#i said this was super self-indulgent and i was not lying

[cheriiyaya]

MASCARA RUNNIN' DOWN HER LITTLE BAMBI EYES !

FEATURING : D.Osamu, N.Chuuya + Fem!reader

♡ awww, their pretty girl's crying? or, dazai and chuuya with an emotional lover !

CW: fluff, dazai's a lil mean but its ok guys, clingy!reader, super self indulgent yall, erm crying (a lot of it), light angst(?) in chuuya's,

A/N: this was in my drafts for so long afjndkvndf also ogs know that my first fic was something similar ALSO I LOWKEY HATE THIS AJHHHOJFOIERW

"♪ Lana, how I hate those guys! ♪"

DAZAI OSAMU...⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Dazai admits that he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way you looked when you got upset over little things- your pretty eyes glossy with tears, lashes heavy and damp and tears dripping down your flushed cheeks, god you looked so adorable and dazai just can't help himself !

Dazai giggled softly, cradling your head against his chest as you sobbed into his shirt. fingers curled into the cotton as you quivered and sniffled in his hold.

"D'awh, what's wrong darling?" He cooed, brushing his lips against the top of your head before tugging your head back to see your face, clicking his tongue and tapping his thumb against your tear-stained cheek as you tried to hide your face against his neck. He stared at you, taking you in as you wailed and hiccupped. "aw, what's got the pretty girl so sad?"

"n-nothing..." you sobbed out of your sore throat, sniffling as more tears rolled down your features. dazai sighed, shaking his head and he gives your hair a light tug.

"Don't lie, what's wrong bella'?" He grins, kissing your tear stained cheeks as he strokes your hair. "I come home to see you all teary eyed only to burst out wailing when you see me." dazai teased, tone full of mirth.

Truthfully, dazai never minded when you were like this, and hearing the way you mumbled out an "I missed you" in that little strained voice of yours made his heart melt. He wiped away tears beading up on your lash line, smoothing his thumb against your flushed cheek.

"You missed me? awww, the cutie missed me? darling you can't possibly be this upset whenever I'm not around." He spoke with mock disappointment, biting down on his tongue in amusement when you began to cry harder.

"'m sorry!! 'm sorry!!!" You wailed, actually thinking he was mad at you. How cute.

Dazai hummed, stealing a kiss from your lips and nestling his long fingers into your hair.

"Aww, don't cry! c'mon, you're gonna ruin your pretty face by crying that much! It's okay, bella'- god you looks so adorable right now!"

NAKAHARA CHUUYA...⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Like dazai, chuuya can't help but admit your adorable when you cry, but he's a little more sympathetic. Shushing you softly to quell your worries-and he can't help but wish you'd be a little less emotional with everything.

"doll, please stop cryin', alright? I'm fine." chuuya sighed, rubbing circles on your back as your trembling form clung to him. you let out a choked sob, fisting his shirt in trembling hands.

"y-you were so late!!! I thought somethin' happened to you!!" you choked out, burying your face against his chest, dampening his gray vest with tears. chuuya's heart clenched, as if bony fingers wrapping around and squeezing hard as you sobbed in his arms.

he gently tugged your head up, kissing your forehead and mumbling against your hairline.

"sweetheart, I'm fine- the boss had a shit tonna work for me to finish, that's all." chuuya explained softly, pulling away and cupping your chin, pressing a gloved thumb on your quivering bottom lip "please don't cry, f'me?" He brushed his thumb back and forth on the plush of your lip.

You looked up at him, eyes glossy and red-rimmed. Chuuya sighed, brushing back your hair. He never minded how much you cared about him, but at moments like this...

He just wished you wouldn't stress yourself out like this.

Stroking your hair, chuuya whispered:

"Doll, you don't hafta worry about me so much, okay? I'm here, I'm okay, so stop crying, huh? It'll ruin your pretty face, 'kay? There you go..."

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

©Cheriiyaya 2024.

#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝕽𝖊𝖉'𝖘 𝕽𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾ #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x fem reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x y/n #osamu dazai x you #osamu dazai x y/n #bsd imagines #bsd x female reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #chuuya x fem!reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n #chuuya nakahara #bsd nakahara #nakahara chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya x you #nakahara chuuya bsd #chuuya nakahara x you #chuuya nakahara x reader

[bruisedboys]

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader — you’re worried about what bradley will think of your new haircut.

mutual pining, pre-relationship, fluff (very self indulgent since I got my hair cut this week xoxo)

You were feeling good about your new haircut yesterday, when it was freshly cut and styled and so super soft. Today is different. You know you look different and you can help but think different is bad.

You rake a hand through your short hair. “Does my hair look bad?”

Natasha and Bob both give you twin looks of incredulity. It’s not the first time you’ve asked it tonight. They’ve brought you along to the Hard Deck for a night of drinks with their friends and you can’t stop fussing over your hair. You won’t admit to them it’s because you’re harbouring a massive crush on one of their squad members and you’re worried he’ll think you look awful.

“It looks fine,” Natasha tells you, again, not for the first time. “You look pretty. Right, Bob?”

Bob hums, tapping his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “You look great, Y/N.” He gives you a look from behind his glasses. Confusion, a bit of suspicion. “Why are you worrying so much, anyway?”

Your heart stutters. “I’m not—“

“Phoenix, Bob!” Jake Seresin appears seemingly out of nowhere, sidling up to your table with all the charm of a prince. His eyes land on you and your new hair and he grins. “And Y/N. Looking good, sugar.”

He winks at you. He’s a huge flirt and you’d definitely be into him if it weren’t for another certain aviator.

You smile at him. “Thanks, Jake.”

The others, Payback and Fanboy, file in behind him. They both notice and compliment your hair, which is a good sign. Still, you know who’s coming next and you can’t help but curl in on yourself, taking a sip of your drink so you don’t have to see him as he approaches.

“Hey, guys!” Bradley Bradshaw appears, stupid Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, moustache, golden skin and all. He’s tucking his glasses into his shirt so he doesn’t see you at first. “Hey— woah, Y/N.”

He stops short when he sees you. You lower your drink slowly, heart in your throat. Your knee bounces underneath the table.

“Hi, Bradley,” you say.

Bradley blinks. Blinks again. “Hi. Hey. I— you cut your hair.”

He says it like he’s never heard of a haircut before. You smile unsurely.

“I did,” you say, pushing a lock behind your ear as if that will help your case. “Is it bad?”

“Bad? No, it’s— it really suits you,” he says. If you’re not mistaken, he’s stuttering. Not only that, but unless you’re imagining it, he’s blushing. He stares at you, completely unaware of anything or anyone else, golden cheeks tinged pink. “You look really pretty.”

Your turn to blush. Heat flares behind your cheeks, burning into your smile. Pretty, he called you. “Thanks, Brad.”

Bradley seems to come back into himself, a lopsided grin creeping onto his face. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and smiles at you. “Hey, you’re welcome. Just tell me next time so I don’t have a heart attack, okay?”

What’s that supposed to mean? You open your mouth to say something, you don’t know what, but Jake’s southern drawl interrupts you.

“Bradshaw!” Both you and Bradley turn to see Jake at the pool table with the rest of the boys. “Stop flirting with Y/N and get over here so I can beat you. Again.”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “He’s lying, I won last week. I’ll be back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

You weren’t planning to. He flashes you a dazzling smile and then you watch him go, your heart thrumming with the sort of electricity you can’t ignore. You think you might burst. He’d called you pretty, said you’d given him a heart attack. You feel like your own heart’s about to give out, too.

Across the table, Bradley now well out of earshot, Natasha wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh,” she says slyly. “Now I get why you were so worried about your hair.”

You groan and bury your burning face in your drink again. “Please shut up, Nat.”

You have a feeling she won’t.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw blurb #bradley bradshaw blurbs #bradley bradshaw fics #bradley bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw drabble #bradley bradshaw drabbles #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw x fem!reader #bradley bradshaw x reader fluff #bradley bradshaw fluff #tgm x reader #tgm fic #tgm x you #tgm x y/n #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw x fem!reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #bradleysmixtape!

[onestopfanficshop]

könig headcanons

warnings: afab!reader, mentions of unprotected sex, oral sex, thigh riding and fucking, and an (accidentally) broken condom lol

A/N: this is so self indulgent LMFAO. can you believe i've had this sitting in my drafts for over three weeks? i hope y'all enjoy bc there's not enough content for this man fr! gif not mine :)

will use your fingers as a human fidget toy

he likes to rub his chin when he’s thinking real hard about something

loves grapes (green ones only, and they have to be cold)

the left corner of his nose constantly gets dry for whatever reason so he’s always needing to put extra lotion there

hums under his breath without realizing it and it's the cutest thing ever. especially if he’s alone with you, or if he’s just relaxed and in his element

he really loves to cook but he's too lazy to do the cleanup after he's done

has better than 20/20 eyesight; idk, i just feel deep in my soul that he does

if he's lying on his stomach and you start rubbing his back or scratching it, he'll literally melt it is the most relaxing thing in the world to him

his morning voice is super deep and raspy. i feel so strongly about this it just has to be true

is a snob about bread. he just likes a nice warm loaf of well baked bread okay?

