, forming a sort of underlayer of sorts for his hair. they usually get to about shoulder blade length before being shed.

harpy aventurine stands at about 7'6", mostly being legs but he does bulk up a bit. his human body remains mostly the same, chubby with soft tits from his low dose estrogen, but it is covered in short, soft dull, downy blue-green feathers. his legs are strong and thick, a royal blue-green shade with yellow talons that replace his feet. it's the same for his arms in that regard, covered in royal blue-green downy feathers and ending in hands turned yellow talons. there's a few longer feathers that grow from his biceps, but nothing that would allow him to fly. his feathers end at about mid chest, turning back into his usually rosey copper skin.

due to his low dose estrogen, he grows the occasional brown feathers and his plumage tends to not be as stand out as most male peacocks. but it is still impressive, regardless.

he can't hide his emotions anymore. at all. bit embarrassed? throat and chest feathers are puffed up. angry? whatever plumage he has at that time is puffing up defensively. he's already a naturally expressive guy, but his new feathers make it oh so much worse. it's bad when topaz decides to tease him playfully

he's picked up some bird like noises too, mostly cooing and squawking when he's surprised. his coo is very soft and hard to hear, mostly coming out when he's tired and waiting for his partner to go to bed. it's also a self-soothing thing for him, cooing when he happens to get especially stressed or anxious about something.

aven picked up a weird habit following the transformation. now instead of going to bed when he's tired, he'll sometimes just sit up straight and puff out his neck and chest feathers and doze off that way, cooing the entire time. this is mostly done when he's waiting for his partner to go to bed, or he's trying to fight off sleep for some reason or another.

he's also taken up a bad habit of nesting and being especially protective of his partner. whether it's from his experience in penacony or the bird like qualities, it's honestly hard to tell. but his bed will frequently consist of the softest blankets and some piece of clothing that his partner smells like.

self care has always been important for him, but it is especially important now. even though he doesn't have talons in his usual day to day life, he still gets scale like growths on his hands and feet. moisturizer is a big deal for him, constantly keeping his on hand to use whenever. if he itches, he tends to bleed. if his partner is comfortable handling it, he'll have them take care of his scratches as a form of sort of quiet love and devotion.

please cup his face and give him behind the ear scratches. he'll melt into a puddle of soft cooes and fall asleep immediately.

harpy aventurine though.... that's a whole different beast, literally.

all of his birdlike behaviors are magnified by like 100x. get ready for an especially clingy and overprotective aventurine.

because he's usually in his harpy form for his rut, he does not want his partner to leave him for longer than like five minutes. working from home? you've got this big ass harpy hanging over your shoulder or forcing you back into the "nest" he's made for you (it's something of a pillow fort with comforters). ordering something? please apologize to the terrified pizza delivery guy because your boyfriend is glaring at him over your shoulder.

also, ruts usually mean that he's kicking the AC down as much as possible. it's genuinely to keep him from overheating and being too irritable, but it does serve as a good excuse to keep his partner in bed as much as possible.

remember how i said that he's 7'6"? yeah good luck getting out from underneath him when he decides it's nap time and your chest is the best place to sleep. will take up his partner's entire bed happily.

massive thighs in his harpy form. likes to perch somewhat creepily as well... has fallen off the back of the sofa a couple of times while getting used to it

his eyes glow. it's more noticable at night or in the dark ofc, but they've always got this somewhat predatorial glow to them.

coming out of his rut is not a fun experience for him, especially if he fucked to get out of it. he'll be down and out for the entire day, sleeping in his bed. he's especially delicate during this time, needing quite a bit of reassurance from his partner. and while his bedding may be destroyed or dirty, he refuses to change them until he's completely out of his rut headspace.

the other Stonehearts are keeping a close eye on him, mostly to observe any possible changes they may face if using their own cornerstone. it's not unusual for his partner to get a semi serious, semi joking "hey, he hasn't killed or tried to kill anyone yet, right?"

oh and cloaca. won't expand too much here since I'm keeping it as sfw as possible, but harpy aventurine's got a cloaca

#—the snake writes #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader

[thatchubbypillow]

What might Dan's characters smell like?

Gosh I can't believe I'm writing this😂Idk...this idea of imagining how different characters smell like just hit me today and I thought I should write it down. Well, it's probably because recently another fellow Dan fan asked me when I met him did he smell like anything and I couldn't give an answer...So umm...here we go.

※I'm a fragrance enthusiast so this is gonna involve a LOT of notes/ingredients...

※Imma just write my favorite characters first...

David Collins

Oh my...David. My favorite David. A mixture of light and dark. I love designing note pyramid for character like this. In the beginning of the movie he's...citrus, extremely fresh, bright, uplifting, probably bergamot and bitter orange, a tad bit of neroli for the gentleness. But then, also lavender and musk, for the universal charm.

When the suspense kicked in, there's wormwood...and oakmoss, maybe galbanum too. Just the hint of coolness that send chills down your spine. But on the surface florals aren't completely gone. Louder lavender with subtle, powdery orris root are still covering up the others.

Then finally, the identity was revealed, the florals gone, oakmoss grew stronger, vetiver and dark, damp patchouli took over. Patchouli was always there but you couldn't see it in the beginning. It's determined to stay. It'll haunt you on your sleeves and shirt collar for many days.

I haven't read the original novel but I'm just gonna write this part according to the tv series I watched. Edward is very reserved, so definitely not something too loud. Aromatic green/floral, possibly.

Edward Ferrars

But the first impression he gave us was...quite refreshing, and..."balmy"? Idk if I'm using the right word but...sort of like that. His scent must open with adorable grapefruit and yuzu notes.

Then heart notes...maybe honeysuckle and narcissus. Please don't be mislead by their names, I only meant the scent themselves. Maybe a bit of jasmine as well, but very light, only a trace underneath other florals.

There should be the scent of grass. Or just the faint smell of freshly crushed leaf from a bitter orange tree. You know, the kind of scent that make you feel like "there's still good things on this world"...

Base notes are also very modest. Probably cedarwood. Plus a bit of sandalwood and vanilla perhaps. But the vanilla is very soft, not sweet at all, just smooth and creamy.

David's personalities and "aura" changed quite a bit through 3 seasons...I'm just gonna pick the Season 3 cult leader David.

David Haller

I usually don't prefer amber/resinous stuff but for this setting I might pick some...

For starters I think his cult base should smell like a mixture of incense, sandalwood, myrrh, oud, maybe some sweet smells like honey, benzoin, vanilla or even some spicy notes like cinnamon...just to make people feel "at home". And then for himself...

He's a cult leader after all. So there should be some...blue chamomile, chrysanthemum, possibly iris and violet too...added to a very smooth, soothing sandalwood base. But of course he has a pretty dark side. So let's say...a bit of leather and civet and castoreum and patchouli too. Not too much animalics though, just giving some depth to the leather note.

Sir Lancelot

A charming knight on the outside but a clueless cute little cinnamon roll on the inside. Man, this one is quite hard to imagine with scent...hmmm...

I'd say rose is his core note. Like, not the modern kind of overly sweet feminine rose, but more like, rose water mixed with scent of leather and herbs...However, if we took it out of the historical context, and focus on the character himself's personality, I would say that he just really reminds me of lychee and raspberry, especially lychee, like it's a bit of tart at first but mostly very sweet and juicy, and it matches perfectly with rose note...

Alexander Lemtov

Well, I think for such a glamorous and fabulous character the answer should be quite obvious...still lavender. But this time lavender is mixed with more sweet and alluring note, like vanilla and tonka bean, cinnamon and tobacco, and warm amber notes and musk, probably a dab of civet as well...oh and rose should be there too...

Lemtov is also extremely wealthy so who knows, maybe he'll just drop in some carnation and saffron just for fun...and it's not like they don't suit his vibe, he's quite spicy after all...🌶️But, well, even though oud is also very expensive, I personally don't think Lemtov is "the oud type of guy", it's too straight for him🤣

Well, that's uh...five Dan characters that I'm most familiar with, I might write more but I'm not sure how many people will be interested in this weird sort of fantasy-diary-essay-whateverthisiscalled-thingy so Imma just leave it here...😅

(Also I'm not familiar with Downton Abbey so I'd rather skip it...🤨)

(Do you guys wanna read Frank's version? I wouldn't say he's my "favorite characters" but it could be fun😂)

#dan stevens #david haller #alexander lemtov #david collins #sir lancelot #edward ferrars #movies #tv shows #fictional characters

[handsofred]

Stiles' face when Derek walks in to the pack human wearing nothing but suspenders and a mini skirt.

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #teen wolf #stiles x derek #Slutty Stiles #Stiles likes to dress up in sexy clothing sometimes #it makes him feel oh so pretty and good #of course its going to be red to match against his skin tone and of course it's going to match Derek's red eyes #he also has it in a soft green too that makes him think of the wolf's eyes too #and it will be soft material too #just because he has learned from Lydia that good material matters when it comes to clothes and underwear

[nerdpoe]

Danny is at a Ghost Hunting Convention in Gotham with his parents. He hates his past self for thinking that going to Gotham was a good idea.

He's in a tank, full of water, with a curtain draped over it as the Joker waxes poetic about how Batman is too late and blah, blah, blah.

Danny has bigger problems than Batman's pissing contest with Joker.

His parents are on the outside of the water tank he's been stuck in for the last twenty minutes. As a Halfa, he just stopped breathing, no big deal.

But they don't know he can do that.

He needs to do something so that they don't think he's a ghost, and going intangible is out because, obviously, that would make him a ghost.

...Hadn't Clockwork said that his status as a Halfa made him...flexible? On what he looked like?

That meant shapechanging, like Amorpho.

It would be really, really hard to explain, but also, better than being mistaken for a ghost.

He squeezes his eyes shut, hopes he doesn't come out of this looking like a horrifying version of clayface, forces himself to change.

The skin on his neck ripples, his legs fuse like when he's in his ghost form, and the sensation is so strange he gasps...and he can breathe.

The curtain is still over the tank of water.

Danny is glowing.

There are freckles that are glowing a soft green that dot his arms and...tail.

He's a mermaid. Merman.

Well.

Maybe he can say it was a recessive gene?

#dpxdc #dcxdp #story prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #mermay #joker removes the curtain #and there's a very confused merkid floating there #even joker is taken aback #like #“...were you always able to do that?” #“uh...I didn't know I could?” #anyways this is how he finds out he's adopted #when the Fenton parents start crying and thanking any power they can think of that #his bio parents were apparently atlanteans #whether they actually are or not is up to the writer

[blueywrites]

baby can we smoke?

eddie munson x ditsy!fem!reader you're the last person eddie expects to leave a note in his locker, but he won't regret meeting you out by the picnic table.

2.8k

cw: 18+. innocent reader (not minor-coded), corruption kink, weed usage, allusions to smut while high, no y/n, no physical descriptions.

Another 'naughty nights' ask that got a bit lengthy (check out the original ask here). I had fun writing from this perspective! Should I continue this with a part two? 👀 Let me know what you think. (PART TWO IS HERE!)

enjoy xx

Eddie finds the note in his locker right before lunch. It's written on a quarter of a math worksheet, ripped carefully at the folds and decorated with little doodles of hearts and clouds and shooting stars drawn in sparkly purple pen. That's not the only note in there, but it’s the only one that has him curious, ‘cause it’s from you.

He stops by your lunch table just before the final bell, letting his eyes rove over you while you aren’t paying attention. You’re wearing your typical attire: a fuzzy, pastel-colored sweater, baggy and soft-looking like cotton candy, paired with a little pleated skirt and that heart locket he always sees hanging from your neck in the class you share. He hadn’t pegged you as the type of girl to smoke, and it isn’t just because of the way you look since his clientele is diverse, dips into almost every pocket of the high school social ecosystem. It’s more the way you carry yourself— you seem to kind of float through life, let it bob you about without any resistance or, like, awareness, even? Like, you hum to yourself while you take notes; you don’t talk a ton, but when you do, you’ll talk to literally anybody who’s in proximity to you, including the teachers; and you’re always either giggling or smiling or, sometimes, wearing a look of vague confusion where your glossed lips will hang open, parted in a little ‘o’ like with all your concentration focused on trying to understand something, you have nothing left over to control your face.

Eddie doesn’t wanna call you dumb because that’d make him feel like an asshole, but you just seem so… innocent to be asking him to teach you how to smoke weed. It briefly crosses his mind that someone might just be trying to fuck with him and you hadn’t actually written the note, but when you finally notice him nearby, your wispy-lashed eyes widen eagerly like you’d been expecting him. 