when you first started dating, it would sometimes scare him when he would wake up in the middle of the night and see you lying there peacefully next to him; he had never shared a bed with someone else before so it took him a while to get used to it 

but once he does he literally will treat you like a human body pillow. which sounds cute in theory but it's not 😭 like if you need to go pee in the middle of the night, good luck getting yourself untangled from him without waking him up (spoiler alert: it's not really possible to do bc he's the lightest sleeper on planet earth). you can either hold it or deal with a groggy and slightly grumpy könig the next day lolol

is the clingiest bf ever. if you let him, könig will sit on the floor next to you while you’re in the bath and hold your hand if you dangle it off the side of the tub while you watch a show together

speaking of baths this man hates taking them. he's never found a tub big enough to fit him so he just doesn't bother. he hates when his skin gets super wrinkly from being in water for too long anyways

loves to put a bunch of creamers and sweeteners in his coffee. the first time you took him to starbucks he was like a kid in a candy shop when you told him all the different flavored syrups that they had

doesn't like swimming; i mean he knows how to do it (bc of his job) but it's not his favorite thing to do. he feels like the water is always working against him lol

yeah he has social anxiety but when he's with you? especially once he gets comfy with you? yeah that's a different man entirely

like he loves to tease you constantly, is very cocky, and is super funny in a witty dry humor type of way

is absolutely the type of boyfriend to keep a joke going once he sees you're laughing really hard at it just so he can continue to hear your laugh :,)

know how to make jams from scratch for some reason; his favorites are peach and strawberry jam

one time he finished making a fresh batch of jams; you tied cute little ribbons around the jars and jokingly said you were "proud of the jams we made"

könig shaking his head because you didn't do shit except for stir a few times and sneak some tastes when you *thought* he wasn't looking (he's always looking)

buuuut he loves you so he plays along and tells you that you did amazing

makes fun of you if you like to watch cheesy or dumb shows but then 10 minutes later he's on the couch next to you, fully invested and asking you who the characters are and what's going on in the plot

is bad at sharing his food. even with you. he's more than happy to get you seconds but just don't touch his food, alright?

love language is 📢PHYSICAL TOUCH📢

followed by acts of service and quality time obviously. but yeah... the man is handsy. better get used to it

nsfw

first time you guys did it, it was awkward but in a really cute way. he was very, very nervous but also overly confident at the same time somehow? it was a potent mix

he'd watched porn before and gotten himself off but he didn't really know what to expect irl. he just knew that he wanted to make you feel good

when you tried to put one of the condoms you had on him, it broke. this man is huge so EVERY part of him is huge. like it just split clean in half 😭 and he turned bright red and started apologizing profusely 

it was super intense up until that happened and you just started bursting into giggles which just made him grab your neck and kiss you to shut you up

that laughter turned into moaning real quick mhm

you eventually just told him to pull out and you would take a morning-after pill just in case; the prospect of fucking you without a condom made him more excited than he wanted to admit 

has a ridiculous amount of stamina, we're talking three rounds at the absolute LEAST

LOVES thigh fucking and cannot get enough of it. especially since he can go for a lot of rounds, and if you tire more easily, he loves it as an alternative. something about cumming all over your thighs sends him into overdrive

speaking of thighs, thigh riding? oh yeah. that'll do it for him. that'll do it! his eyes would go so wide with awe at the fact that he could make you feel that good without doing anything. especially if you wrap your hands around his neck and you're so close to his face that your noses are touching; you're panting and trying your hardest not to moan loudly so no one else will hear? he's gonna fucking fall apart

whenever he's on top of you, he's infinitely careful to not put all of his weight own you, despite you telling him multiple times that you wouldn't mind and that you could handle it

dirty talk would get him flustered but at the same time, he'd have the stupidest grin on his face if you did it 

if you wear lingerie he'll like- he'll literally die and go to heaven. especially the fancy ones with the garters and the stockings, even though he has absolutely zero clue how they work. like i'm imagining him sitting on the edge of the bed, you standing in front of him and staring right into his eyes as you guide his hands to the garters to take the stockings off (JUST GAVE MYSELF BUTTERFLIES LEMME RUN A LAP REAL QUICK)

okay i'm back where were we

i feel like what he does after you're done sort of depends on you. like if you get a huge burst of energy after sex and you wanna stay up and talk he will totally do it. but also if you're the type of person that immediately falls asleep after he'll go right to sleep with you

if he’s on top and you dig your fingers into his biceps he will bust right then and there. trust me.

THIS MAN EATS PUSSY FOR PLEASURE PERIOD. i will not accept any other truth. he’ll literally grind down into the sheets while he’s eating you out and has probably accidentally came a few times from doing so. he especially loves when your thighs squeeze around his head, and all the pretty little noises you make when he does it. as soon as he can tell you’re close he starts to give you the most intense eye contact while he’s doing it and it’ll probably send you over the edge

he loves being on top because he can cage you in and he has access to your neck to give it non-stop kisses and hickeys

but on the other hand he also loves it when you're on top; his hands will never leave your hips and he'll be gripping onto them like his life depends on it

when he cums, he cums hard and a lot. it's basically like a fountain... sometimes, when he does it while he's still inside of you, there'll be so much that it actually leaks out of you and onto the bed

was kind of self conscious about it and felt bad for making a mess until you told him it was nothing to be embarrassed about and it had actually turned you way on

for someone that doesn't prefer to talk all that much outside, this man is--whew. he is vocal like he is fucking paid to do it. especially when he's about to cum or if you're on top of him. this is a man that is not afraid to moan fr fr.

he's always asking you if you're okay and if what he's doing feels good to you. "is this alright?" is a sentence you've heard countless times and yet it still gives you goosebumps always

unspoken rule that if you're wearing his clothes you're gonna get fucked right then and there 😭 just accept it. könig seeing his SO in his clothes is always gonna do it for him!

#könig #könig cod #könig smut #könig hc #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig x you #könig call of duty #onestopfanficshop

[macfrog]

you'll hurt me if you don't trust me sex on fire chapter eight

super special sparkly shoutout to @chloeangelic ✨💛✨ whose influence inspired a whole load of intimacy in this. it is, unashamedly, eleven thousand words of sheer self-indulgence. so. love u guys. see u soon

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re unwell. joel makes you feel better. until he doesn’t.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, softsoftsoft!joel, they eat chinese food together, reader has her period + mention/description of used tampon, discussion of abandonment/absent parents & parental death, discussion of cheating, lying, thigh riding, unprotected piv period shower sex (that is a mouthful thatswhatshesaid), VERY needy reader, SLIGHT dacryphilia (kinda not really?), creampie, aftercare joel, praise kink, daddy kink, angst & fluff & angst all over again

word count: 11k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Martha had been pretty good about it. She’d watched you near-doubled in pain most of yesterday, hobbling to the kitchen every four hours to top up on pain meds. She knew you weren’t making it up. She made a conservative two jokes about you calling in this morning, and then told you to rest up. She’d let Joel know you’d be back tomorrow.

“You owe me, though. Joel’s got that shareholders meeting today. If I’m forced to sit in with him ‘n his cronies talkin’ numbers and takin’ notes, sweetheart, all so you can catch up on The Bachelorette…”

Alright. Three jokes.

You hang up and slide the phone back across your nightstand; roll over and stuff a pillow between your thighs as if that’ll do anything against the dull throb gnawing at your belly. Your shades are tilted upward, shrinking your bedroom into a foggy gray save for the shards of light which split across the ceiling.

There’s a heavy ache tugging behind your eyes, an irritating weight which shoves you into the arms of sleep and then pulls you back by the hair before you’re taken off by it. You’re dozing, fingertips massaging your eyelids and stretching the skin back and forth when the doorbell slices the stillness of your apartment in two, shrill in your sleep-deprived ears.

You ignore it at first. Fuck that. Fuck whoever that is. You’re not planning on leaving your cocoon today unless it’s to go pee, grab a snack, or maybe if you lose the remote in your sheets.

But it rings out again. Twice, this time. And in a blur of hormonal rage, you whip the sheets back, throw yourself out of bed and stagger down the hallway. You straighten up only enough to peer through the peephole, your palms pressed to the back of the door, and that’s when you see him.

He’s cradling a brown bag in his left arm, a second dangling from his wrist. His head is huge in comparison to his body, owing to the distorted fisheye glass. He shifts from foot to foot impatiently, awkwardly glancing down the hall. You’d recognize that jawline fucking anywhere.

Your breath pushes nervously against the door. You click the lock and curl around the heavy wood, your fingers clamping on the edge.

The two of you eye one another up and down before Joel speaks.

“Hi, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Martha said you were sick?”

You pause. Look down to the bunch of wild flowers sat in the crook of his elbow, and then back up to his face, painted with – what is it – concern? There are lines you rarely see when he’s looking at you, carved deep between his brows.

A fire strikes in your belly.

“…I’m fine. I’m – I’m all good. Just – feeling a little…”

“What is it? Is it the flu? I brought flu stuff.” He nods into the bag, and reaches inside for a box of cold tablets and a pack of tissues. He tosses them across the threshold and you catch them, holding them close against your shoulder.

You smile, trying to hold back on a laugh, but also because what the fuck? He’s so sweet. The flames lick at the bottom of your lungs.

“It’s not…it’s not the flu, no.”

Joel nods, looking back into the bag. “Good thing I also brought these, then.”

He tilts it forward and you unhook from the door, leaning over to peer in. A box of Tampax, two bottles of painkillers, green packets of face masks and floral sachets of herbal teas. You fish one out.

“Chamomile,” you muse, pouting.

He shrugs. “Lady at the store said it’s a good muscle relaxant, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“Cancelled it. You freaked me out.”

Your heart knocks on your chest wall. Did you fucking hear that? You freaked him out. You gulp in response. Swallow hard to shut it the hell up.

“So, Martha’s in the office by herself?”

“She’s a big girl. Told her she could leave early if she got my to-do list done. I give it until one,” he mutters, glancing down at his watch. “Oh,” he says then, spotting the brush of green and burst of purple in his arm, “got you these. I don’t know what you like yet, but…”

Yet. Yet yet yet.

You take the posy delicately between your fingers, as if it might fall apart at the mere touch of your hand. The brown paper crinkles as it lifts from Joel’s arm, and you tilt them in the hallway’s milky light.

The sprigs shoot in wild directions, tangling and twisting around one another. Daisies, lazy in their climb, swirling around the gentle brush of lavender, wrapped tightly to some other flower you don’t recognize. They’re tied together in a neat, white lace bow.

You imagine Joel stood in the middle of some fragrant florist, rotating on the spot. Dumbfounded before some assistant in a flowing skirt and tinkling bracelets sweeps over to him. I don’t know what she likes – yet, he tells them. And your heart screams into the pillow of muscle surrounding it.

“Thank you.” The smile on your lips threatens to break into a grin. At the same time, a shot of pain rips across your belly. “Come in,” you groan through a wince, taking his shirt in your fist and pulling him inside.

Your apartment is probably a couple years too small for you. You’ve accumulated so much in the time you’ve lived here that you could do with finding a bigger place – but you’re comfortable. It feels like home, when nowhere did for so long. It’s snug, and humble, and as you lead him down your hallway, you imagine you’re feeling how Joel probably did when he showed you around his childhood home.

Your cheeks flush with something a little blunter than embarrassment, but prickled with nerves. Your living room rolls its eyes inward, every object looking over in suspicion and wonder. Who the hell is this man, in your space, armed with toiletries and a ten-grand watch on his wrist?

You pause by the sink, filling a glass with water for the flowers. Your teeth bite down on your lip. There are dishes on the counter, there’s laundry piled on stools, blankets and cushions strewn messily across your couch. Joel shakes his head when you apologize, holds a palm up when you try to explain how you’d gotten home from work last night and gone straight to bed. I haven’t had the energy to clean.

He won’t hear it. Says he’s not here to see your clean apartment. Here to see you.

He sets the bags on the worktop and looks around the room. Blinks from the sheer curtains guarding the balcony doors, to the pastel candles on your coffee table. Smiles when he notices the Pretty Woman poster framed above the couch.

“What?” you ask, when his eyes finally land back on you. You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it further down your bare thighs.

“Nothin’. Just – knew there was somethin’ more to you.”

You fold your arms and rock forward gently on the balls of your feet. Your head tilts. Your brows knit.

Joel clarifies, “I knew you weren’t as put together as you pretend to be at work. This – looks like your place. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? ‘n what does my place look like?

His cheeks lift. “Little all over the place. Little surprising. But bright. Cozy. You.”

“Bright ‘n cozy,” you echo.

He nods. Purses his lips, then adds, “And great in bed.”

You cough a laugh, reach out to shove his arm, and he catches your hand. He reels you in against his body and cups your head, fixing some flyaway strands of hair. You stare up at him, eyelashes slowly blinking him in and out of focus. His mottled beard and hazel eyes. The flecks of honeydew and amber swimming around his pupil. His shirt wrinkles beneath your chin.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rumbling through his chest. You seem to understand the vibrations sooner than the words, these days. He reaches for the handles of the white bag, sliding it over towards you. “I brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch.” You scoff, grinning to yourself. It quickly fades, though, when your hand lowers into the bag and meets a warm, flat surface – two halves of a folded lid. Your brows pull. “You brought…”

Joel smiles as you lift the box, popping it open. Hot steam escapes the minute the lid folds back.

“Chinese okay? I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by callin’ to ask what you wanted. I can run out and grab somethin’ else if you’re not –”

“How did you know to get…?” Your voice whittles to nothing as you stare down at the fresh-cooked meal, the bed of greasy noodles mixed with fried vegetables. Your tongue swipes at the corners of your mouth.

“’cause I know you,” Joel says, digging for a second box from the bag. “Anytime you’re stressed with work, anytime I give you a hard day, that’s what you order in for lunch, right?” He nods to the container as he tosses an egg roll into his mouth.

You giggle, lifting the box to hide your swollen cheeks. Your heartbeat hammers below your jaw.

“Right?” Joel laughs. “Chow mein? I’m right, ain’t I? You know I’m right.”

He nudges against you, taking his own lunch from the bag, and casts a familiar glance – the same one you saw a few days ago in Lavender Oaks. Like the decades-old mask slips just for a second and suddenly, a younger, shyer Joel shines through. He’s almost imperceptible, almost concealed by the cocky smirk and witty remarks of his older self, but you’ve seen him once, and now – he’s impossible to lose sight of.

“You’re weird,” you note, spinning off towards your bedroom.

Joel’s hot at your heels. “I’m weird?”

“Uhuh. For noticing that.”

He snorts, and then you feel a slap to your ass cheek. “Nice underwear, by the way. Who’d you steal them from?” he murmurs close to your ear, averting your gaze when you turn back, beaming.

You pad across the soft rug to your bed, dropping down and pulling the sheets back to make room for Joel. He’s setting his food down. You think to offer him a change of clothes – something more comfortable than a dress shirt and suit trousers – but the best you’d have is an oversized tee, and not much else.

The thought almost dizzies you. Joel, in his boxers and a t-shirt from your wardrobe. A shirt that smells like you, feels like you, belongs to you. A piece of you, hung from his shoulders like it was always meant to be shared between you. The way it’d still smell of him even after the sun had set and he’d peeled it from his body, folded it into a pile at the end of your bed and left in his button up.

He sits on the edge of your mattress to kick his shoes off, and marvels some more at the room just like he did in the kitchen. The fire in your chest is slowly turning your lungs to ash, stealing breath each time his dimples appear – squinting at the framed photographs on your dresser, tilting his head to read the titles of the books on your shelves.

When he catches sight of the paint-splattered easel in the corner, he turns back. Your eyes are already locked back on your chow mein, refusing to meet his. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuffles up against the headboard, nudges your knee with his own.

“You get that at the concert?” he asks, eyes a little south of yours.

You glance down. You’re wearing an old Queen tour tee, graphic print accompanied by 1986 in multicolored lettering. A little before your grand entrance on the planet. A little after Joel’s.

“Rod’s Retro, eastside,” you reply. “You find some cool stuff in there, Mr. CEO.”

Joel’s chin lifts, considering. “Hm,” he says, “you gonna take me someday?”

You nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. It doesn’t feel like you ought to care. “Um, yes. You would fucking love it. Half my wardrobe is thrifted.”

He nods once – banking the information. “Every day, I learn somethin’ new.”

“Shut up,” you quip, kicking him gently. “How come I never get to learn anything new about you?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Self-absorbed.”

You kick him for real this time. He laughs into his takeout box.

“I’m messing with you. You know plenty about me. You met my mom the other day, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Not enough. Don’t know where you get all your clothes from, or what your comfort food is.”

He replies through a mouthful of chop suey. “Then, ask.”

Your voice is high, defensive. “No. That’s too easy.”

Joel snorts.

You reach for the remote and click the screen opposite to life. Joel lifts his arm to let you sink against his body, and you flick through the channels. Shark Tank, Grey’s Anatomy, Wendy fucking Williams, and then –

You gasp. Joel looks up from his food. His brows arch, eyes flitting from you to the screen. You swear a groan escapes from his lips. You feel the thunder against your ear.

“You ever seen it?”

“Dirty Dancing? Yeah, I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, pretty girl.”

“You probably saw it at the movies, right? When it came out? In the eighties?”

“Careful.”

You smile. “What did you think of it?”

Joel’s shoulders lift. His eyes are back on the screen. Be My Baby is crooning from the TV. “I liked Patrick Swayze,” he says.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you lean closer. “You…you liked Patrick Swayze?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, like it’s obvious. He turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “He was cool. You don’t like ‘im in it?”

“No, I like Patrick Swayze,” you tell him. “Just…if that’s all you like about it, then…we might have a problem.”

He scoffs. “I don’t remember much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Good. We’re watching it.”

Your head moves with his chest as he sucks in a deep, defeated breath. “Baby, I –”

“Ah,” you tap the remote on his knuckles, “you remember the Baby part.”

With a laugh which sounds an awful lot like approval and a grunt which sounds an awful lot like Alright, Joel sinks lower into the mattress. You drape your legs across his, and when he finishes eating, his fingers draw round shapes on your hot skin, daring past the hem of his own boxers on your thighs.

Somewhere around the lake scene, you notice your hand intertwined with his. Locked together, surfing over one another, squeezing and then loosening. Tracing the curve of each other’s palms and learning the lines scored into the skin. Fingertips becoming fluent in the landscape of one another’s bodies. Mapping them, like you’re afraid to forget.

Your eyes glass over, whether from fatigue, or from the now smoldering fire inside you, or from something harder to pinpoint. Your head feels heavy, leaning on Joel’s chest, listening to the drum of his heart against your ear. It sounds familiar, like you’ve known it forever. Like you can almost hear the whisperings between the soft thudding.

You start when you feel him moving beneath you. He groans, stretches his arms, and then snakes them around your body. The end credits are rolling. The movie’s over. You weren’t asleep, but you missed half of it. Your mind elsewhere – though you have no idea where.

Maybe you do. Maybe that’s not something you can bear – yet. Yet yet yet.

You crane your neck and look up to your boss. He’s already staring right back at you. His eyes widen.

“What did you think?” you ask sleepily.

He sniffs. “It’s good. Very politically charged. Lotsa Swayze.”

Your lips curve, cheek nuzzles into his shirt. “Very us, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Especially that part in the water. When he –” his arms lift, holding an invisible Baby up – “y’know? You ‘n me, we do that all the time.”

“I hate you.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders and lifts you closer, smiling. You think, when his eyes dart for half a second to your lips, that he might kiss you. You think you want him to. But he simply asks, “You want some tea?” and reaches over to swipe the empty containers from your nightstand.

You nod. “I’ll come help.”

“I got it,” he assures in that Southern gentleman tone, steady hand on your thigh as he slips out of bed.

“You don’t even know where the mugs are.”

Joel considers this for all of five seconds. Shrugs. Tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” and disappears through to the kitchen.

You lay back and close your eyes, counting each cupboard door opening and then immediately falling shut as he makes his way around the place, seeking out your collection of mugs. When he eventually opens what must be the right one, you hear him exclaim.

“Ha! First try.”

You snort, bleary eyes opening again to focus on the TV. They’re discussing the Kardashians on The View. Your eyebrows lift in agreement as if you’re sat in the studio with them. They move on to some segment on the president.

Joel returns a few minutes later, two mugs in hand, and passes you the one shaped like a ghost.