“Yeah, so,” you say, as if continuing a conversation you’d already been having with him, “I really wanna get high, and Susie said you’re the one who sells weed, but I just don’t know how to smoke. I’ve never done it before, not even, like, cigarettes or anything.”

You seem oblivious to the way several heads at the tables around yours swing around to stare, easily overhearing since you’re not making any effort to lower your voice. Eddie merely quirks a brow at them, and when they make eye contact with him, they turn back around. “So,” you go on, “I’d just need you to help me, show me how to smoke and stuff. Would that be okay?”

Eddie debates it for just a moment before relenting with a nod. He tells you to meet him after school at the picnic table behind the athletic fields and you agree right away, smiling up at him with an expression of such utter awe and glee that he has to stop himself from snorting in amusement. It’s funny, but it’s also kind of cute, too— Eddie doesn’t remember the last time someone was so excited at the idea of receiving his help, and your enthusiasm is endearing.

It’s simply endearing all the way up until he has you sitting facing him on the picnic bench, kicking your little feet idly while you straddle it, staring at him with that little ‘o’ face of concentration as he deftly grinds the bud. You plant your hands between your spread legs, leaning forward and watching with rapt fascination as he begins to pack the green into the paper. Your bare knees press against the inside of his, soft and warm through the rips in his jeans; his eyes flick to the hem of your skirt, the way it’s barely long enough to poke out from the pooling of sweater fabric at your lap, and he adds a bonus pinch or two to the joint. It’s fat when he finishes rolling, pinching it between two callused fingers as he tilts to the side and tugs his zippo from his pocket. The lighter draws your gaze like a fluttering moth, your attention snared by the flickering flame, and Eddie finds himself staring at you for a moment before he blinks his fascination away.

“Okay.” Eddie speaks once the paper catches, and your eyes dart from the smoldering tip to his face, expectant and waiting. You’re close enough that he can see where your mascara has flaked a little onto your lids, and from this distance, your helplessness— how dependent you are on him, how sweet and open and utterly trusting you look— elicits a pang low in his belly. He swallows. “So, you’re gonna wanna keep the smoke in your mouth first, and then inhale. Not too deep though, or else you’ll cough it all out and waste it. Here, I’ll show you.” 

Eddie watches you watch him as his lips wrap around the end of the joint and he pulls from it, fairly shallowly compared to what he’d usually do. He drops his hand so you can see, lets his cheeks puff out so you won’t miss the way he’s collecting the smoke. 

And that look on your face is so entranced, Eddie feels suddenly powerful. His chest expands on the inhale, and he smirks at you, closed-mouthed and crooked as your eyes widen at how long he holds it before he lets it billow from his nose like a dragon. That delights you, and the rest of the smoke escapes Eddie’s mouth on a raspy chuckle at how simple it is to please you.

“It’s that easy?” you ask as he waves the lingering smoke away, clearing the space between you.

“‘S that easy, sweetheart,” Eddie confirms. And he finds it curious when you bite your lip, dragging your teeth along the gloss there in such a way that it has him wondering how sticky it must feel. “You ready to give it a try?”

You nod, head bouncing like a dashboard bobblehead, but when Eddie maneuvers the joint in his fingers and holds out the end for you to take, you hesitate, fidgeting and pulling at your sweater sleeves so they cover your fingers. 

“You want me to hold it for you?” Eddie guesses, and you nod again, meeting his gaze with a sweet little grateful smile that has his belly panging again, stirring with the barest amount of low, liquid heat. He reaches out, letting his hand hover at the side of your face, hesitating as he looks to you. “Can I—?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice small and wispy in a way that isn’t helping with those stirrings he’s feeling. And your cheek is so smooth when he cups it in his hand, using the light grip to guide your face up and hold you steady for him as he brings the joint to your pouty lips. They brush Eddie’s thumb when they part for him to place the joint between them, sticking your flesh to his as you hesitantly pull the smoke into your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he rasps, merely wanting to encourage you, but you just won’t stop staring at him like that as he feeds you the hit. Like, shit, can you really blame him when the stirring creeps lower, down from his belly into his groin? Your cheeks puff up with smoke, and he can almost feel what it’d be like to see the outline of his dickhead poking out of one— all soft and slick inside, plush skin stretched tight around his—

Your hands are flapping in the air between you like you’re trying not to grab onto him, and when Eddie notices the distressed pinch between your brows, he pulls the joint hastily from between your lips. You look like a fucking chipmunk, your cheeks are so full, and Eddie realizes that as he’d zoned out thinking about his cock in your mouth, you just kept sucking and sucking ‘til you literally couldn’t anymore. 

Quickly, Eddie clutches the joint in his teeth to free his hands, gently cupping your full cheeks; sympathetic, patronizing, he says through it, “You didn’t have to— s’too much, honey, just blow a little out, okay?” 

Smoke eeks out from your pursed lips in a steady stream until he pats your face with his fingertips. “Okay, that’s enough,” he says hurriedly, lest you release the entire hit. Obedient to a fault, you are, and damn him for where his mind wanders with that information. “Now, slowly—” he tips his chin, widening his eyes for emphasis, “slowly breathe it in. Take it nice and easy.”

You do as he says, and his shoulders nearly sag with relief when you do it successfully. “Okay, hold it for a few,” he coaxes, dropping his hands and absentmindedly plucking the joint from between his teeth, watching you closely for any signs of difficulty. When you remain placid, a proud grin spreads over his face, and as the seconds tick on, you grow mutually excited, your lips pressed tight and your eyes all lit up as you look back at him. Pretty, he thinks, and then again when you finally let the breath go and smile radiantly.

“I did it!” you exclaim, drumming your sleeved hands on your thighs excitedly as you giggle.

“You did,” Eddie replies, warm and fond at the sight of your happiness and the part he played in it. He takes another hit of his own— quicker but deeper than his first— and inclines his head once he’s released it, flashing his brows encouragingly at you. “You wanna try it again?”

“Definitely,” you say, tipping your face up and leaning in expectantly. Your scent washes over him, something fruity maybe, and Eddie has to try hard not to lean further forward and drag his tongue across your lips, to pry them open and see if the inside of your mouth tastes as sweet as you smell. 

For a good while, you and Eddie trade hits back and forth, one for you for every two of his until the whites of your eyes go pink and your body loosens, unraveling upon the picnic table. You end up in a deep lean against the tabletop, your head propped in your hand, your breast squished against the wooden edge in such a way that even in that fuzzy near-shapeless sweater, the sight tantalizes him. Eddie’s feeling as high as you look, mirroring your posture with his knees spread wide, engulfing your shorter thighs in a dark frame of denim. He’s high enough that he doesn’t have that typical discomfort pinching in his chest at the silence between you, doesn’t feel the need to fill it by talking about whatever shit pops into his head. He’s consumed instead with sensation— the breeze ruffling his frizzy curls, tickling him with broken strands along his hairline; the dull crunch of old, nearly-rotted leaves under his sneakers; the hollow thrum of his pulse in his ears and the flow of living blood through his veins, cycling with each slow, rhythmic throb of his heart. And as he looks across at you— sweet, soft, sensual you — Eddie finds that since the high has his nerves all alight, he wants to touch your skin again, see how it feels now under his sensitized fingers.

The weed-haze brings with it a certain fond, almost nostalgic influence. It’s one that breaks down barriers, creates closeness where there wasn’t any, or magnifies it where there was. Your bodies are certainly closer now, sagging inward toward one another as you laze in mutual drug-induced comfort. Eddie’s used to feeling that influence, but you’re not, so when he reaches out and runs his finger down the back of your hand, you let out a small gasp at the contact. Startled, he jerks his dipping chin upright, bloodshot eyes darting to your face. But he finds no upset there, only surprise and shy pleasure painted across your features. So he plucks your hand from your lap, tugging it gently over to him and letting it rest on his thigh so he can satisfy his fascination with the texture of your skin. Your fingers twitch a little as he laces them with his, slowly dragging his fingertips through the gaps and then down your palm to your wrist. When his thumb comes back up to trace the outside of yours, you nudge into his touch, relaxing into the sensation with a languid sigh.

“Does it feel nice? The high,” he clarifies when you blink at him, droopy-lidded and wearing your little ‘o’ face. He keeps tracing along the valley of your thumb, dipping down and then back up along your index finger, enjoying the tickle of your skin against his calluses.

“Mm-hmm.” You smile, your eyes dropping to your joined hands. “Feels really nice. Kinda floaty, like my head’s not as heavy anymore.”

Eddie crooks a smile, humming his agreement. Lax and pliant, you let him continue to play with your fingers, and he’s suddenly hit with a potent impulsive urge to bring your limp hand to his mouth and nibble your fingertips, lick the smooth polish of your painted nails, suck your pinkie into his mouth and tease your skin with his tongue to see what sound you’d make. He doesn’t do that. But he does let his fingers snake under the sleeve of your fuzzy sweater, let them creep along your forearm up to the crease of your inner elbow. He drags his thumb in slow circles there, crawling around and around until he finds what he’s looking for: a sign that you feel the same stirring in your belly that he feels, revealed by the slightest whisper of a moan his touch pulls from your lips.

Encouraged, Eddie’s hands travel then— tugging out of your sleeve to smooth up your arm and over the dip of your shoulder; palming your neck, dragging up to your ear to cup around the base of your skull; ghosting across your ribcage and down to your hip; then sneaking just beneath the pleats of your tiny skirt, flexing against the hidden skin there. All the while, that liquid heat sloshes around in his belly, spreading low between his hips, dripping down to tighten in his balls and fill out his stiffening cock.

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens, but eventually, you end up laid out on the rough wood bench, your legs dangling to either side of his head as he kneels before you, nosing at the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your sigh is a shuddery, eager thing when his teeth graze the lacy edge of your cotton panties, which to his delight are swallowed up a little by the plump of your pussy lips. “Can I take these off?” Eddie asks, forcedly casual and only slightly gritty as he tries to bite back his own rabid eagerness lest he scare you off with it. But you’re quick to say yes, so quick that it tells him you want this just as much as he does, and maybe even more, though he can scarcely believe that. 

The thought makes him cocky. He eases your panties down, deliberately slow to see if you’ll get impatient. Sure enough, you wiggle your hips, whining quietly to try to hurry him; the power your neediness gives him surges with his arousal as he feels just how damp the fabric is when he balls it in his fist. Hastily, he tucks your panties into his back pocket, his eyes locked on that sweet, swollen place between your legs. 

 "Aw, look’it her,” he croons, splaying his long fingers against your inner thighs to spread you more open for him. “Can't believe you been hiding her all this time under these little skirts you wear.” 

If you’re cute, your pussy is adorable— plump like a peach, wet and ripe and glistening as he presses into your slit with his thumbs and pulls your lips apart to see more of her. She yields easily for him, splitting with a sticky click to reveal your quivering hole and your fat clit already peeking coyly from its hood. “Oh, she's so pretty, baby,” Eddie praises, his mouth watering and his cock jerking in his tight jeans, stiffening further against his zipper. “And she’s so wet already. Bet I can make 'er spit for me." 

You coo, and he lifts his head to see you biting your lip through an eager grin. "Yeah? You excited for me to touch you?" Eddie chuckles, equally fond and condescending. "Aren’t you just a sweet little thing."

“R’you gonna eat my pussy, Eddie?” you ask, and the question is so dirty but your voice sounds so goddamn innocent that he can’t help but chuckle again, this time in disbelief. 

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps, palming himself quickly over his jeans to try to bring relief because his dick is suddenly so fucking hard it aches. “I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

[leclerc-hs]

don't wake the kids - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader (fem) summary: in which you got his daughter to finally fall asleep but risk waking her up not too long later warnings: 18+, slight smut, oral (f-receiving), bad french (please correct me i was tired while writing this lmao), not proofread!!!! word count: 1608 author’s note: i think i’ll write more for them bc i like the idea of single dad charles LMAO. this was fun xoxoxo

PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THERE WAS SOMETHING about Mr. Leclerc that always made you stare at him in admiration. Maybe it was the fact that he always excelled at everything he did. For instance, raising a daughter on his own couldn’t have been easy. Hell, merely spending a single night watching over his kid has you feeling thoroughly drained. So, when Charles came home to you sprawled along his couch with the TV on a low volume, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, the sight brought a grin to his lips. You were the absolute cutest thing he had ever seen. Aside from his own daughter of course.