“Cute,” you whisper, taking it in both hands.

He flashes you a proud grin as he lays back down, sipping on a black coffee in a faded mug your mom gave you years ago.

You tap your nail against the ceramic in his hands. “World’s Best Daughter.”

“That’s me,” he replies, propping himself up on an elbow. “Your mom get you it?”

Your head drops, eyes staring at him from under low brows. “No. My fucking neighbor did.”

He stares back as he lifts the mug to his lips. They melt in a kiss against the ceramic. When he pulls it away again, he swallows, and says, “You’re close to her.”

“My neighbor? Yeah, she lives right next door.”

“Easy, smartass.”

You flash him a smug grin, which dissolves as quickly as you notice his eyes lingering on the half-heart charm around your neck. By instinct, your fingers clutch the smooth gold, as if protecting the smallest part of yourself from him. The only part you’ve never let him in on.

But there’s something in his eye – something that feels less like a spotlight and more like a warm fire. Sharing secrets muted by the sputtering of wood, held safely by the round rusty glow of the flames. Something kinder. Something protective.

“Yeah,” you say, voice crackling, “we’re closer ‘n anyone. Been through a lot together.”

Joel nods. He knew that already. “I’ll bet, pretty girl.”

And in typical Joel fashion, he doesn’t press for any more than you willingly offer. A part of you kind of wants him to ask more, wants him to push you. A weight jumps at the bottom of your chest, like the words fail to launch. And before you can retry, before you can confess more of yourself into his hands, he says –

“Ask me som’.”

You stall, and look at him intently. “What?”

“Anything you want. Free pass.”

Your cheeks swell. “What do you mean?”

 “If we’re sharin’ things, ‘s only fair we both do.”

“I don’t – We don’t have to –”

“Ask me,” he says slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“O-kay…”

You push a deep breath from your lips, cheeks globing as you scan around the room for inspiration. Something casual enough that you can ask it with ease, but deep enough that he’ll give you an answer worth sinking your teeth into. Something you don’t know about him; light enough to roll off your tongue, and then heavy when it lands in your palms.

Your gaze orbits back to his patient form and you ask, “How did you get the money to start your company?”

Joel seems to feel the weight of it when he catches it. Heavy, rather than light. Deep, rather than casual. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he answers. “My, uh…my dad. He had a little bit of money.”

“He invest in it?”

“No, no. He, uh…he left it when he died.”

Your lips pull in a wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Joel looks up.

“’s okay, baby,” he replies, with a soft chuckle that makes the loose collar of his shirt quiver. He pushes some hair out of your face, settles his hand on your knee.

You hook two fingers around his thumb. He squeezes lightly.

“He musta loved you a lot. Leavin’ you so much.”

Another deep breath. His body stiffens. You think to unlock your fingers and take his hand properly, comfort him, maybe – but he’s already lifting it, scratching his beard with his thumb. He watches a bubble swirl around in his mug until it disappears with a pop into the dark coffee, and he finally looks up.

“It’s kinda…complicated. He and my mom – they were married for years, ‘n he ended up…” Joel swallows. His jaw clenches. “He cheated on her. Had this mistress for months. Mom found out through a friend of hers. She kicked him out of the house, but they never divorced. Just stayed separated until he died, ‘n then he left all his money to her.”

“To your mom?”

Joel nods. “She didn’t want a penny of it. Hated the man ‘til the day he died ‘n beyond.”

And you believe it. Ruth Miller was kind, warm and charming to you. She laughed with you, she smiled like she’d known you her whole life, she held your hands and she whispered secrets about Joel in your ear – purposefully to embarrass him, to make that bashful side turn its head again.

But she was sharp. She was quick, and you knew within the first five minutes of meeting her exactly where Joel got his wit and his mind. You can see her, clear as day, guarding the front porch of that little white house – one hand on her hip and the other pointing in the direction her cheating husband was to head.

Just as clear, you can see her stood over that same husband’s grave, waving her fist and tearing his will into confetti. It brings something of a smile to your face. Sad, sympathetic, but…impressed.

“Wow…So she – she gave it to you? And you – put it into the company?”

He shrugs, grip tightening around the mug. “When I started makin’ money, I paid off the mortgage on her house, managed to convince her to retire early. Got her into a good retirement home, once she was ready for it.”

Smart guy.

A calm quiet falls between you. Joel turns to watch the commercials on TV. Your chest fills with a need to ask him something – a feeling all too familiar whenever you’re around him. Only him. A weight on your mind, a bubbling which starts in your stomach and rises up until it’s practically pushing the words out over your tongue.

“Your dad – how do you not hate him?”

He turns back. Your eyes are stinging. He notices. Holds his palm out, and your fingers instantly lace through his. Your nails find those same valleys, the grooves you’d traced while Swayze and Grey mamboed.

Joel stares up at you, face suddenly tight with worry. He knows there’s something loaded behind your question. Knows you’re asking for something more than another jigsaw piece of him. You’re doing it again. You’re freakin’ him out.

“I…” He falls quiet, looks between your eyes at the pearly tears which form in the corners, the way your face sets to stone. He glances down at your necklace again, and shakes his head softly. “I spent a long time hatin’ him, baby. Changed nothin’. He did what he did. He was a scumbag.”

The answer melts your angry frame, body folding and sinking further into your pillows. You tug the bedsheet a little closer to your chin, press your lips into the top of the ceramic ghost’s head.

Your voice sounds small, sounds like it doesn’t even come from your chest, when you say, “I think I hate my dad. For what he did.”

Joel finally relaxes. Like he’s finally seen the tiny creature casting the huge, stretched shadow on the wall. “You…Yeah?”

You nod. Stare at the cotton mountain of your legs entangled in his. “Yeah. He just up ‘n left, when things got boring. When I grew up, and my mom got older. Just packed his car, and…I always wonder –” a breath lurches from your chest, “– I always wonder why I wasn’t worth stickin’ around for. Why he just – decided one day to…”

Your voice fails to carry. Joel knows the end of the sentence, anyway.

You’ve never told anybody any of this. Not Blake, not your mom, not any of your friends; you barely even know in yourself how you feel about it – even twelve years later. But the air in the room feels different – feels thicker, like you’re tucked away from the world. The conversation won’t leave your apartment, you know that much. Know that Joel wouldn’t speak of it again, wouldn’t so much as let it cross his own mind, if you asked him not to. And so you let the words tumble from your tongue, let them sit heavy in the space between you.

The space between you, which is now silent, like you’re both preoccupied. Joel, taking in the weight of what you’ve said into strong, safe hands; and you, feeling that same weight lift off of your chest. Until the silence itself feels clunky, and awkward, and you scram to find something to break it up.

“Anyway. Sorry to be a bummer.”

“You ain’t a bummer. Are you kidding?” Joel sighs. “I’m sorry, babygirl. Sorry that happened to you.”

“’s okay. He was just a scumbag, right?”

“Sure sounds it.”

You take a small sip, the tea sugarcoating your lips and flooding over your tongue – the sweet taste ridding them of the bitter memory of your dad. “Your turn,” you hum.

Joel’s head jerks. “No, darlin’, you already told me somethin’. You go again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I’m changin’ the rules.”

You try to protest, manage the sound Jo– before his hand lifts and he shushes you.

“That’s what I was gonna ask, anyways. Was gonna ask about you ‘n your dad. Now, go.”

He’s lying. You know it, and you suspect he knows you know it, too. It’s a terrible attempt at a lie, no matter how kind it is. But you’re too tired, a little too in pain to argue back over it. And he’s looking at you again, with that honeycomb twinkle in his eye, that Joel look which stirs something in you every time he shows you it.

You sigh, accepting defeat, and rack your brain for something else you want him to talk about.

“Alright, uh…What about your brother? He didn’t want any of your dad’s money?”

Joel’s face twists into something of a grimace. You instantly regret bringing it up.

“Touchy subject?” you ask, already coming up with five new, two-dimensional questions to ask in place of that one. Who was your first kiss and what was your first car and when did you find your first gray hair and what’s your mom’s maiden name and –

But you don’t need them.

Joel says, “Not with you,” and tilts his head, like measuring up his answer. He takes his time letting it filter down to his lips, and you reckon you’ve a good idea of why.

He was closed-off about it in Paris. About his brother. Didn’t say more than three sentences about him. And that was only where a sheep farm was considered. What you’re asking about right now is a hell of a lot deeper and a hell of a lot more difficult than a ranch in the Texan countryside.

“He was always closer to Dad. They used to go out huntin’ every Sunday. Liked the same music, watched the same TV. They were buddies, more ‘n anything. When it turned out my dad had this whole other life behind our backs – behind Tommy’s back – he flipped. Couldn’t take it. He disappeared, never looked back. Just packed his car, moved across the country.”

He’s staring at the TV now, barely blinking. Barely breathing, until you speak and it’s like he remembers he’s in your apartment, on your bed, with you. Not back in time twenty years, watching the dust kick up from under his little brother’s tires.

“He must’ve been pretty mad.”

“Yeah. Tommy’s like that, he’s got a hot head on his shoulders. But it meant leavin’ Mom, y’know? She went through all of that without him. I had to pick up all these broken pieces, juggle all this stuff, ‘n he just got to walk away from it all. And then, when Dad died, he refused to come back still. Left me to organize everything – the money, the funeral. The whole damn thing.”

He flicks his head, resentfully, like trying to dislodge the memory from his mind. Trying to shake it free. When you speak, it seems to soften him. Seems to thaw whatever angry image was frozen behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that part sucks. I bet it was hard goin’ through all that without him.”

Joel’s head angles towards you. “Not any harder ‘n it was on you, goin’ through what you did.”

“Well…I know I would’ve found it easier if I had a brother or sister. Someone like me, someone who gets it, y’know?”

“Hm. We weren’t all that close to begin with, I guess.”

“You were close enough to want to buy a ranch together.”

He shakes his head again, this time refusing to let the idea in. Turning it away at the door.

“You miss him?”

“It my turn to ask somethin’ yet?” he asks, smiling.

But you’re feeling braver now. He’s answered everything up until now; it feels less like a game and more like…more like he wants to talk about it. Like it’s been pent up all this time and this is the first anyone’s brought it up. A relief to get it off his chest, if nothing else.

You ignore him. Press him. “Do you?”

Joel sighs deep enough that his coffee ripples a little in his mug, and then nods. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if we were on speaking terms, yeah.”

“So, call him. You have his number?”

“I ain’t gonna call him, baby.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Last I heard, ‘n it was a long time ago now – he was in Wyoming. Married, kid on the way.”

“Call him. You really gonna let that kid grow up without Uncle Joel around?”

“Uncle Joel,” he repeats, laughing now. “He does not want to hear from me, angel. Let it go.”

Joel turns the volume up and settles back into bed, pillows propped behind him. You pass him your empty mug and he slots it alongside his own. As the commercials end and Whoopi Goldberg flashes a grin into the camera, you give it one final shot.

“I’d give anything to have someone who knew and understood me as well as a brother might.”

His hand falls limp against your bedsheets, remote loose in his fingers. You lift his arm, nuzzling underneath it to lean your head by his heart, and he sighs.

Argument won.

“Too many big questions,” you mutter after a while, eyes clinging to the screen. “Ask me somethin’ stupid.”

“Somethin’ stupid,” Joel repeats, and you nod. “Alright. Who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You slap his chest. “Dirtbag!”

He chuckles. “Who was it? Blake?”

“No,” you reply.

“Damn. Who?”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see you.

But suddenly you feel the loose spaghetti straps of a slip dress over your shoulders, see the off-white glow of three-year-old sneakers crossed at your ankles, chipped pink fingernails tracing the blurry pastel shapes on floral bedsheets. A dry throat, the sanitized backwash of vodka and coke splashing across your tongue. A smash from downstairs – someone’s broken the host’s mom’s best vase.

“Was just this guy I slept with at a house party,” you tell Joel, clearing your throat. “Lisa Tait’s sweet sixteenth. We were in her bedroom, all of us, ‘n everyone started heading downstairs, ‘til it was just me ‘n this dude Jack laying on her bed.”

“You had sex on some other girl’s bed?”

You nod, cringing a little. “I wasn’t even friends with her. Wasn’t even friends with him. Just thought, fuck it. I didn’t wanna go into senior year a virgin ‘n neither did he, I guess.”

“How’d it go?”

The messy, uncomfortable thrusts between your legs. The hand shooting down to guide himself back in. The wet lips running along the shell of your ear, the acidic breath on your cheek. Is that good for you? Yeah, it’s good for me. You sure? I’m sure. Just hurry up.

“Lasted, like, four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Joel’s body jerks. You know he’s staring at the crown of your head. “You timed him?”

“No. He lasted as long as Paradise by Coldplay. It was playin’ downstairs in the living room.”

He tips his head back and laughs to the ceiling. You giggle into his shirt.

“Poor guy,” Joel says, rubbing your shoulder.

“Poor me, more like.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and pats your head. “Least you’re doin’ alright now.”

You push yourself up from his chest and glare at his satisfied smirk, dodging his thumb when it lifts to clip your chin. “Oh, you’re so smug about it.”

“Are you kidding? For lastin’ longer than five minutes? ‘course I am. Can make you come twice in that time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Runs the tip of his tongue along his top lip, corners of his mouth twitching. Something sparks to life inside you.

Your knee lifts, reaching over his waist and planting into the mattress on the opposite side. Joel’s hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the black cotton and edging against your hipbones. You bend over him, lips running a wet trail from the base of his neck to his earlobe. His breath falters.

“Prove it, daddy,” you whisper, and his grip tightens.

“Baby,” he warns, voice suddenly sharper. “We don’t have to –”

You ignore him, holding him down by the shoulders. “I want to.”

“I’m just sayin’,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, “’s not why I came here. We can just hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” you tell him. “This is what we do.”

And he seems to agree. Or, at least, accepts defeat, in the form of rolling his hips upwards. His fingers slip through yours, locking at your knuckles, anchoring you to him. You grind against his belt buckle, the hard metal flat against your clit. Joel clocks you instantly.

He sits up. Holds you by the ass on his body until your center is flush with his. You feel him stir beneath your open legs.

He shifts to the edge of the bed, keeping you chest to chest in his lap. Your teeth grit against one another. His lips are warm, they still taste like coffee. You lick at the corners.

“Wanna make yourself feel good on me?” he asks.

A smile as sweet as sugar and laced with something darker spreads across your lips. “You’re best at it, right?”

Joel hums. “Alright,” he says, impressed. His chin lifts; he breathes a laugh as you pepper his jaw with kisses. “Take what you need, angel. ‘s all yours.”

Your knees spread wider. You push down on his swollen crotch, voice catching as he meets you halfway, bucking up into you again. Your clit throbs at the contact, forcing you back up off him.

“D-addy,” you choke, hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Joel’s stronger. He takes your waist and replaces you on his lap. “Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “’s okay, baby. I got you. We’re gonna make you feel good together, alright? Here.”

He slides you over until your legs are either side of one of his, his thick thigh flat against your most sensitive spot. You dig your nails into his forearms, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t budge. Just looks up at you, holding you steady, and says –

“Go on. Ride it, babygirl.”

You move an inch. The rough fabric catches on the soft of Joel’s underwear. You gasp, relief mixing with arousal and spilling warm and soothing between your legs.

Joel squeezes your hips. “Do it, darlin’. Make yourself feel good. ‘m here, I’ll watch.”

The fabric beneath your pussy is soaked, probably dampening a mark into his pants – and you don’t fucking care. It feels good – the steady weight of him, lifting his thigh as you drag yourself along it, beginning to rock back and forth.

Your eyes are closed, head to the ceiling, grinding your core against his. You can feel him staring. Watching you, his gaze red hot on your already fevered skin. You collapse into him over and over, his body solid as a rock, letting yours fold against him. Liquid in pleasure and feeling.

Your eyes open a sliver and you smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel smirks. “You know how fucking perfect you look right now?”

You nod, forehead coming to lean heavily on his.

He bucks his leg, jaw tight. “How – fucking – beautiful you are? Making yourself come on daddy’s thigh?”

You inhale the words as he speaks them, swallowing them in gasps and parting your lips complacently for more. Keep going. Keep telling me –

“–you my good girl?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, legs starting to give.

“Gonna get me covered in you? Gonna come all fuckin’ over me, babygirl?”

“Daddy, I want –”

“Tell me,” he demands, “tell me what you want.”

His hands are clamped on your waist, guiding you – driving you, more than your weak hips are able to – holding you to him almost painfully. Your body circles messily, becoming sloppier the closer your orgasm draws, quivering when the feeling runs a delicate hand through your hair and plants wet kisses along your neck.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” you whine, body rocking again. Your hand lowers to cup the outline of him, rock-hard and restrained beneath linen. He shudders when you squeeze him – looks down to your small hand on the huge bulge in his trousers. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Your own eyes are stuck on the place where your bodies connect, writhing against one another – the wet seam of Joel’s underwear, the folds of his pant leg as you rut against him. Your empty cunt tightens, aching for more against his firm thigh.

“’m gonna, pretty girl,” he says, groaning as you palm him. “‘m gonna fuck you so good. Just give me one first, alright? Let me see you come for me.”

Your body jolts as you come. Hips lose their rhythm; arms lock tight around Joel’s shoulders. And all the while, his lips stay pressed against your ear.

“Look so good, baby,” he coos. “That feel good, angel? Yeah?”

As quickly as your orgasm sent you under, you’re pulling back. You haven’t even regained feeling between your legs, but you’re pushing yourself from his lap, separating your bodies.

Joel sits back, body lightweight when you tug on his wrists and drag him up to height in front of you. You’re backing up across the plush rug, his chest bumping against yours, your fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Your back hits the bathroom door. Joel twists the handle.

You spill onto the cold tile, attached at the mouth, frantically tearing clothes from each other’s bodies. It’s desperate. It’s burning. It’s almost fucking painful, how bad you need him.

His hands run from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt, hauling it over your torso and tossing it to the counter. You peel the shirt from his shoulders and your bare chest meets his, his hands finding your hips again when he whips them from his sleeves. The white shirt drops to your damp floor, dark, wet marks spreading across the dress fabric.

“Shoot,” you mumble against his lips. “My – bad. Sorry.”

“Don’t – care,” Joel breathes, and his thumbs push beneath his waistband.

You spin on your heel, backing towards the shower and taking him by the jaw with you. He shoves the clothing down his legs, stepping out of them and catching you again in time to drag the underwear from your thighs.

You shift into the shower, both fully naked. Joel spins the nozzle and the warm water rains down between you. His chest quickly soaks, dark hair thicker and blacker, flat against his glistening skin. He tilts his head under the spray and soaks his hair – gives one heavy flick of the head like a wet dog, and you laugh as he pulls you in again.

His hands cup your face as he connects your lips, and then his right drifts down your neck and pushes your tit up, squeezing the sensitive skin in his palm and rolling your firm nipple between two fingers. He lets it drop, runs his hand delicately down your frame, following the curve of your waist to your hips. He cups between your legs.

You come up for air, a sudden realization over your head as though the water runs freezing cold. “Wait,” you start, “I gotta –”

But he’s rubbing gentle circles against your clit, slow, pacing you as the tide of your first orgasm disappears to sea. He doesn’t seem to know, yet – or if he does, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Joel –”

“I know,” he says, voice low and busy, but still – assuring. Unbothered. He moves his hand lower, surfing along your slit, until his fingers brush the wet string.