You weren’t even aware of the impact you left on him and his daughter. There wasn’t a day where you weren’t mentioned by his daughter. She adored you, and he did too.

“Comment était-elle?” How was she?  His voice was deep as he dropped his keys on the table of the entry way table. “Fatiguée?” Tired?

You barely moved as he approached the room, too comfortable to even sit all the way up for him. His hands rest in the pockets of his dress pants as he leaned up against the arch of the living room, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, eyes never straying from yours. 

You felt yourself swallowing harshly at the sight of him. He’s so fucking hot. “Elle était un ange!” She was an angel! There was a soft glow of moonlight that seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle radiance on the room as you whispered those words. You were whispering, careful to not wake her in the next room over. But also, in attempt to hide the desire in your voice. It would be a complete lie if you said you didn’t find him attractive. If you didn’t think about him that way.

With a subtle exhalation, Charles gracefully moved away from the archway, making his way towards the couch. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his head finding a comfortable perch on the back cushions, a gentle smile gracing his features. His legs extended languidly, and the contours of his thigh muscles subtly asserted themselves through the delicate fabric of his dress pants.

Turning his head to look at you, “Would you mind staying in the spare room tonight?” 

His eyes, an enchanting shade of green, held you captive in a mesmerizing trance. Lost in their depths, his question became a distant echo, momentarily forgotten in the captivating allure of those verdant depths.

It wasn’t an abnormal question. At least, not anymore it wasn’t. You’ve been watching his daughter for months now and have occasionally crashed at his when it was too late at night. When you didn’t answer right away, lost in thought, Charles felt the need to wearily add an “I’m too tired to take you home.”

It’s not that you didn’t have your license, but you didn’t have a car. And because it meant more money, you always said yes. At least you always told yourself it was for the money. But it really was for all the times you got to see a shirtless Charles in the morning. His hair all disheveled, eyes full of sleep. The rasp in his voice. And also, the breakfast.

His hand swiftly dropped to your exposed thigh, the tennis skirt adorning your body doing little to cover you. He patted the area right above your knee softly for your attention, “Je suppose que tu n’as pas de vêtements; je vais te trouver quelque chose.” I assume you don’t have clothes; I’ll grab you something. The touch was so miniscule, so quick, that you could barely grasp the concept that it happened before he was already standing.

Although staying over wasn’t new, borrowing his clothes was.

You found yourself unable to speak as he stood from the couch and made his way to his room. The air was charged with a delicate tension. You were convinced it was the suit that had you stumbling for words, or maybe the fact you haven’t had sex in months and Charles is just that fucking hot, and in front of you, looking at you, touching you.

“J’espère que cela est assez bon.” I hope these are good enough. Bathed in the gentle luminescence of the room, Charles gazes down at you with an intensity the captures the essence of the moment. In his hands, he holds a neatly folded pile of clothes, extending them toward you with a certain grace. A faint, sleepy smile graces your lips as you accept them. 

With a languid elegance, you begin to rise from the comfort of the couch, only to find Charles extending his hand toward you. His fingers confidently entwine with yours, pulling you up. Although, it seems Charles underestimated his strength because you are sent flying to your feet, awkwardly tripping in the process. But before you can make a total fool of yourself, Charles is slipping an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.

You can feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment, “Je suis tellement désole.” I’m so sorry.

You feel Charles laugh reverberate in his chest, making you more alert of just how close you two were. “Ne sois pas désolée.” Don’t be sorry.

In that suspended moment, time seemed to stretch, creating a timeless place where you and Charles were encapsulated. Locked in a shared gaze, the world outside this intimate bubble ceased to exist. Uncertainty lingered in the air, an unspoken question hovering between you two. Charles’ firm hold persisted, grounding the moment in the tangible warmth of his touch. 

As the stillness enveloped you, his eyes were fixated on your flushed cheeks, a canvas painted in hues of warmth. The intensity of his gaze conveyed an admiration that transcended words. To Charles, the sight of your blushing complexion was nothing short of captivating – an endearing revelation of vulnerability that only heightened your allure.

“Tellement jolie,” So pretty. The words were so soft. Barely audible if it wasn’t for your proximity. It was as if he didn’t even know he said them out loud.

You felt frozen while trying to decide if this was a dream or not. But when the pads of Charles thumbs made way to your face, tracing your bottom lip slowly, you knew you were fucked.

“Est-ce que je peux?” Can I?

You wanted to scream. Yes! You felt your stomach churning with need. But externally, you were calm. You needed to be quiet.

You made the move to nod your head when his lips collided with yours. It was slow and tentative at first. Like he was trying to test the waters. He pulled away for a moment, eyes staring into yours once again, as if he needed to make sure you were okay with this.

But as soon as he saw your lips draw into a smile, he knew he was fucked.

The second time your lips met it was feverish and messy. All tongue and no air. The clothes that he handed you previously, now lay on the floor in a messy pile, your hands sliding around his neck. You both go tumbling down onto the couch.

He groaned quietly into your mouth – a sound as if the taste of you was something he craved his whole life. His hands dropped from your jaw, closing around your neck, as you felt him push your further into the couch cushion with the weight of his body.

“J’ai besoin de toi,” I need you.  You managed to slip the words out, your fingers trailing through his hair on the back of his head.

Before you had the chance to press your lips back together, he was pulling away, leaving you breathless and a little confused until his hands dropped to the waistband of your skirt. His fingers shoving their way in and pulling them down, your underwear being yanked off in the process. His gaze met yours once more, filled with anticipation and eagerness.

“Tu as l’air tellement putain de bien comme ça.” You look so fucking good like this.

Like this. Spread out and beneath him. Completely bare and whimpering for him. 

You could hear him curse to himself as he draped your leg over his shoulder, seeing how wet you already were. 

The first drag of his tongue on you was enough to make your back arch instantly. He groaned, his nose brushing against your clit as he dipped his tongue inside of you. Every dip of his tongue sent you bucking your hips harder against him. And he loved it. 

With every stoke of his tongue, your fingers fisted his hair tighter. You began to buck your hips, so close to reaching your orgasm, but he denied. His hands were quick to push your hips down onto the couch. He wanted to hear you beg. 

“Charles,” you sighed softly.

“Hm?” You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. His tongue was placing slow licks to your clit, light enough to keep you right on the edge.

“S’il te plaît.” Please.

Charles was back sucking on your clit in less than a second, his hands sliding up to your covered breasts, squeezing them. He moaned into your pussy, the sound enough to send you spiraling over the edge. You gripped onto anything that was near and placed it over your face, trying to cover the moans that were escaping your lips.

Your body shook as you pressed the pillow into your face. He licked you as you came down and didn’t stop until you were practically shoving him off.

His lips were glossy and puffy, coated with you. A smirk on his face as he stood up and looked down at you completely flushed on his couch, half bare. You looked at the bulge of his cock, pressing against the seams of his dress pants, and then back up at his eyes.

“Bedroom?”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #don’t wake the kids cl16

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but... #the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good. #listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

#joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x f!reader #ok i gotta be honest i was stoned out of my mind for writing most of this #but mostly sober for editing #thank u for bearing with meeeeeee

[ghostlyfleur]

𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡.

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the sweet progression of steve and his pretty girl’s relationship.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, oblivious!reader, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader. pet names (angel, baby, flower girl, pretty girl, princess, sweet girl). 18+ mdni, smut-adjacent. world building.

word count: ~4.5k

pre-relationship—

steve’s girl friend is a soft spoken, remarkably sweet, gentle soul. she’s shy, way too anxious, so inexperienced that she comes off as innocent. her wardrobe consists of flowy skirts and flowery dresses and soft sweaters and cozy knits, puts flowers in her hairdos like interwoven in braids or tucked in a half-up half-down mess, has this ethereal vibe to the makeup she likes to wear (ie. shimmery eyeshadow in soft colors, highlighter, sparkly lipgloss, white waterline pencil, fairy wing eyeliner designs, and slightly blushy cheeks), wears silver wire-framed glasses at home when not using contacts and steve thinks it brings out her gorgeous eyes even more. she always wears pretty dangly earrings with flowers, her nails painted with glitter nail polish or neutral soft colors, and steve thinks she’s an angel.

the rest of the people in town mostly think her to be weird and unapproachable, with the way she stops mid walk to crouch down and whisper softly to a ladybug she sees on the sidewalk, or when she accidentally bumps into a street pole and yells out a panicked ‘sorry!’ as if she would hear a reply back.

when steve first met his girl, he was enchanted.

she was so soft and beautiful and kind, but also very anxious; something he noticed the first time she walked into scoops ahoy, and steve was so excited to finally talk to the pretty girl that started working at the flower shop down the block that he’s been pining for. the pretty girl’s reaction to his flirting however was of shyness, nervousness, and seemingly scared silence… so steve decided to make a fool out of himself just to see her smile. it was worth it. steve felt as if her laughter was the equivalent of the skies opening up to let sunshine peak through dark clouds. they eased their way into each other’s lives after that. his girl started seeking him out, finding comfort and safety in his presence and caregiving personality, though remaining clueless of his feelings and just how much robin teased him for being a smitten fool.

“pretty flower girl” is how steve referred to her at the beginning, all heart eyes and dreamy sighs. working at a flower shop seems to fit her so entirely, like she’s in her own little world while surrounded by flora. she’s able to tell you the meanings, both positive and negative, of any flower imaginable, of different plants too! keeps a log book and a journal to track her flora friends’ growth, pressed flowers and polaroid pictures of different bouquets, photographs each beautiful arrangement she creates in a picture album.

her home is also completely taken over by pots and plants and gardens and hanging vines, secrets whispered to them while she waters her little friends as needed, full conversations kept that seem to make all the plants bloom and flourish even more. lots of natural light comes in from the many windows of her cabin, surrounded by greenery and trees and a small pond that wild animals often visit, knowing her safe haven is also a safe haven for any animals. the place always smells like whatever she’s baking, the decor homey and filled with crystals and incense and hand painted mugs and vases. greens, yellows, oranges, and tan colors. books balanced on any available surface.

she becomes steve’s girl best friend, and he loves her so much. worships her, really. steve makes it his mission to spoil and love his pretty girl, even if he hides it behind silly flirting and the pretense of friendship.

whenever they’re together, steve and his girl are all the other sees. the gang has a little bet on who will break first, steve or his flower girl.

her sit is always his lap.

steve swears off other girls as soon as he meets her.

he is very affectionate towards her, and she loves to kiss his cheeks.

they often have sleepovers just the two of them.

they’re so close they can just exist together and be at peace.

she’s so supportive of him too, always praising him and hyping him up.

steve is overprotective of her.

whenever one goes the other sure follows.

see, steve’s girl is so sweet on him it drives robin crazy. because robin knows the feelings are reciprocated, but she also knows both steve and his girl enough to know she needs to let them figure this out by themselves. it doesn’t mean robin isn’t their number one fan, though.

steve’s pretty girl bakes him sweets often to bring to him at work to “make your day a little easier, stevie”, she brings him flowers from her job that steve learns to preserve in his room, she gives him her favorite ring that he never takes off. but steve also does little things for his sweet girl— takes care of her and buys her chocolate because it makes her so happy and giddy he falls a little more in love each time. he also reminds her to drink water, buys her favorite snacks for movie night or when she’s on her period, takes her to the movies, drives her everywhere (because she’s his pretty passenger princess) to have some extra time with her.

oh! steve’s girl also has a bunch of homemade gifts that she keeps in a small glass trunk in her home because she’s too shy to give them to her stevie— handmade bracelets, handmade wire rings, pretty things she finds at thrift stores that remind her of her pretty boy, handmade necklaces, small gifts with pressed flowers, letters she writes down because she feels so deeply for her sweet boy that she needs to let it out somehow, and a bunch of other small gifts that she hopes one day she can give to her stevie to show him how much she loves him.

she’s so lovely to her stevie without even realizing, though. she’s demiromantic, you see, and after becoming friends with steve she started to slowly fall for him. the thing is, she knew very well what was happening, she’s very in tune to her emotions, and she fell for him willingly! whereas steve fell for her fast and kept falling.

imagine his girl never had her first kiss… she’s so inexperienced and her sweet persona and gentle demeanor make her seem like the softest person ever. steve is so mesmerized by her.

he flirts with her and is sweet to her and devotes his time to her and spoils her rotten and gives her kisses and hugs and cuddles and all the love he has to give— steve quickly decided that even if they’re ‘just friends’ he’ll still treat her like his princess, give her everything he can and shower her in his adoration until she catches up. and even then, even when it’s so obvious that steve is in love with her, that he blushes and stutters and gets flustered only for her, that he shows her every day just how much he loves her, she remains oblivious.

in her pov, she knows she’s in love with her stevie so she’s going to treat him like the most precious person in her world. which he is. the thing is that she gives him all of her love without ever once considering that he might return it, even as he flirts and quite literally says he’s hers and she’s his all the time, it never even crosses her mind to actually believe it. maybe because she’s trying to protect herself from heartbreak. she just decides that her stevie deserves the world so she’s going to give him all she can.

but she’s so soft with him! holds his face between her hands when talking to him sometimes like she’s holding her whole world on her hands, presses kisses to his cheeks all the time, gives him hugs. she always compliments him, isn’t afraid of telling him exactly what’s on her mind…

“you look so pretty, stevie”

“i’m so proud of you.”

“i missed you lots today!”

“i saw this cute puppy and it reminded me of you ‘cause you’re just as cute!”

“i always prefer your company.”

flower girl is the most adorable sight steve has ever seen! she pouts so prettily whenever she doesn’t get the attention she wants from him, all soft lips and furrowed brows and plush cheeks crossed arms, and steve just wants to pepper kisses all over her face.

her love languages:

she bakes him cookies ; buys him things that remind her of her stevie ; plans these cute little “friend” outings that feel more like dates ; she’s never lacking in her affections though she’s very timid and shy when it happens ; will defend him no matter what ; makes sure to always praise him ; she gets all cranky if someone insults him even playfully ; she’s very shy so she often hides her face on his chest or neck and it makes his heart flutter ; she helps him babysit bc the kids love her ; she gave her stevie a special arrangement of flowers that she created just for him plus a little booklet of pictures of the two of them together that also had pressed flowers on it for his birthday ; she checks in with him every day even if they don’t see each other to make sure her stevie is doing okay ; will stay on the phone with him all night especially if he had a nightmare or a fight with his parents.

where steve’s best friend is all cute and pouty and sweet and clingy and loving but only to her stevie!!!!! and she’s a bit ditzy— talks to animals and plants and inanimate objects like they can answer her, her thoughts jump from one thing to another but steve always entertains her, she skips instead of waking a lot, she dresses all cute and coquette and always has glitter on her somewhere, she gives steve handmade gifts all the time with this shy little smile and blushing and sometimes when the gift is specially meaningful she’ll run away as soon as he accepts it 🥺 she trips over her own feet a lot too!!! so steve has to grip her waist to help her find her footing!!! and it makes her break out in goosebumps!!! and steve is so in love with her, with her ramblings and midnight ice cream cravings and true crime rants and the way she talks about murder and psychopath profiling and laughs at horror movies and has crystals and tarot cards and wants to befriend ghosts, how she gives her stevie little glass bottles with protection spells or anti-anxiety spells or how she always needs to hear his voice before bed.

and she’s so pretty and soft and kind and nice and laughs a lot and everyone loves her— but she never notices how so many people flirt with her, and never notices whenever steve scares possible suitors away, because really she only sees steve!!!!!! and it makes him crazy to see how she blatantly ignores anyone and everyone to focus on him!!!!!

but then one day steve’s girl starts feeling sad and heartbroken because she’s convinced herself that steve still loves nancy so she starts pulling away a little and steve doesn’t understand what he did wrong! robin has to spell it out for him that his girl thinks he still wants nancy when that couldn’t be further from the truth; steve now knows he’s never truly been in love before, not like he is with his angel, and that it was his angel that showed him he deserves someone who loves him just as much as he loves them. therefore, steve does his best to find ways to tell his girl that nancy is in the past, that she has nothing to worry about, but he has to do so while him and his angel aren’t together yet so he slowly breached the subject until he can figure out where his girl stands, if he can make a move, if she’s interested in him too, y’know? like those conversations filled with a deeper meaning and both parties trying to drop hints about their feelings but they’re still too hesitant to be more clear in their affections. for now.

imagine steve spoiling her and making her all giddy and happy and shy and giggly :( i want steve to treat his baby like royalty way before they even get together :( i wanna read about their first kiss and how it makes steve’s knees buckle and how she’s so giggly because it’s her first kiss and he tells her he wants to marry her right then and there and she tells him she never ever would consider being with anyone but her stevie :(

after they get together—

their first kiss happens in what steve considers to be the best night of his life to date.

it was halloween, and he was slightly nervous about going to the fair with not only the kids and robin and eddie, but his girl too. the year before, he stayed in with his angel and robin watching movies and eating junk, which was the perfect night ‘cause he got to cuddle his girl, but last halloween he went out to celebrate didn’t end up being very enjoyable for him… what with having your now-ex call you bulshit, bullshit, bullshit.

however, this is his girl he’s talking about. while it wasn’t a date, simply a hangout with their friend group, steve still considers his girl, well… his. and the fact she insisted on meeting them there herself had him slightly on edge.

she was dressed as a fairy.

steve has never seen anyone as pretty, as mesmerizing. and the way she treated this night, treated him, was driving steve crazy.

first, once she meets everyone at the entrance of the amusement park they agreed to go to, she insists on paying for both herself and steve. literally grabs steve’s wallet from his hand and only gives it back after she pays.

he, of course, only really allows it because she gives him her — in steve’s opinion illegal — pouty puppy eyes that she knows steve can’t say no to.

afterwards, once they all enter and the kids disperse to the various entertainment with the agreement of meeting up later to eat, steve’s girl drags him away from robin and eddie, who were both sporting knowing grins, to a shooting booth where she proceeds to win, suspiciously easily might he add, a stuffed frog for him.

and then she grabs his hand. albeit hesitantly, but she does. intertwining their fingers and everything.

the entire night was a dream for steve, and unbeknownst to him, for his girl too. she had a plan, you see. his angel was pulling out all the stops, even if she was shy and blushy the whole time— paying for the tickets for both of them was number one. followed by winning steve a stuffed animal, holding his hand, sharing fried oreos and cotton candy (again, paid by her), and going to the photobooth. the ferris wheel would be last, but it’s what happens inside the photobooth that matters.

once inside, steve made sure she was sat on his lap. she payed again. the pictures go a little something like this:

1st pic steve is laughing and she’s looking at him like he’s her dream come true which he is / 2nd pic she pushes forward not being able to wait any longer and quickly presses her lips to his a bit messily / 3rd pic is her looking all flustered and shy and doe-eyed while steve has this dazed look in his eyes and his jaw is dropped / 4th pic is steve grabbing her cheeks and kissing her fully, brows furrowed and all.

steve steals another kiss at the top of the ferris wheel, it was giggling and smiling more than kissing, though.

on the drive home, angel makes a stop at their self-assigned star gazing spot where she officially asks steve to be her boyfriend, all flustered and timid but oh so hopeful. another kiss, a resounding “yes” from her sweet boy, and dropping him off with a quick goodnight kiss ends the night, and steve has never been happier.

the fact she planned this whole night, took a chance, romanced the hell out of him, and was so genuine the whole time, looking to make him smile, just because, had steve on a high unlike any other. no one has ever taken the time to spoil him, to do romantic things for him. he’s not used to reciprocity in relationships, but here this angel is professing her love for him and not only saying it but showing him she means it. best night of his life.

and so their relationship begins.

steve harrington just worships his girl, spoils her continuously, and wants to do everything for her. he is overly affectionate and just obsessed with his baby, pictures of her and with her everywhere on his house, his car, his wallet, maybe even a locket he wears with a copy of the picture of their first kiss on it. steve took the photobooth strip and got the second picture, his angel kissing him for the first time, copied and altered to fit into the locket.

everyone in town just knows steve is entirely whipped and he does not care. he is definitely touch starved for his girl, quite a bit jealous, however, but trusts her so much that it just comes out as a sort of possessiveness that isn’t toxic but something both he and, secretly, his angel enjoy. steve always praises her and wants to take care of her because she’s his sweet little angel girl.

steve is also her first everything— first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, first time… and it drives him insane! something about knowing he’s the only one that’s ever had her and the only one she’s ever wanted just drives him up the wall and gets him so needy. so desperate. so whiney and pouty.

something else about steve as a boyfriend is that he’s his angel’s biggest fan — always praising, always encouraging, always in awe of her. will brag about his baby to anyone. randomly brings her up in conversation because she’s all he thinks about and he’s so proud to be hers.

buying her flowers whenever he can so she’ll give him this wide, square smile of hers that takes over her whole face like she can’t control it and her nose scrunches up a bit and he never wants to look at anything but her.

her stevie is really into pda too, can’t take his hands off of her, but nothing extreme; casual touches and pecks on her nose or temple or lips or cheeks, buries his face in her neck often, hand holding constantly!!!!!!, plays with her hair, is always playing with the delicate ‘s’ pendant on her neck that he gifted her and she never takes off (steve has this proud little smile whenever he messes with it).

then there’s the casual dominance— steve tucks her hair behind her ears, ties her shoelaces for her, adjusts the clasp of her necklace, puts her dainty jewelry on for her, braids her hair because she’s always clumsy with it and she prefers his braids over hers, gives her water so she stays hydrated, remembers her meds for her, adjusts her beanie on her hair when it’s cold and she’s wearing one, wipes chocolate from the corner of her mouth because his baby is a messy eater, pulls on her waist when they’re walking so she doesn’t bump into someone or something because she’s too busy talking and looking at him, spoon feeds her when she’s too tired and sleepy and pouty, brushes her teeth for her too when she’s being his cute little tired baby or is in subspace, brushing her hair and treating her like a little doll, his little doll, and loves to shower with her so he can do it for her, loves to drive her everywhere too. she’s his pretty passenger princess and they both take that role very seriously.

and whenever his pretty baby gets all glassy eyed and needy and blushy for him? he melts.

steve has a daddy kink. major one. and when he finally finds his baby, his person, he starts noticing things she might be into for the sole reason of wanting to be the absolute best he can be for his baby. the thing is, he knows she’s entirely new to this and still a bit nervous and hesitant and shy, so he starts by filing things away in his brain to make sure once she’s ready and the time comes that he can treat her perfectly, and give her everything and anything she wants.

his baby is probably a sub, she must be, with how pliable and soft she gets. for sure has an oral fixation, always giving him little kisses and little bites randomly and pressing his hand to her lips so she can softly mouth at them (but will shy away and get flustered when she notices she’s doing this) (she just loves his hands and he knows). steve’s girl also gets all flustered and her breath hitches when he jokingly calls himself ‘daddy’, so he takes that as a good sign because there’s nothing steve wants more in this world than to be her daddy. only hers. to spoil and care for and love his baby to the best of his ability.

she also loves when he manhandles her, he’s noticed— it’s just that steve really enjoys carrying his baby around, loves feeling needed and loves holding her and having her body pressed to his and have her hold on to him, but also he just wants to do things for his baby, doesn’t want her to tire herself out, ever!

she doesn’t need to walk around all the time because her stevie’s here and he won’t have his baby do unnecessary work when he’s around. whenever he grabs her waist and places her on top of a counter or something and stands between her legs? she gets all smiley. steve also absolutely loves how clearly his touch affects her; she hums and melts into him and gets a bit breathless and just tries to bury herself into him until they become one. lots of cuddles and hugs from behind and just being entirely wrapped in each other while wearing the coziest sweaters under the cuddliest blanket are common occurrences.

the main thing, though… is how steve’s shy little girlfriend quickly becomes obsessed with his bulge. loves when her stevie hugs her from behind so it presses against her, or when he has her sit between his legs with her back to his chest, or any time where her stevie is holding her close. he doesn’t even need to be hard for her to enjoy it, i mean, he shows through his jeans even when he’s soft! and she just always thinks it looks so…soft? and chubby? and she just wants it smushed against her at all times.

it takes steve a while to figure it out, but when he does? he’s relentless! pressing up against his baby all. the. fucking. time. just to see her blush and stutter and get all shy… but she also fucking sighs and relaxes whenever he does it, like it’s such a comfort for her? to feel all of him? like it’s all she’s waiting for at all times. and it drives steve crazy how his cute, shy, introverted, virgin girlfriend who giggles all the time and is always flustered by him and hiding her hot cheeks with her hands and is so… clumsy and tentative and nervous when it comes to any sort of affection (which she only accepts from her stevie) ((she definitely hates touch except his)) (((and he knows it too! was one of the things that proved to him his pretty best friend had feelings for him too when they were ‘just friends’))) can be so desperate to feel his bulge against her.

angel also loves that her stevie boy has huge hands! absolutely massive. could-wrap-one-hand-around-your-entire-neck massive, beautiful, strong, soft hands.. and yeah, both steve and his girl definitely have huge size kinks. huge. they haven’t said so out loud yet, but it shows through their actions. steve loves how obvious the size difference is when they’re holding hands, or when his hand is on her soft thighs. most of the time his baby holds his fingers instead because it hurts a little bit to intertwine their fingers for too long and steve thinks it’s fucking adorable. she’s shorter too, so 😵‍💫 her sweet boy goes crazy. teasing, best friend steve comes out sometimes too when he uses her head as an armrest to tease her, or when he full on picks her up to take her somewhere if she’s being a brat or is too lazy, too tired to move.

steve’s angel loves their size difference. so much. it shows when she hides herself against his chest when it’s cold, when she compares hand sizes because “stevie, the difference is just insane!”, when steve smushes her into the mattress when they start fucking later on. steve notices his angel blush or sigh or break out in goosebumps whenever his hands are involved— i mean, can you blame her? his hands are so pretty. she’s always holding and touching and tracing her fingertips over his palms and pressing kisses, biting softly, sucking on his fingers when she’s restless, fidgety, or sleepy.

using steve as a weighted blanket is a must; helps angel when she’s anxious or having a bad day.

to be continued…

── harmo’s footnotes:

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masterlist. steve dreams.

ghostlyfleur © — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, or translate.