Your breathing jumps. He taps the seam of your thigh twice, and your leg tilts aside. Your eyes flit back up, crossing over his chest to fix on his jaw. You feel a flushing heat cross your cheeks, a moment’s hesitation before your fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him over the running of the shower. He keeps his left hand on your jaw, his right between your legs. He shakes his head once, and takes the string in two fingers, and –

Gently pulls. Only a fraction, and then he pauses. Looks back up at you, a question in his stare.

You nod, exhaling heavily. He pulls again, and he doesn’t stop.

The tampon falls wet and heavy into his palm. His hand leaves your cheek and settles around your waist, leaning both of you out of the shower while he reaches for some toilet paper. Once it’s wrapped in a roll of white tissue and sat on your sink, he moves back into the cubicle.

He runs his palm under the flow; splashes of red swept up, watered down, and carried to the drain along with every last whispering of worry on your lips. Your elbows bend around his neck and he dips his head to kiss you, pushing you carefully into the corner.

“You tell me –” he kisses you, “– if it hurts or it gets too much, you tell me.” His body stands huge, blocking yours from the stream of water. Your back bumps against the shower wall; the shock of the cold tile pushes you closer to Joel.

“Just – fuck me.”

But he’s adamant. “You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. You’ll know.”

“This is about you feelin’ good.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whine.

“We’re gonna have a word,” Joel instructs, lining up between your legs. He lifts your thigh to sit on his hip. “’n if you say it, I stop. Alright?”

You nod, fervently. “Please –”

His fingers separate your lips; his tip nudges your entrance. “Maple, alright? It gets too much, you say maple. You do that?”

“Joel, if you don’t –”

“Baby.”

“Maple,” you agree, “I’ll say it. Just –”

He pushes in without another word.

How many times has it been, by now? Ten? More than that? Enough for you to know in your mind, if not from trying to learn then simply from muscle memory, exactly how he feels. The curve of his cock, the width of the tip, the length of him as he slots deep inside you.

And yet – every fucking time – you feel so full. Full of him in every sense – your cunt, swollen around him, your lungs, breathing his scent, your every thought and feeling and sense replaced by Joel. Joel Joel Joel Joel –

He’s suffocating. And if you died right now – if you were smothered by him, swaddled until you couldn’t feel anything anymore – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell. Not sure you’d care enough to notice.

He pushes in slow, but deep. So fucking deep. Lets your walls expand around him the first few thrusts, lets your body welcome him back in. His lips press against your temple, his arms cradle your lower back. Your weight bears down on his shoulders and he lifts you, your other leg sitting on his waist. He holds your ass in both hands, begins to bounce you steadily.

“So good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me. You’re daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

Your answer leaves your lips in the form of a moan. Something shaped like his name, or maybe some attempt at a response to his question, or maybe something more dangerous.

“My girl,” he repeats, whatever it was you said. “Daddy’s girl.”

Your head rolls back, cushioned by Joel’s hand between you and the tile wall. He knots his fingers in your hair, snaps his hips quick and hard, panting into your shoulder. And there’s a feeling – a stinging, a burning, sweeping across your eyes, and for a second you think it feels like shampoo, like the sharp scratch of soap between your lashes, until you realize it’s –

Tears. The heavy cut of tears, brimming your eyes. Blurring your vision. And with every thrust, every blissful meeting of Joel’s cock and your cervix, every inch he spreads you open wide – they form quicker, and quicker, and quicker. Until they spill down onto your cheeks, and you can’t tell the difference between them and the spray of the shower.

But Joel can. His head lifts from the crook of your neck, his teeth dragging from your skin. He spots your eyelashes, silky and wet, and in one motion, wraps his arm around your head, holds you with the inside of his elbow.

He dips his jaw, presses his lips featherlight to your cheeks, kisses the tears away as quickly as they roll down.

“I –” gasp, “– don’t know –” gasp, “– why I’m –”

Joel’s head shakes as he pulls away. Shuts you up. His answer is simple. You believe it instantly.

“’s okay. You’re okay.”

And right then – you think you understand.

Because you can see him – plain as day. You can see the amounts he cares for you, the limitless needs he can meet for you. There’s a warmth within you, spread throughout your body for him, and you have no fucking idea how to let him feel it. How to have it seep through your skin – so that every time his fingers ghost over your body, he’s met with a blaze strong enough to burn. A fire, big enough and bright enough that it shows him exactly how you feel.

Only him. No one else. A flame only he can see, dancing across your eyes when you look at him. A heat only he can feel. How do you make him feel it? How do you tell him? What combination of words might translate it?

It’s like slamming your fists against a glass barrier. A transparent wall, that allows you only to see him and draw near to him – never to feel him. Not really.

And so, you cry. You cry for him, for yourself. And Joel lets you.

For a little while.

His lips are back on your neck, biting marks into the soaking skin. “’attagirl,” he hums. It rattles your pulse, disturbs the rhythm and sends his own beating through your veins. “So good, baby.”

They soothe you – his lips, and the words which come from them. Soothe the sweet pain between your legs, the swollen ache every time Joel pushes into you. The stretch, the bruising tinge when his tip finds home in the deepest part of your body. Somewhere no one has ever reached, no one has ever found. No one, you feel, has ever been worthy enough to know.

Until him. Until Joel.

That same rhythm – your pulse on his wavelength – begins to flee south. Loops and swirls and dives to where his body connects with yours. Tightens rapidly around your cunt. Your hips grind against his, your thighs clamp on his waist. He starts to falter, hips slipping whether from blood or come or water. And then he’s growling, face burying into your chest as he steadies the two of you with an abrupt palm on the wall, and he stills.

The feeling of his release tips you over. The warmth spreading inside, so far you feel him in your stomach. Your walls contract around him, squeezing until every last drop of him is buried somewhere in you, and you lower one foot to the shower floor.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants, pulling his lips from your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, head rolling against the wall behind. You’re not crying anymore. The shower whirrs somewhere over Joel’s shoulder. Your chest feels tight. And you feel fucking euphoric.

He gives three more lazy, broken thrusts, pushing his come deeper inside. You both still, mouths curved open, exchanging breath and letting your tongues flick idly against one another.

You hold onto him long after your orgasm is shallow ripples between your legs. Long after the feeling has washed back into the ocean, your high a glimmer of sunlight bursting over the distant horizon, the aftereffects painting your world golden.

You hold onto him, and you let him run his hands slowly up and down your spine, and you sift your weak fingers through his dark hair, and you let him kiss your neck and your shoulders and your collarbones. He leans back; the flow of water cascades between you, carrying away any mess left on your bodies.

And then you let him carry you out of the shower, his tip still inside you, slowly softening. He settles you carefully against your counter, and reaches over for two white towels, caping one around your shoulders and using it to draw your body against his own.

You take the corners from his fingers and he lifts your chin, pushing your lips apart with his tongue. Then he pulls away, allows you to wrap the terry around yourself.

Joel wraps his own towel around his waist, slung loose enough that you can trace the dark hair peppered from his belly button down between his hips.

“You know how inappropriate it is to look at your boss like that?” he tuts.

You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back in. “Then stop lookin’ at me the way you do,” you tease, and he kisses your cheek.

He disappears through to your kitchen, reappears moments later with the box of Tampax, and you don’t even think to laugh or tell him you’ve an open box sat in the cupboard you’re leaning against. You just smile, and accept the clean tampon he holds out in his fingers. He leaves you to get dressed with the door closed over.

He’s sat on your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, holding his soaking shirt between two fingers. “Sorry about, uh…”

“’s alright,” he shrugs, standing up, “I’ll take it from your paycheck.”

His knuckles pinch your nose. You free yourself to place a chaste kiss on his fingers, and pass him the crinkled mess.

“I have something that’ll fit you somewhere,” you mutter, slipping past him as he hangs the shirt by the collar over your door.

“Do me a favor,” Joel’s voice follows, and he takes your wrist. You turn back to face him. “Catch your breath.”

“Huh?” you ask, and his hand comes up to mold around your cheek, the way it always fucking does. As if your bodies were made to be held by one another.

“Just – take a breath. You’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Movin’ at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe for me.”

You scoff, loosening yourself from his grasp to go sift through your wardrobe for something big enough for him. You settle for a Jurassic Park tee – logo faded and cracked, hem a little ragged.

“Rod’s?” he asks, holding the shirt up.

You’re already collapsing onto the mattress. “You bet.”

Joel smirks and tugs it over his head, throwing himself down against the headboard. Your hand wraps around his thigh, lips press soft kisses on the skin. He runs his hand over your hair.

“Are you gonna take a sick day off me for this?” you ask.

He shakes his head simply. “Doctor’s orders. Can’t say nothin’ to that.”

“I didn’t go to the doc–”

His thumb presses against your lips. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ lie, do you?” he whispers. “’s alright, we’ll getcha trained up.”

You snort, shaking yourself free of his hand. Your head settles by his hip, nails draw aimless patterns along the curve of his stomach.

“Need you better by Sunday, anyway,” Joel sighs, “Martha’s son’s birthday party.”

You grunt in response. You forgot about that.

Joel tuts. “Still gotta find him a present. How in the hell do I know what to buy a twelve-year-old?”

Your hand pauses. Neck cranes up to look at him. He’s staring down at you, his trademark glower still recognizable even upside down. Somehow, not sat upright in front of him, the thought seems less scary. Less of a commitment, more a casual suggestion.

“Why don’t we just get ‘im a joint one?”

The hard expression immediately wipes from his face. Replaced by something rounder. He blinks at you. “Really? From – you ‘n me?”

You shrug against his waist. It’s not answer enough for him.

“As in, you n’ me?” he asks.

“Why not?”

Joel’s head shakes. His mouth curves as he considers the thought. But he can’t mask the pang it sends through his body; can’t pretend he’s not covering the way his veins light and his nerves stand to attention by taking your hand in his and squeezing it briskly.

It doesn’t have to mean something. You, Joel, and Deb are the only people from work that Martha invited, and Deb’s bringing her two sons, which means her gift will be from them, too. All it has to mean is that you’re Martha’s co-workers, and figured it’d be cheaper and easier to get one gift over two.