#fairy writes #steve harrington (harmo’s version) #lovesick!steve harrington #best friend!steve harrington #flirty!steve harrington #boyfriend!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington friends to lovers #shy!reader #virgin!reader #inexperienced!reader #st x you #st x reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington hc #steve harrington headcanon

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: stop, you’re losing me || part two: in the trees, in the breeze

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Coriolanus Snow had once a sweet girlfriend that helped him in his darkest days. Until he betrayed her and on the post-Hunger Games celebration, he gave her all the reasons to leave him. Not without causing her a breakdown that makes him regret everything.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ capitol ballerina!reader, soft!Coryo at the beginning, slight canon divergence, manipulation, sex implied, violence, reader has a mental breakdown that ends in tragedy, if you don’t want to read about mental health, beware!!!!!!

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ I had to split this into two parts. Next part will be slowburn, early politician!Coryo realising he married a half rebel woman and many many dramaaaa. Songs for this: Stop, you’re losing me and tírate lol.

♪ ♫ awful Coriolanus Snow playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t possible. But Coriolanus could swear that even days after, the smell of fresh paint was still lingering on the air of his penthouse. Maybe because the smell was actually gone since a week ago, but he refused to let go the memory of you and your face with splotches of paint.

On a bright winter morning, you appeared early with buckets of paint. Tigris insisted that none of the Snows could accept the offer, saying it was too much. The walls were full of humidity, paint falling by itself. You could see the sadness on Grandma’am, she was a patriotic woman, but that didn’t stop her to miss the days before the war, where the penthouse was bright and full of life.

Through a peaceful argument, as Tigris insisted on not taking the buckets of paint, you had already opened one and with a big brush, you splashed a wall from the entrance. The new color was shiny on top of the old layer, and it brought a giant smile to the elder woman.

Coriolanus had so much fun, thinking his girlfriend was the best and listening to the old radio as both of you painted the whole place.

Now, the place was still a mess, but the bright olive-green walls made it better.

It had been a thing of destiny that you appeared on the second year of the Academy. You were a loner, always choosing to work on your own for projects. During lunch, you only had two girlfriends, and Coriolanus was able to see that you laughed so hard every time you were with them. He also learned you had a dark humor, making fun of everyone. Like the school staff, Arachne Crane, other classmates, even the president. He grew curious of you. And one random day, after only you and Coriolanus where the only people missing a partner, a teacher matched you two.

Some months later, you discovered about his financial situation. And Coriolanus had been so scared, thinking you would share the secret and ruin his life. But the next morning, you handed him half of your lunch, knowing he was starving, because at the time, the Academy didn’t offered lunch yet.

The act made Coriolanus Snow realize he could trust you. You met his cousin and grandmother, bringing a giant box full of pastries as a present for them.

Tigris was at the verge of tears and immediately thought you were the one for her little cousin.

Soon it became real. After you turned seventeen, he asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend.

“CORYO! IT’S ABOUT TO START! HURRY UP!” Tigris shouted from the kitchen. He sighed, only to end up coughing.

“ALMOST DONE!” He shouted back. His wet hair making him shiver, rapidly wandering across his room to find his body lotion. Eucalyptus. Coriolanus used to hate the smell of eucalyptus. But he started liking the odor since you had a candle made of it in your room. A little after, you gifted him a lotion and perfume of eucalyptus.

Only that Coriolanus couldn’t smell since his nose was congested. He caught a flu, and while he was feeling better, he was still struggling to inhale and breathe properly.

“IF YOU ARE NOT HERE IN THE FOLLOWING FIVE MINUTES, I’M COMING TO GET YOU!” Coriolanus giggled at his cousin threatening him. After putting on a warm sweater and some dressing pants, he came out of his room.

His family was already gathered in the living room, with the tv on. He turned to the dining table, looking at the bouquet of white and red roses, he smiled, hoping you would be happy to see them. Spring was around the corner, the firsts flowers from his grandmother’s top garden had bloomed. At the same time, your first-year anniversary with the young Snow was coming.

The annual gala of arts had existed since the first days of Panem. With music, sculpture, paint, drama and dance performances. It used to be private, then the war happened, and it was suspended. And now, it had been five years since it started to be a show anyone with a tv could see.

Your father was the owner of production establishments of Panem, who happened to have married a famous dancer, also owner of the biggest dance company in the Capitol. No clue how you turned out to be a wonderful sight on stage.

And that’s why Coriolanus was expected to come and see the tv. You were about to perform in the gala.

“Who’s out now?” He asked, sitting beside Tigris.

Grandma’am was crocheting something pink and the whole place was cold as the North Pole.

“A girl from District 1.” Before meeting you, Coriolanus had less than the slight knowledge on dance styles. He just knew it was mostly for women, with exorbitant gowns and shoes that seemed pretty. However, the girl on the screen was dancing with bare feet, along a man.

Some weeks after Coriolanus accepted he had feelings for you, he questioned if it was a good idea to join your mother’s dance company so that you would fall easily for him. It wasn’t necessary because you liked him as soon as he made you smile and laugh.

“Oh Coryo! She’s next!” Tigris said, taking his hand while looking nervously at the tv. Coriolanus always thought Tigris was a worrier most of the time, she always got so into her job, always thinking of what if. Seconds later, you appeared, immediately Grandma’am started to cheer and say out loud how beautiful you looked. Red and black dress with a ruffled tutu, your pink thighs and pointe shoes in a perfectly hidden ribbon. And a red flower with feathers and sequins in your head that had Tigris worried about. She made the headpiece for you. And she feared it would fall from your head. Coriolanus soothed her before coming back to smile like an idiot on the tv.

That was his girlfriend. He had literally pulled one of the most beautiful, if not the most perfect girl of Panem.

The music started and it was a delight for him. He always enjoyed classical music. And the one you danced along was a little faster and vivid than usual, making it impossible to keep any eye in any other place but you and your cocky smile.

Coriolanus knew you had an ego. And he loved to fuel it by saying how gorgeous you were all the time. So, he couldn’t wait for you to arrive on his door. Even when he pleaded you not to come, since he didn’t want to be a contagious asset for you. You hadn’t care, bringing some medicines, chicken broth soup and a lot of mint to help with his congestion the day before.

That’s why he felt even more empowered to keep going and win that prize. It was announced before the winter break and the holidays. He promised himself to win so he could become someone. Enough greater to make him worthy from having you. Because now at eighteen, he aspired to be in your life forever.

So, as you shined on that stage, spinning and standing on pointe, Coriolanus mentally repeated that he loved you. He said it occasionally to you, but most of the time he preferred saying it by holding your hand, kissing you and helping with your homework. Sometimes he wondered what true love was. If he was a capable of giving that to you. He wasn’t able to give you presents, only a tiny bouquet of flowers from his grandma’am. He couldn’t take you out on dates to fancy restaurants, not even offering you to stay for dinner in his place. Your dates where on his old rooftop, your bedroom or patio. Unlike you, who came every Friday after school with food for the family. You constantly gifted little things, like perfumes, a new shirt, anything to make his life easier.

His smile only grows bigger as your performance is about to be over. He admires the way your body is able to be so flexible and consistent. He had also seen the pain behind looking like an elegant feather. Some afternoons when he visited your room, you were tired, soaking your feet in warm water to soothe the ache.

But for now, he treasures the image of your smile as you make some reverence, ending your presentation.

“Oh dear… She was perfect!” Grandma’am said happily, with the round of applause on the tv in the background.

“And the headpiece survived the whole time!” Coriolanus rolled his eyes, smiling at his cousin.

As his family talked about your dress and the investments of your parents, the blonde boy returned to see the flower bouquet.

He really hoped you would love them, that you hadn’t turned bored of only receiving flowers from him.

One day, he would buy you expensive jewelry. He would give you the finest dinners and he would find the most beautiful house around the area for you. Only that way he would feel worthy of having you. Only that way he would find appropriate to call you his in all matters.

For now, he was just hanging there. Doing everything to win that prize. Giving you the least he had and shyly accepting all the things you provided him. That’s how he knew you truly loved him. You cared for his family and him. And Coriolanus swore nobody on earth would care that much for him like you.

Making it the main reason why he knew he had to rush it. He had to give you everything.

Not that you minded.

As you encouraged the family driver; Trevor, to take the route he considered most convenient to make it faster to your boyfriend’s place. You smile.

Oh, how you loved your boy.

You loved greeting him with a kiss on the lips followed by little pecks around. He giggled, probably believing you were so silly, but he would lean to kiss you so deeply again.

“We’re almost there, miss” you nod, looking through the window.

“Thank you, Trevor.”

“Should I wait or send Roger to pick you up late?” Roger was your father’s bodyguard. He was tasked to take care of you for his night shift sometimes. You liked Trevor better; he was a kind man of family. You had met his wife and beautiful daughters, sending them presents for their birthdays.

“Not sure yet. But you can go home and rest. It’s Friday and you need to be with your family, Trevor” he smiled, thinking how sweet you were. He cared a lot for you, almost like another daughter.

“Your mother won’t be happy. She was already irritated that you left the gala so early…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out” with that being said, he parked outside of the building. Trevor handed you some bags, full of food, wood and other things. Then your ballet bag. Ready to leave. The whole day, after leaving the Academy, you were only lounging to finish with the gala to went straight to your man’s arms.

“If anything, you call me. Alright?” You smile nodding at the man.

“Alright.” After a exchange of smiles, you wave him goodbye, and he disappears through the empty street.

It was a cloudy day, Lucky Flickerman said it was going to be a thunderstorm night at the Capitol. Gripping your coat tightly, you enter the building.

…

The door suddenly is open, and Coriolanus hears your voice calling from the entrance.

“Where’s everyone?” Tigris volts out from the living room, hurrying to greet you.

“But of course, we were watching you on the tv. Where else?” You laugh, hugging the young woman.

Then Grandma’am also joins to greet, saying you are gorgeous on stage.

“And where’s my boy?” You asked, wandering around. Coriolanus finally appears from the hallway with a smile. You could tell he had showered. His curls looked softer than ever.

He wants to laugh; you are still on thighs. With some black heels, and he can see a tutu under your coat.

Tigris and the elder woman decide to take the food to serve dinner, leaving you and your boyfriend alone. Both of you hear them saying how thankful they were to have food another week.

You open your arms, and he goes straight to hug you. Your hands cradle his face before standing on your tip toes to kiss him.

“How are you feeling?” He seemed to look and feel better. Apparently, the medicines worked.

“A lot better…”

“I missed you.” He also did. If his health hadn’t been compromised, he would’ve attended the gala with you.

“Me too. But you should have stayed home.” It had been a rough week at the Academy, the rehearsals for the gala, acting as a nurse for your sick boyfriend.

“We always spend Fridays together, silly.” He doesn’t deserve you.