Except – one of you is a millionaire.

It means something. The fact you asked. You’re not asking to save a buck, to make it simpler. You’re asking because you want to wrap some video game in paper Joel picked out; you want him to hold the folds down with one finger while you tear tape with your teeth. You want to sign the card with both of your names, in your handwriting. See how they look paired up.

You ask him because you want to feel the way you think you ought to have felt this entire time. Your body is ablaze. You’re ready to let him feel it. And you ‘n me seems like a pretty good combination of words to start with.

You’re ready. And that’s why you ask him.

Joel’s quiet for as long as you are. You both go to talk at the same time, both noticing how silent the room has fallen while you realize all of those things in real time.

“Sorry, baby, you go,” Joel says, sniffing.

“No, I was just – no, you go. What were you gonna say?”

He smiles. “Was just – wonderin’ what you wanted to get Alan.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and then you pause. “Al–? What?”

“What you wanted to get ‘im,” Joel repeats.

You push yourself up, lean on one hip in front of him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What did you call him?”

“Alan?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel stares right back. “Martha’s son.”

“Martha’s son’s name is Henry.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t.”

You’re biting back a laugh. “Yes, it fuckin’ is.”

“She calls him Little Al. All the damn time, baby, he’s –”

“That’s because he acts like Alan. Her husband. His father. All the damn time. You gotta be messing with me. Have you been calling him Alan the entire time he’s been alive?”

“No.”

His expression tells you yes.

You’re laughing now. Really laughing. It breaks your words in two, your head tilting back to the ceiling. “You…idiot.”

Joel’s struggling to compose himself, sliding off the bed. “The email she sent out says Alan’s Twelfth Birthday. The hell’s my phone?”

“You think she had a kid in two thousand eleven, and named it Alan? You don’t think they’d call Child Protection on her for that?”

He points a finger, tossing pillows to the bottom of your bed. “That’s disrespectful to the Alans of the world. Where the fuck is my –?”

Your chest swells in a giggle, eyes start to sting with tears. “What do you write in her Christmas cards? To Martha, Alan, and Alan?”

You slap the bed, leaning forward with a deep gasp, trying to catch your fucking breath. Joel’s still stripping the bed, still keeping his own laughter deep in his chest, but it’s quickly crumbling.

“Her email –” he chuckles, “– says Alan’s Twel–”

“She’s fucking with you!” you holler, catching the pillows he throws to you. “She’s fucking with – I’m gonna piss my pants. Martha, Alan, and Alan, oh my fucking –”

“Here,” he finally throws you the phone, “go find it. Find the email. Search the damn word Alan; she uses it every time she talks about him. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. You want another chamomile tea, Little Miss Smartass?”

He lifts your mug and tilts it in your direction. You nod as you reach for the phone, wiping tears from your cheeks. Joel disappears through to the kitchen.

He clued you in on his passcode a few months after you started. You were still in the office past five o’clock, looking out files he needed for some client visit the following morning. His phone had buzzed, you were nearest it. He lifted his head and nodded to the lit screen.

1-6-9-1, he told you.

It finally made sense only a few days ago, after three years of wondering. Three years of knowing and never asking; a mystery solved. 1691 Maple.

His background was always one of the standard ones. The boring ones. A soft, blue gradient. Usually, his lock screen was too populated by notifications for you to even notice.

But now – it’s changed.

Now, it’s a photo of the view from the terrace in Paris. The pale sunset, faded blue into sweet yellow. The Eiffel Tower carved out in the center. You suck in a deep breath as you swipe texts and emails away to properly study it, figure out exactly where he was standing to take it, and exactly where you might’ve been when he did.

You tap in the four digits and his home screen lays out before you. Only, the background is different – again.

It’s Paris, still, but indoors. Dark wall, an ornate frame pinned to it, housing an amused smirk and soft hands. She’s looking off into the distance, past the photographer. Or maybe – she’s looking at you.

You, stood leaning on the barrier in front of her. The Mona Lisa. Your head tilted towards her, beaming like it’s a photo with your favorite celebrity.

It’s not a big deal. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s his home screen. Only visible if you know his password – and you’re fairly sure that you’re the only one who does. Not even Martha would know that this photo exists, never mind the fact that it’s his wallpaper. It’s not a big fucking deal.

No matter how much you think you want it to be.

You swiftly tap on the email app icon, trying to rid your mind of your own cheesing image. He has thirteen unread emails, all from the last hour. Some you know he’ll forward straight to you and Martha; others look a little more serious. As you’re scrolling down them, you notice a familiar face.

Denis Pelletier. His square-jawed grin flashes back at you from the tiny circle icon beside his name. You tap on the email, and your cheeks lift higher the further down it you read.

I hope your flight home was pleasant, and It was wonderful to take you both around Paris, and Your assistant was very sweet. You breathe a laugh, scrolling down the three-paragraph message urging Joel that if he’s ever back in Paris – if you’re ever back in Paris, both of you – to make sure you let the chauffeur know.

But there’s no email from Martha. At least, none in Joel’s inbox. You return out of the folder and wheel down to his Deleted folder, scrolling past password reset emails, panicked cries for help from Mackley and Tom, past order confirmations for brands you’ve never heard of, when –

A head of hair, more salt than pepper. A bright, unnerving smile, too many dazzling teeth in a mouth too small to house them. A pink sky behind him; candy floss clouds and townhouses glowing orange in the sunset – the building blocks of the Paris skyline.

Jean-Marc. An email – a deleted email – from Jean-Marc.

Dear Joel, It was such a pl… is all you can read from the preview. Your eyes flit up to your door. Joel’s still in the kitchen, humming. You glance back down to his phone.

Would it be invading his privacy? It’s only an email from Jean-Marc. It’s not like you don’t know who he is. What if your thumb slipped? Accidentally opened it? What if your eyes scanned over the text before you quickly swiped back out of the email?

There’s the sound of a drawer rolling closed. A spoon rattling against ceramic. He’s stirring your tea.

You click on the email.

It was such a pleasure to see you again.

You scan over the first paragraph. It’s just Jean-Marc cozying up to Joel. Your nose wrinkles and your lips turn.

I loved meeting your assistant, the next paragraph begins. And your focus is pulled.

I wonder if you had given our conversation any more thought? Whether she might be looking for a new challenge? Something this side of the Atlantic, perhaps?

Your heart skips a beat. A new challenge.

“You want the last egg roll?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

You jolt back to life. “N-no, you have it,” you reply. You hear the rustle of the bag.

I wonder if you might relay the message onto her, Jean-Marc continues. Please give her my email address and phone number.

You quickly pull the screen up, noting the date the message was sent. Three days after you got home from Paris. More than a week ago. You tap on Joel’s response as his footsteps creak back towards your bedroom.

His reply is as short and sweet as the few words he spoke to the Frenchman that Sunday morning.

I’ll pass on your details, he’s written, but unfortunately, my assistant is currently unavailable. Maybe sometime in the future.

Your jaw jerks. Eyes trace the words, over and over. Thumb scrolls up and down the email, making sure you’re reading it right. Joel, making promises he never followed through. Joel – your Joel, the one you pestered for fucking days after Paris over what he’d talked with Jean-Marc about – one hand laced through yours, the other with a vice grip around a secret he never intended to clue you in on.

You. He’d talked about you. They’d probably talked about you the entire fucking meeting, as soon as Joel mentioned you. You can see Jean-Marc’s ears twig; his eyebrows lift with interest. The way he sets his wine glass down, offers Joel another whiskey and invites him to say more.

Joel. Lying. And covering up. And keeping you close by his hip, walking in stride with him out of that fucking penthouse – like you’re on some kind of leash, or something.

The fabric of his underwear on your hips feels claustrophobic; a second layer of skin that rubs against yours like sandpaper. You want to rip them off off off – want to separate yourself from him, peel him from your body and forget the feeling of him as quickly as you seemed to absorb it. Instinct tells you to detach yourself – to remove any trace of him ever having laid eyes on you, never mind touched you.

What a fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t fucking care about you after all.

You don’t even notice when his form saunters back into the room, when he shoves the door closed with his elbow. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue, sour with disappointment. Acrid with anger. Sick with fear.

Unavail–?

“You find it?” he asks, and you subconsciously clutch the phone to your chest.

“Not yet,” you murmur, watching as he sets the mug back on your nightstand.

His fingers slip through the handle, knuckle nudges the temple of the ghost a little further along the surface, and he straightens, lifting his own mug to his lips.

“’s in there,” he says against the ceramic. He holds a hand out, curls his fingers. “Let’s see.”

“Never mind,” you say, tapping out of the email, out of the folder, out of the app. “I believe you.”

And then –

“…You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

He licks his lips. Holds the mug by his side, fingers gripping the lip. He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #sex on fire

[blythings]

Tom blyth birthday smut if you can?

it's the 2nd of feb in australia so hbd to the loml!! thank you for sending me this req anon, perfect timing with this one 💞 this is super self-indulgent since the reader is a corporate girlie like me. also this is unedited and super rushed but hope you enjoy anyway!!!

CAKE | TOM BLYTH

— pairing: tom blyth x fem!reader — summary: when the birthday cake you had planned to make for your boyfriend doesn't go according to plan, he comes up with an alternative gift to salvage the celeberation. — content: mdni, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, very minimal dirty talk —word count: 958 words

requests are open for tom and his characters!~

As Tom steps into your shared apartment, he’s greeted by the inviting aroma of rich chocolate, tinged with the simultaneous smell of something burning, which only intensifies with each step he takes.

He calls out your name as he leans against the entry into the kitchen. It’s two pm on a Friday afternoon — normally, you would still be at your office during this time, fending off the mid-afternoon fatigue by drinking too many cans of Coke Zero and texting him some of the ridiculous items that would land in your inbox. 