“You were beautiful today. Although… you’re always perfect.” You blush, kissing his cheek before following him inside his penthouse.

The smell of mashed potatoes, the piece of ham you brought, and bread fill the place. It had been a little while since Coriolanus could only smell the boiled cabbage and hear his stomach painfully churning.

When you enter the room, you see the big bouquet of roses. You turn to see Coriolanus in disbelief, smiling.

“I hope you like them” the jar is old, but it looks amazing with the perfectly accommodated flowers. Your fingers gently grasp the soft petals. You are so in love with him.

“I will never get tired of this. I love them!” You turn around and Coriolanus sees your face full of adoration. You literally jump to kiss him. Always being received by the passionate yet slow and delicate of his kisses. One hand gently on your neck while the other rested on your cheek. Some strands of his blonde curls brushing against your forehead as your heels make it slightly even when it comes to height.

“Look at them. My future president of Panem and his First Lady.” Tigris giggles at her grandmother, but smiles deeply, happy to see her little cousin in love. And extremely thankful that he found a warm and generous woman like you to have in his life. Because in her head, Coriolanus deserved better.

“Let’s just pray that they graduate for now, Grandma’am.” She adds grabbing the old porcelain plates they have to serve the food.

And it’s a thunder what startles you, squirming away from your boyfriend. He laughs, holding you closer again after seeing you got scared.

“It’s raining!” Tigris announces from the kitchen.

“Guess you’ll have to stay the night.” His cheeky smile makes you gently push him. Your mother was going to be mad. But Tigris would intervene and say it was okay.

It wasn’t the first time you stayed though.

…

There are at least six candles around the room. The temperature decreased significantly after dinner. The water you used to clean the dishes was almost freezing. And Coriolanus wanted to die out of embarrassment when you started heating water on the fireplace to take a shower.

You had said it was nothing and that you don’t mind. But still, he felt so wrong.

Now, he was seating against the head of his bed. Watching how you curated your swollen feet. You pinched some blisters with a needle that had carefully been burned with a match. And now, it was time to put some cream and finally wrap the area with bandages.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asked.

“Not much. I’m used to it now” you replied without looking at him. Still concentrated on your feet.

“I’m sorry about the water.” You frown, finally turning to see him.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” He shrugs, slightly irritated.

“Because I wish I could give you more and I can’t.” he didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he does. Your lips form a line, before crawling until you mere kneeling bedside him on the bed.

“I hate to see you doing things you don’t have the necessity to do so. I hate not being able to treat you like my girlfriend and more like friend. I want to give you the world and I can’t.”

“Coriolanus… Look at me.” You take his hand, and with the other, you are tracing invisible line on his chin with your thumb. He looks at you, eyes slightly watered, making your heart swell for him.

“Life could’ve been so different, I could’ve been in your position, and you in mine.” He closes his eyes, thinking about his terrible luck.

“You charmed me before I knew everything about you. You know it, right?” He nods, tilting his head just to feel more of your touch. In response, you are again grabbing his cheeks.

“You have to let me help you now. That’s what couples do. They help each other. One day you’ll be able to give me anything you want. But for now, I will give you anything just to not see you struggling. Nor your family” your forehead is brushing his, and he can only attempt to nod as you speak.

“And remember, my love. You already make me happy. I’m already proud of you.” He doesn’t cry, but he’s at the verge of. He just hides his face on your neck. And there’s a wet spot on your skin, but you don’t say anything, you just tighten your embrace of him, smiling as you kiss his hair.

“I love you.” He says and it surprises you. While you know he loves you, you are aware that he’s not used to say it very often.

“I love you too, Coryo.”

He promises himself that he will do everything in his will to chase power. To change his faith and give you what you deserve.

The thunderstorm was powerful enough to scare you once in a while. As you were playing cards with Coriolanus, he took your hand every time you got startled. Tigris said goodnight and suggested to keep the door unlocked. Making you blush and Coriolanus too.

“I’m bored.” You said, laying on your side, facing your boyfriend. He dropped his joint of card too, hand landing on your hip, caressing the skin.

“What do you want to do?” You notice the way he’s touching you. It’s slightly inappropriate and it makes you grin.

“You are already suggesting something” his eyes widened, embarrassment flooding him.

“I’m sorry” you chuckle, noticing how shy and insecure he could be.

“Don’t you want to?” It’s your next move what almost makes him choke. You move forward, taking a sit on his lap.

“Of course I want to. Just not here.” You roll your eyes, hands massaging his shoulders, making him groan in delight. Your cream nightgown had lifted, showing him your bare legs. The long sleeve felt so soft against his hands.

“As long as you’re with me, I don’t mind where we’re doing it.” He’s unsure, but he can feel himself getting hard. Finally, after months of having only the company of his hand, he could claim you. He doesn’t love that it’s going to happen in his old bed, in his messed-up room. But you look so gorgeous with bare light from the candles. Now half naked showing him for the first time your naked body.

“Are you sure?” He asks one last time, feeling a string of saliva connected between your lips and his. It’s dirty, messy and extremely erotic to be the first time.

“Believe me, nothing wakes up Tigris and Grandma’am. We’re safe…”

“Alright. I trust you, Coryo.”

“Good. Now get on your back and spread those legs for me.” His possessive side would always surprise you. But you enjoyed it. And now, as the thunderstorm keeps going you let his possessive side dominate you.

“God, I love you.” You say as he makes you believe the rain falling outside were actually stars.

…

“Look at the tragic lovers, already in pose for a war memorial portrait”. You roll your eyes at Arachne. You hear Felix, Festus and even Clemmie laughing along other classmates. Coriolanus ignores her, taking your hand, reassuring you. The building was getting crowded. The Reaping was around the corner, but you were only praying for your boyfriend. Hoping to leave the place with the prize on his hands.

“Careful, Arachne. One day they might have a portrait in the parliament building” Clemensia says giggling.

“How? Because Coriolanus would be Panem’s president and y/n as First Lady? Allow me to laugh…” you can listen to her annoying voice. Something you always wished was a good friendship with your classmates. But it was difficult. Arachne was very competitive and judgmental; Festus was tedious along Felix. Persephone was extremely quiet; Livia was too naïve. Only Clemensia and Sejanus seemed to be genuine with you.

“Who knows?” Sejanus spoke from the other side of rows, walking to seat beside Arachne and your boyfriend. You smiled at him, and he reciprocated it. Coriolanus was too lost on his thoughts to pay attention to the little argument. Until Sejanus tilted his head to whisper something to him.

“There is no prize anymore.” The blonde turns to look at him in confusion. But the ceremony has officially started. He feels you taking his hand in disguise. And it’s the only reason why he feels less nervous.

Until Dean Highbottom reveals the sudden changes, which makes your heart pound faster. And without a warning, the listing of tributes begins. You look away when you see the little girl named Wovey being focused on camera, the sadness and uneasy churn in your stomach hitting you by the end of District 11 tributes.

And finally, the songbird is paired with Coriolanus.

He sees the way you frown, cringed by her singing. Even when she had a wonderful voice, it was unexpected and certainly odd for some. Then, he sees you cover your mouth in disbelief when she curses on the microphone. Coriolanus can’t tell, but he assumes it’s gonna be a little difficult to deal with that girl. Seeing zero chances to win.

Then he realised the tributes were mentioned. The Reaping had finished.

It’s over. Everyone has a tribute except for you. Dean Highbottom resumes the listing walking away, making you turn to see him, raising your hand immediately. Ready to ask questions.

“Put your hand down, Miss y/l/n. It’s not a mistake the order of the listing” you hear Dr. Gaul saying firmly. When you turn around, she’s there, offering a cold yet deep look with her unmatched eye irises.

Slowly, your hand goes down, laying on your lap, slightly shaking.

“Your parents have been generous enough to become official sponsors of the games.” Voices echo across the room, gossiping about the news. Even for you, this was a surprise.

Coriolanus looks at you but doesn’t say anything. He just wondered how much this would make your family richer.

“The mentors have to make their tributes a spectacle. But your task is to make all of the 10th Hunger Games a massive spectacle. Propaganda, production and strategy…” your face goes pale. But you dare to question it.

“Is this some type of punishment?” Gaul laughs, offering a genuine smile later, her hands together, like she was comfortable on her spot.

“Consider this your admission test. You won’t be fighting for the prize, but this would give you enough honors to automatically join the best branches of the Capitol’s University.” Quietly, you nod under the curious look of your classmates. The look of Arachne full of envy, Clemensia confused, Sejanus doubting. And your dear Coriolanus, he was happy to be honest. You could easily make his tribute look presentable so he could win. He would get the prize, get into university, become a political figure if not president and finally give you anything he couldn’t before.

But for now, the ceremony is over. You say goodbye to your friends, and you walk with Coriolanus, he takes your hand and together leave the place.

…

Your vision looks lost, but seemingly focused on the cracked floor. Coriolanus had been looking at you, he crossed his arms, but still nothing. Your heels were scattered, but you looked very comfortable at the edge of his bed.

“What’s on your mind, sweets?” You feel the cushions sinking beside you, his palm goes to rub your back, taking you back to reality.

“I don’t want the weight of all those upcoming deaths on me. On making it an entertainment…” rarely you spoke about the games or politics with your boyfriend. Mostly it was about university, future plans, music, and random pieces of your lives.

“It won’t be your fault, y/n. This will prove to everyone in the Capitol how worthy you are” he tries to soothe you.

“Still. While I do believe we deserve peace and to gain the respect the First Rebellion took from us, I do believe that putting some children to kill each other in the arena each year isn’t going to make a change” he sighed.

“That little girl…” he had seen the kid. But he grew indifferent to that, he was only focused on winning, and he was going to try to psyche you into the same.

“What terrifies you so much?” He asks, finally making you look at him in the eye.

“I have a bad feeling, Coryo. Like everything is gonna go down bad” you admit. You couldn’t tell if it was the change, your new task or Lucy Gray Baird. You were avoiding being judgmental, but as soon as you saw what she did with that snake, your initial thought was that she was a problem.

“None of that. You are making this Hunger Games unforgettable; I’m winning the prize. And that’s it, we will go to university together and make all those things we’ve talked about. That’s all that matters, y/n. Right?” It’s inevitable, you know it’s some sort of manipulation.

He does it with good intentions, but you don’t like it.

“I will give my best to make this whole thing memorable. I will try to make your songbird win. But none of this will wash away the guilt.”

Before the moment can get uncomfortable, Tigris enters the room. She smiles before standing against the little desk Coriolanus had.

“How was it? Tell me everything” she’s anxious to know everything, but for sure knows Coriolanus didn’t get the prize.

“We’ll give you the details in the table. But for now, I’m mentoring the tribute from District 12. y/n is in charge of the game's propaganda” her blonde brows furrow.

“The girl who singed?” Both of you nod. She sighs, crossing her arms.

“This isn’t what was supposed to happen…” Tigris adds. Again, you let yourself fall against the mattress, covering your face.

“Making the games’ an spectacle. What were they thinking?” Coriolanus exchanged looks with Tigris. She understood his look. Mentally telling him to give you some female soothing advice. She decided then to take seat too. You end up sandwiched between them.

It’s her hand brushing some hairs away your neck and face. Tigris had always treated you like family. And that’s why you felt more guilty. Because you wanted Coriolanus to win so badly, to help his family but you also thought about the tributes. About making their deaths some type of entertainment for everyone to watch.

“Sounds unfair. A lot of things from the Capitol are wrong.” You nod. When you see them, you are received by the cousins giving you soothing looks.

“I just want this to be over…”

“It’ll pass. Everything will go great. You’re smart and very talented. And we’ll help you in everything we can” you have to give her a little hug.

“And I’ll help my boy too. That girl is going to be a problem” Coriolanus rolls his eyes, thinking the same as you.

“See? Let’s just be optimistic.” Tigris stands up excitedly, later looking for something on her dress pocket.

“Tigris. I’m making dinner. Do not boil any more cabbage” you giggle, and Coriolanus has to smile, admitting to himself that just by seeing you happy he felt better.

“No. You don’t have to.”

“Please. Just let me go for some groceries.” She nods shyly. Then she pulls out some little bag from the pocket.

“Fine. But you are taking these from now on…” she throws the bag and dissapears. When you look inside the bag, you take out a box of pills. Immediately your cheeks turn red.

“Oh my god” you hand the box to the boy.

“Oh…” they’re birth control pills.

Soon both of you start laughing before you have to give him a kiss. Probably it was for the best because Coriolanus Snow never pulled out. And luckily you weren’t pregnant yet.

“I’ll get the groceries from Trevor” he nods, watching you walk away.

You briefly stop after seeing the picture on a frame. Of Coriolanus as a baby and his mother carrying him. Beside that picture, there’s one you hadn’t seen before. It’s you, from the gala of last year. You wore a red dress with pink ribbons and long gloves that matched the gown. You are smiling, not at the camera.

You were smiling at Coriolanus, who had insisted the photographer to take a picture of only you.

The feeling of happiness, bliss and peace hit you, making it impossible to leave your boyfriend’s room without a giant smile.

…

Speaking out loud had never been your thing. You sucked for speeches, debates. Well, only to prepare for them. Your hands would shake, and your face would turn red. But at the moment to step into the highlight, you were wonderful.

And it was noticeable.

“Here I am with the lovely y/n y/l/n, who’s in charge of directing the course of this games this year. Tell me y/n, was your idea to bring the tributes to the zoo?”

“No. To be honest, my directing journey officially starts as soon as the tributes are here. For now, I’m not doing anything… Yet.” Lucky Flickerman laughs.

“Well… I believe this is going to be a heated road. Don’t you think so? OH-, forget about her opinion, no one cares. THE TRIBUTES ARE HERE!” You turn behind to look. The vehicle opened its doors and the tributes fell. But you have to move away from the cameras after seeing a red uniform of the Academy. What the hell was Coriolanus doing there?

He doesn’t notice you yet. But you are able to see him talking with the girl. You see Lucy Gray Baird in person for the first time. She’s very pretty, short as you and her dress is very pretty. That’s not the problem though. You don’t like the way Coriolanus leans to whisper to her something, then he pulls the rose on his uniform and pins it behind her ear. Hearing Lucky Flickerman calling them, the couple holds hands, and they start answering questions.

It’s just for the views. It’s just to win that damn prize. Relax… You can trust him.

When Lucy Gray starts talking with a girl, Coriolanus spots you. You can’t decipher his look, but he knows for sure you aren’t pleased. Your hands making fists against the fabric on your wide dressing pants.

As soon as the cameras are gone, you go on a straight line towards him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He drops the songbird’s hand, looking seriously taken aback.

“I told you I was meeting my tribute” Lucy Gray looks intrigued by your sudden appearance. Your moles, orange makeup, heavy golden earrings and perfectly painted lips. You’re perfect.

“This is embarrassing. What are my parents going to think? This could get you into trouble, Coriolanus” he sighs. Takes your hand through the giant cage but you whisk away, looking very angry.

“I’m sorry. This is just… too much.” He will talk to you later, he knows you’re head is spinning. Probably the rose and taking the songbird’s hand wasn’t a good idea.

“This is Lucy Gray…” he introduces the girl. And you finally acknowledge her. You give her a fake smile, just trying to look calm and be polite. She only stares.

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry this is the way were meeting” she looks proud, like the fact that you look gorgeous, and she had just been thrown into an animal cage wasn’t humbling for her.

“Aren’t you in charge of making this a good show? Like putting us here like we were some kind of animals?” She must hate the Capitol. And it pisses you off the way she’s talking to you. A hostile tone in disguise.

“I’m only working for this to get more views and get into Univeristy. Where etiquette and manners are taught with much emphasis. But I’m not the one doing the rules” you respond colder, giving a little hint that Lucy Gray needed to be refined. After that, you proceed to ignore her again.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get your back with Highbottom if anything happens” you whisper to the blonde, and before he can say anything you leave. You exchange some words with Flickerman and the camera production before leaving with them.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy Gray asks. Coriolanus turns to see her.

“That’s my girlfriend.” His confirmation slightly surprised the girl. You seemed very… Capitol. Like the perfect match for him.

“She’s very pretty.” He wants to chuckle, but he only nods. In his mind, he wasn’t sure if Lucy gray meant it or if she was just trying to be sarcastic. Either way he doesn’t care much.

You’re perfect.

…

In your room, only the gentle morning breeze can be heard. You look at the balcony, looking at the mountains that surrounded the Capitol. It was summer, soon after fall began, the white would cover the city.

There’s a knock on your door and when you turn to see who it is, there is your mother.

“How did Coriolanus end up with the tributes?” You look away, already feeling ashamed.

“I don’t know, mother. He was supposed to meet the tribute at the train station. I don’t know how he ended up there…”

“It was a… messy entrance. But he seemed to have charmed the cameras on his favor. Don’t you think so?” Your mother liked your boyfriend, but sometimes she thought he had some secrets hidden, and that made you set some alarms. Probably because only, you knew about his financial problems.

“As it was expected. How do you think I felt when everyone knew he is my boyfriend? It was embarrassing.” She giggles, stepping inside of your room. Grabbing your perfectly ironed Academy uniform and accommodating the sleeves.

“I didn’t like the way he… forced that interaction with the girl.” You admit in a quiet tone.

“They were holding hands. He tucked his rose on her ear.” Your blood boils at the memory, making you groan in discontent.

“Yes.” You confirm to her.

“You’re jealous. And you shouldn’t be… Coriolanus loves you. Why would he even turn to look down at a dirty and disheveled girl from District 12? When he has you, a gorgeous and already successful young woman. Who’s capitol to his luck.” You smile. But the uncomfortable omen would have you spinning until the games were over.

“You can’t let any feelings get in the way of your task, my dear.” Says your father appearing at the door. You just stare at him.

“Let the boy play along the untidy girl for now. It will help to raise the views and create dubiety. You will complete your duty and that will make you memorable. As a daughter of mine and your mother we want you to exceed our accomplishments, this would be the first step. As soon as you make it, all the doors will be open for you. And the boy will be eating from the palm of your hand.” You know that’s not how it works, but he is right. As much as you wanted your boyfriend to win the games. You had to think on your own for the first time.

“You’re right.” Your dad smiles, only entering the room to leave a kiss on your head. Silently telling you how proud he is of you.

“Good. Now put some makeup and the uniform.” You nod at your mom, replying at her smile but feeling slightly empty on the inside.

…

Once again you have zoned out.

Coriolanus sees the way you are lost in your thoughts. As Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul are slightly debating after he was almost penalized for the zoo events, the gossip between the students doesn’t flush away easily.

You were quiet since that day. Same kisses, same smile, and same giggles. But the sudden lack of communication and sex was worrying Coriolanus.

Then Arachne died. Clemensia hadn’t been on class for some days. You weren’t around to see, but the news made you feel weird. Coriolanus was getting obsessed with the songbird, but that didn’t mean he was leaving aside… yet.

He had heard and seen how most of the student's made fun of you and your task for the Hunger Games. Saying that you had been put on that position for your parents. Very much like what everyone thought of Sejanus Plinth on daily basis. It made you feel anxious, that guilt only increasing. And unfortunately, Coriolanus hadn’t been around to soothe those fears.

“Are you sure you’re okay, y/n?” He asks once for all. You seem to hear him, but before you can answer him. Gaul had made everyone go quiet.

“Has a decision been made, Miss. y/l/n?” You raise your head, looking at the woman and slowly you nod, standing up.

“A decision has been made with the council of the games and the production team. The mentors and their tributes have to make a strategy, it’s obligatory. The mentors have to make detailed research on the district of their tribute. In two days, the research must be submitted so the tributes can be guaranteed an interview before the games. Only that way, the sponsors will come and by the end of the games, the mentors will be honored in the post-games' celebration.” The more you talked, the more the students seemed to hate you. Coriolanus can only think that you’re doing it because of rage, and he isn’t unsure if he likes it or not.

Dr. Gaul wants to laugh, believing you had shut everyone’s mouth. She can see a female enraged lover can react when cards are played against her. And she is savoring the way her Hunger Games are making everyone fight for their own good, not only the tributes.

When class is over, you don’t wait for Coriolanus. You just start grabbing your stuff and decide to leave.

He has to hurry so he can follow your pace. He calls your name once, but until his hand gently grabs your forearm, you stop.

“What is going on?” He asks, ignoring that both of you are in the middle of a hallway.

“About what?” There’s a lot to say, but you just can’t seem to be able to respond.

He sighs, and looking around, he drags you to an empty room. Open to public, but perfect for some minutes of privacy.

“You can talk to me…”

“I know… It’s just…” he inspects your face, looking at any details to try to understand you.

“Just what, sweets?”

“There’s too much going on at the same time. I’m just stressed out. I’m sorry for being distant, Coryo” you refuse to admit you’re jealous, that you are following your father’s advice, that you are sick of everything.

“It’ll be over in three more days or so. Then you know what departs for us…” you nod as he leans to close the distance, your foreheads touching. It was Coriolanus silent way of saying I love you and I’m here. So you take the moment to treasure it.

“Just one thing, Coryo…”

“Yes, dear?” He asks on your lips.

“If things get tricky… Are you going to fight for me if needed?” He smiles, your lips trembling against his chin.

“I would walk the whole territory of Panem just to get you, y/n” and with that, he kisses you so hard that it makes you remember why you choose him.

And why you would always choose him.

…

It’s late in the night and you opted to stay for late rehearsals. Your nails are a mess as you had anxiously been biting them. You see a burgundy spot on the right side of your pointe shoe. Your feet are bleeding. But that doesn’t compare to the waves of chills you had every day.

“AGAIN!” Your instructor yells. You are the opening act for the celebration. Every district would have a dance and some mentors would have an honorific mention. However, yours was a delicate piece of ballet. The music was beautiful, but it made you feel little, very vulnerable.

You try every single time, but your instructor kept saying that you needed to look sadder by the end.

“Miss y/n?…” your mother’s assistant came to the door of the studio, making you stop and your instructor to pause the music.

“Your mother has informed to me that there was a rebel bombing on the games’ arena earlier. The tributes were there with their mentors.” Your heart stops, remembering Coriolanus and his own task of taking the songbird there.

“Your partner, Mr. Snow… he was injured…”

Half an hour later, you’re entering the hospital. The wide room is empty. At the end of the bed’s row, you see Tigris and Sejanus. The young woman being the first to notice you.

“Y/N!” She hurries to hug you and offer her jacket since it was slightly cold. And you were once again in your ballet attire, pointe shoes still on.

“It’s okay. But… How is him?”

“Stable. Just his back was compromised” Sejanus reveals, making you smile sadly. Coriolanus is sleeping. His forehead looks sweaty, and you can only attempt to brush some of his curls.

“They said it was a rebel attack. The president’s son was heavily injured” you sigh.

“Felix?” Sejanus nods at you.

“This is where I side with the Capitol.”

“Exactly. This isn’t the solution” neither of you say out loud. But Sejanus was a rebel sympathizer, Tigris was only against the capitol but not with the rebels. And you were a neutral.

“I just hope this doesn’t come with long term injuries…” you finally add. Under the curious look of Tigris, she feels bad for you. Although she offered her help, there wasn’t much she could do. Only to design the attires for the upcoming celebration. But other than that, she could feel the stress on you.

Only worsening when Coriolanus woke up.

“Is Lucy Gray fine?” You act like it didn’t hurt you. And both Tigris and Sejanus pretend they didn’t see your sad face.

“She’s fine.”

“How do you feel?” You ask, and Coriolanus finally sees you.

“My shoulder and back hurt” the tv ends up disconcerting everyone. When you turn there is a video of you being played with the logo of the Capitol behind you. Coriolanus wants to smile, but he’s too unsure of what’s happening to say you looked adorable in a tulle skirt.

[Citizens of Panem, welcome back. We are less than 24 hours away from the start of the 10th Hunger Games. To make the wait less painful, we are about to explore a little more on this year tributes. Get to know them in this section. For the first time, we are about to see an exclusive series of interviews with our lovely host; Lucky Flickerman. Now it’s turn of District 12. Do not forget that anyone can be a sponsor. Enjoy the show!]

You ignore the looks. You weren’t proud of yourself for filming that type of promos. But that is quickly forgotten after Lucy Gray was introduced and she started singing again. You have to roll your eyes. You have to bite your tongue after seeing the way Coriolanus literally jumped out of the bed to see the songbird closely.

He seemed hypnotized by her. And without even processing there are tears forming on your eyes.

The end is coming. The end is coming. Get ready…

You try to ignore your head. But it’s like a prolonged free fall. Since the moment of the Reaping Ceremony, you knew it.

That bad omen was something you should’ve payed more attention to.

Now you let some tears fall as you see it. Tigris is also crying, and you have to admit how wonderful Lucy Gray Baird is. But it leads you to question.

How could Coriolanus just be… losing you?

When you look down at your feet, your brain can pay attention to the damage, immediately releasing a lot of pain.

Your pointe shoes are almost soaked in blood. You quickly seat in one of the bed, hurrying to untie it. Your heart beats faster. With the sudden increase of negativity, you feel panicked.

And it scares you, because you feel like you don’t have enough control.

Sejanus is the first one to look away.

“Oh my god, y/n” he knees in front of you. Looking at the mess. Now that the pointe shoes are gone, the damage is more than visible.

Tigris follows and finally Coriolanus remembers you. He seats beside you, frowning in disgust as he sees the pointe shoes covered in dry blood. Then your feet, you try to stop the bleeding, cleaning it, sobbing in silent.

You feel his hand on your shoulder. But you ignore him. You feel hurt by everyone. Your parents, the Capitol, and Coriolanus especially.

You squirm away from him.

“I’m just trying to soothe you.” Coriolanus admits in shock after seeing your reaction.

“I can handle it on my own” you spit out crying quietly, cleaning the tears with a hand, while the other holds some gazes against the wounded skin.

“We’ll bring a nurse” Tigris says, grabbing Sejanus and walking out of the room.

For the first time, Coriolanus knows something is going wrong. He officially sees how things are getting tricky.

Only you would know that your tears were for your boyfriend rather than the blood soaking your feet.

He was losing you. And later that night, he sealed the faith of your love for him after visiting Lucy Gray in the zoo one last time.

…

When the 10th Hunger Games started, you were making sudden apparitions at the camera. Coriolanus was focused on Lucy Gray moving through the arena. And you were too invested on following all the procedures. After some hours, a lot of people had left. Coriolanus was growing tired. He started eyeing you out, he saw your lilac makeup that matched your sweater. He saw the way your hips and waist looked in a pencil skirt.

After some failed attempts to make you look at him, he made eye contact. And minutes later, both of you ended up having a quick fuck in the restroom. Somehow it had worked as a makeup, he made you smile before you had to leave again. He kissed you and he promised to himself that no more mistakes were allowed. He would win the games with Lucy Gray and then… only eyes for you.

Things took a turn after Sejanus meant to give a proper goodbye to his tribute and old friend.

Coriolanus had killed a tribute. You are still unable to comprehend how you feel about it. He had come to your house during the night, red eyes and disheveled uniform. You wrapped your arms around him, shushing him to not disturb your parents.

He told you everything as you prepared the tub for him. He cried on your shoulder and stayed there for hours.

“You are good, Coriolanus. You are a good man. This doesn’t make you a monster…” you had said.

“What about the power I felt?…” you knew that was a warning sign.

“In the Hunger Games’ arena anything feels like power, my love” it was supposed to be enough to make him avoid thinking on power and death at the same time.

And now, adding the fact that he seemed to have built a connection with the songbird, you were everything but calm.

Nonetheless, that night you hold him protectively. You assure him everything would be fine.

“I would be lost without you” Coriolanus says, his nose pressed against your chest.

“I help the people I love, Coryo. That’s how will always be…” he reminds himself, no more errors. He holds tighter at you, knowing he had already messed up his promise one night ago.

…

You run, ignoring the pain of your wounded feet. The nurse said to take it easy if you wanted to dance after the games.

But you can’t help it. Coriolanus had won. While you ignored Lucy Gray Baird as the victor, you acknowledged your boyfriend as it. You run faster than Tigris, so you get to hug him before kissing him. He replies immediately. Holding your waist and smiling like an idiot. Everyone was looking and cheering around but neither of you cared. He deepened the kiss, feeling peace, he knew he had won. He had a good future secured. Along you.

“You did it, my love” you say in his lips, giggling. He also smiles, taking your hand before going to find Tigris who stayed back.

“You also did it.” He speaks. Making you realize it’s over.

And for the rest of the day, you are happy. You leave early because of the celebration.

You really want to stay with Coriolanus. But he was called away. Tigris stays with you the whole day. She calls Grandma’am as soon as you both enter the theater where the celebration was being held.

Both of you give the elder woman all details. She really cries and says she can’t wait to see his boy coming home that night. She wishes you good luck and the call is over.

“Okay. Let’s get over with this so we can celebrate with some posca tonight.” You laugh, taking a seat on the vanity.

“Coryo hates posca, Tigris.” She also laughs.

“If he can pretend to like it for formal events, he can pretend at home for his win and yours.” Between laughs and jokes, she starts to help you with makeup and hair.

An hour later, you start receiving good luck flowers and notice of being on the stage in fifteen minutes.

“You look perfect, y/n” she says smiling, making you turn around to see the pastel tutu and flower corset of the attire.

“I can’t breathe but this will make my shoulders look so aligned…” you thank her and after good luck wishes and a hug, she excuses herself to go to her seat.

Now alone, you make sure the makeup is perfect. Until you see Coriolanus in the door frame. He enters and closes the door. He looks so lost and sad, which worries you.

“I cheated on the games” you frown, hurrying to get to him. He sits on the couch, head between his legs, notifying to you how serious the issue is.

“What did you do?” He explains how he cheated. He kept it secret. He didn’t tell you.

“Is there a punishment or penalty?” He nods, looking at you now.

“Exile. Serve as a peacekeeper for twenty years” you look shocked. Your heart stops and you lean to grab his shoulders.

“I’ll go with you. University can wait. I’ll find a job where you’re sent to. And work with my mother at the same time. We’ll send money to Tigris and Grandma’am and-“

“No, y/n. I can’t let you do this.” You start to feel panicked again. You need to hear a solution.

“So what? You’re just leaving like that?” He remains quiet.

“You said you would fight for me.” He thinks about possibilities. He could marry you as soon as training was over. You two could find a little house, live there and send money to his family like you said. You already said you were willing to leave the Capitol for him.

“Oh, Coryo. Why did you had to do this?” He sighs frustrated.

“To win. For my family. For you… to give you all I promised.” You are at the verge of crying. And he has to be honest. If you were going to leave everything for him. He would be honest.

“I kissed her.”

You can only hear your heartbeat after that.

You don’t say anything for some seconds. His hands are sweating.

Something stronger than silence fills the room. You slap him.

Your hand burns afterwards. But the damage is done.

“Get. Out.” You spit out, quietly, yet extremely filled with poison.

He’s too shocked to say something back.

You are mentally collapsing. Finally feeling betrayed and mocked by him.

“You won’t get out? I will…” it’s bad when you start hearing a pitch in your ears. You know it’s not a good sign. But you’re so traumatized, that you lean closer to him.

“You’re a mistake… Such a big lie.” The last memory he sees before you have disappeared is the layers of tulle of your tutu, your perfume of jasmine and the sound of your distant sobs.

If he had lost you. His last memory of you would be dancing.

He stares from the backstage. And he wonders if destiny wanted you to dance such a melancholic song. Because he can literally see your sadness. You look so fragile that he curses himself. Maybe if he had mentored another district. Or maybe if he just had decided to shut up and avoid mentioning the kiss to you.

Did he ever love you? Why wasn’t enough?

However, that’s not enough suffering. While your head was spinning with many thoughts, the rest of your body was pleading you to stop. But you keep dancing. You feel the music and you let yourself to give the most emotional presentation of the history of Panem.

You don’t realize you have captured the same effect as Lucy Gray Baird singing. There are people crying. Throwing flowers at you. You don’t see it; you’re starting to see everything blurred.

As you leave the stage, people congratulate you. Coriolanus sees you look pale, darkened lips. You stop hearing, only the annoying pitch. Every step feels heavier than the last one. The sudden nausea makes you give up.

Coriolanus sees how you faint. Your body collapsing to the floor.

“Get a doctor… GET A DOCTOR, PLEASE!” He yells at a girl who was also in a tutu. She nods in shock, running. Some people gather, but only Coriolanus is there holding your unconscious body.

…

“I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I wanted. I wished so many things for us.” Coriolanus is crying. Holding your hand as you are asleep on a hospital bed. Your diagnosis said you suffered a collapse due to stress and traumatic experience. He knew it was caused by him. But he lies to your mother, saying it must’ve been for the pressure of the games and the death of Arachne Crane.

“I’m not a good man. And you deserve someone better than me…” he can now see the purple under your lashes, eye bags and cracked lips.

“But I’m coming back for you.”

After memorizing your image sleeping and kissing your forehead, he quietly leaves.

Your mother enters his line of vision.

“Coriolanus. Are you coming tomorrow? She’ll likely be awake” he swallows the rest of his tears and shakes his head.

“Unfortunately. I have peacekeeper duty away from the Capitol, required for me to get into university.”

“Oh no. Y/n knows, right?” He nods.

“But don’t worry, I’ll send her letters every week” it’s a promise. One he would make no matter what.

His hopes increase by the time he’s able to serve in District 12. Knowing he could give some closure to his situation with Lucy Gray but sickening because he’s also going there to soothe his urges to see his songbird again.

As for you. You just hope and pray your sole image to haunt Coriolanus Snow for the rest of his life. Because the moment you walked out of that hospital, you would do everything to get rid of him and his memory. Promising to make his mere existence the most insignificant matter. Even when you knew your heart would never beat again the same way it did for him.

______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @edb954 @poppyflower-22 @dear-bunnyboo @bryandechartisasmolbean @taylordaughter @coryoskywalker @maryvibess @reader-bookling123 @astarborntowrite @ewwwitsel @spring-goddess1 @real-lana-del-rey @electraphyng @athanasia-day @folklorelogy

#coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas

[noxcheshire]

Ya’ll don’t know how much I love de-aged Danny prompts and fics.

The fluff, the cuteness, the absolute squishable potential of a little toddler Danny who allows his new siblings to rub at his cheeks as a form of therapy cause it’s so chubby and soft. 🥹

And when he gives a beaming smile when he’s bombarded by hugs and kisses; or when he’s kicking his little feet as he’s pulled through the sky by the armpits, his sibling rushing through the halls with him — that is magic. That is just 🥰 AAAAAAAH

But the potential of ANGST, is also my jam and I will blend this toddler in the slim of sadness while the bat family screams at me in the background like feral coyotes.

Like, bare with me for a second.

Danny Phantom who was captured.

Danny Phantom who was taken apart and put back together again.

Danny Phantom who kept loosing more and more until he was just a tiny little baby version of himself, trying to sustain his own life but knowing that soon he will cease to exist in all its entirety.

Danny Phantom who has been hurt for so long that he dreams. He dreams of a life that could have been, and would have been, had things not become so terrible. And he dreams of people, of friends, of places he isn’t even quite sure ever truly existed.

He dreams happily in his own head, unaware of the passage of time and his ever closing in second death, until he wakes up.

His dreams splinter and fade like mist when the sun breaks through the sky.

But there is no comforting warm light for him when he blinks, only a searing, indifferent and blinding white.

He’s scared, and confused, and damaged in a way that makes him want to throw up but nothing comes out.

He isn’t even sure what he does, but he’s not there anymore in the cold white rooms with sharp things and green looming containers. Instead he’s somewhere outside, stumbling on trembling weak legs that he’s certain are too short but he isn’t quite sure because his head hurts and he can’t really see when everything is spinning and — and —

His lip trembles.

There’s a lot of green and red.

He doesn’t think his tummy is supposed to do that.

Is it supposed to be green? Or is it supposed to be red? Was it supposed to be coming out at all? It hurts. It really, really hurts, and he doesn’t know what to do when he doesn’t even know who he had been.

But he tries to gather it up, pushing the reds and green underneath the cover of his open skin.

It’s supposed to be in there… right?

But it’s not staying. Why won’t it stay?

He sniffles, frustration, exhaustion, hurt, and childish confusion mixing itself so spectacularly that he begins to cry.

And then something big and heavy plops itself on the ground with him.

It was so startling that he hiccups into a stop.

He stares, hands wet and his spilling tummy very heavy, but he doesn’t mind it as the very big cat person blinks slowly back at him. Or maybe a bat?

Is it friendly?

It’s crouching very slowly, even speaking in soft words. It must be friendly! He didn’t know bat-cat people existed, but he liked it very much.

He gives his hands to the bat-cat, presenting his insides for help.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #de aged Danny #ya’ll don’t understand #my cuteness aggression will give him so much trauma