That said, it doesn’t take two seconds for him to know why you would be home so early. You had been apologetic all week about not having enough time to plan something more elaborate for his birthday and while he had tried to reassure you, he still sensed the faint trace of guilt behind your expression.

At the sound of his voice, you look up from the mixing bowl, filled with a chocolatey concoction. “You’re home early,” you say — ironically — before you return to mixing, your frustrations from the week seemingly being beaten into the side of the bowl. You had rolled up the sleeves of your blouse though powdered sugar still dusts the fabric. There is a brown lump by the sink that Tom can only assume had been your first attempt at baking a cake, and the reason why his kitchen smells like a hazard site at that moment.

He pads over and wraps his arms around your frame. He asks, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “I had to at least get you a cake,” you answer, “and I didn’t want to just grab one after work. I’m gonna make you a cake even if it kills me.”

“It looks like it might.” Tom mumbles under his breath, kissing the side of your head.

It isn’t like you didn’t have plans for his birthday during the weekend. But between Tom’s acting career taking off and your own job picking back up after the holiday break, the chaos that had followed is enough to eat away at your time and energy. You had been too caught up in work to plan anything special. You recall Tom’s words, his easy-going reassurance that he didn’t mind if you had a more lowkey celebration that year. Even so, guilt had been gnawing at your insides all week, fueled by the knowledge that you haven’t been as attentive since you had returned to work. 

But as the two of you stand in your cluttered kitchen, it is obvious that you might’ve miscalculated your own culinary ineptitude.

“I even got this stupid cake mold for this.” You huff, lifting the heart shaped cake mold that you had picked up on your way home. “But even when I try to read the recipe, I’m not getting it right. It’s stressing me out.”

He kisses your cheek. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t want you stressing over this. We can just buy a cake from the bakery. I assume you don’t have to go back and finish any work, right?”

You shake your head. “I said there was an emergency.”

“Tell your work that something was burning. That way, you wouldn’t be lying.”

“Clever.”

“I have my moments.” He says, trailing his lips down the side of your neck. A hand trails lower and you drop the spatula into the mixing bowl as he turns you around, his mouth slotting against yours. 

You’re prepared for his kiss, the years you’ve been together bringing about a level of ease that you’ve never had with any of your previous partners. He moves the mixing bowl to the side, lifting you up to rest on top of the counter. You scrunch your nose at the thought of having to do a deep clean of the kitchen later in the afternoon.

But your thoughts don’t stray from Tom for too long as he licks into your mouth. His hand moves down to your knee, tugging your legs open as sinks to the floor between your spread thighs.

“Still wanna give me something sweet?” He murmurs, pushing the hem of your skirt up. You can only offer a nod as he loops his fingers around the sides of your underwear, pulling it down your legs.

“I should be the one who — ” You start to say but he shakes his head, running two fingers up your throbbing core. 

“Couldn’t even get me a proper cake,” He cuts you off, teasing, “let me taste you instead.”

You’re about to reply before he’s burying his mouth between your thighs, your mouth releasing a string of whimpers and gasps as he mouths over your clit. You cry out in pleasure as he begins nudging your bud around his tongue, his eyes watching your reactions intently. He pulls away with a lewd pop, leaning back. “This cunt is mine, isn’t it?” He asks, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. You want to bask in his touches, but the drag of his fingers and the feel of his lips sets your body ablaze.

His fingers trail down your slit before he slips two digits deep into you. You cry out when he shoves his fingers deeper inside, a warning for you. “Yours,” you manage to choke out.

Your thighs quiver around him as you cry out his name, the tightness in your belly snapping apart as your body spasms from your orgasm. 

“That was fast.” He teases you, chuckling as you push him off your thighs. “Want me to help you clean all of this up?” He asks as he gestures around the kitchen, and you shake your head.

“Later. We’ve got a birthday to celebrate.”

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x oc #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tbosas #smut

[yuquinzel]

loving reo mikage is something juvenile— like i love you’ s on post-it notes, stealing sly and shy glances in class. like pebbles hitting your window at night and whispers in your backyard. and even after years, it hasn't really changed.

it's still evident in the way he's pouting right now, but at the same time, can't really hide his growing smile.

“accept defeat,” you smirk, “i won fair and square, reo.”

“no, you didn't. I sent the text first— fuck my wifi, I'm gonna sue that company.” he urges, flashing his mobile screen at you to emphasize on the fact that it was indeed him, that sent the “morning, i love you :)” text first.

it's a little morning routine of yours— a competition of sorts to see who sends the good morning text first. they get bragging rights and the perks of choosing what series to binge watch for the day. it's only valid if you follow it up with an “i love you”, though.

“ooh,” you coo, “sounds like a you problem.” you bring a hand to brush back the lilac strands reo lets free on mornings like these, he leans and melts into your touch out of instinct.

“this is really unfair,” reo sighs. this is going to be an unpleasant dent in his winning streak for the past three weeks. “i set my alarms for five minutes earlier to send the text first."

you would be lying if you said you were surprised. to reo, giving in the extra effort is only natural. it's one of a kind— something you can never capture the essence of in just words. he does it because he can. because he wants to.

you know because even when he's been winning for the past weeks, somehow the series he picks to binge watch are always the ones you have casually mentioned wanting to watch. reo doesn't seem to realise that you notice, but that's what's really charming, isn't it?

your heart skips a beat nonetheless, “looks like it was my day today, i get bragging rights.”

“yeah, yeah. brag away, you only have today.” but he's smiling, “i'm gonna set an alarm for twenty minutes earlier.”

“my goodness,” you breathe, “i didn't know you had such a huge crush on me, reo.”

he pouts, “i literally tell you that everyday.”

“that's embarrassing,”

“it may be embarrassing but at least I'm happy.”

“you're happy having to wake up at 5:40 just so you can send a text first?” you laugh.

he mirrors it, “best moment of my day.”

“you're down bad, mikage.” you roll your eyes.

“you're the same. otherwise, you wouldn't be sending me these texts at 6 am.” reo hooks his arms around you, letting his head fall on your shoulders. the way he holds you is always the same— with a sense of safety, firm and protective but warm like a second blanket. it feels like home.

“guess i am.” you smile, a newfound bliss in your eyes.

although reo hates losing, this time he feels like he's won.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

@rinnahhhh / blue you have the craziest and most romantic ideas please never stop :')

this is purely self indulgent therefore super short because reo is the best boyfriend in blue lock fite me :P

#❛ ‧˚🪐 — the dusk renditions. #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage x you #mikage reo x you #mikage reo x reader #reo drabble #reo x reader fluff #reo mikage fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #bllk x you

[bedoballoons]

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️

{༻~How do I escape this now~༺}

CW: Angst to fluff, Gn! Reader whos comfort language is physical, reader is mentioned to have anxiety and depression! Very slight mention of a panick attack in Tighnaris.

A/n: This is completely self indulgent, it's been so long since I've written anything and posted it so this is a little short. Just a little comfort for a mentally struggling reader, in case anyone else has been feeling this way too. You're not alone okay and I hope you feel better soon, you're amazing and no one should say otherwise. If you ever need someone to listen, I'm here. <3

(Includes: Lyney, and Tighnari)

𑁍༄Lyney:

You pulled yourself into a tighter ball, making it harder to breath even though it was already a struggle...you could feel the area under you head, wet with tears that clung to your face...what was happening. When had things started to hurt so bad...when had your mind started to think the way it did now, you shut your eyes tighter, wishing you just didn't exist...that everything you'd ever said could just be forgotten, there would be no stress anymore and no more hiding under the blankets so no one would see you upset.

"My love..."

You audibly sucked in a breath, like being silent would make him think you weren't there...you didnt want him to see you like this...you didnt want him to worry...to feel like he had to help you even though he had other things to do. "I'm okay, just taking a nap Lyney. Super tired..." You tried, but the rasp in your voice and the sad tone in your words instantly gave you away.

You heard him sigh and listened as his footsteps grew closer...until suddenly you felt his weight all around you. He'd hugged you along with the blanket and just, held you like that. Never forcing you to talk or show your puffy eyes and sniffly nose. Never forcing you out of the room or to try harder to be happier, just held you comfortingly until you moved. It helped...infact it didn't take long for you to calm down after that, tell him how you were feeling and let him help you...let him tell you you're beautiful and that he loves you. Let him listen to everything because he simply wanted to...let him in and never have to face everything alone again.

𑁍༄Tighnari:

How long had you been in his arms...minutes? Hours? Days? You had no idea...you'd lost track in seconds, but honestly...it didn't matter anyway. You just needed a little more, just needed to hear the soft hum in his voice a little longer...just needed to feel the gentle circles he rubbed into your back a little longer...was that selfish...were you annoying him...should you put on that tough face you always wore and say you felt better...even when you didn't?

"I...I'm feeling better Tighnari, I'll-"

"Mhmm, you know I can hear your heart rate speed up when you're lying right? You don't have to lie lovely...I'm not going anywhere...and there's no where I'd rather be then with you, helping you feel better...calm down after the hundreds of near panick attacks you almost had today. The only thing I want is to see you happy and I mean really happy, not pretend happy..." He pulled away from you slightly so he could place a light kiss on your puffy cheek...

It was hard, to accept his words...to think he truly wanted to be there with you even when you were at your worst, but even as you once again rested your head on him and let your emotions all out...he didn't dare move. He wouldn't, not until you truly felt like you could face the world again...and it only reinstilled that faith that he'd never leave you to handle everything all alone. You'd always have him. No matter what.

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Love you all~*⁠.⁠✧

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #lyney x you #lyney x reader #lyney headcanons #lyney fluff #lyney angst #tighnari x you #tighnari x reader #tighnari headcanons #tighnari fluff #tighnari angst

[obey-me-disaster]

The demon brothers in maid dresses with an MC that likes it a bit too much

A/N: This is super self indulgent post I won't lie. I am having a horrible writer's block so I needed to get this out of my system.

Demon brothers x gn!MC

!!Slightly suggestive but nothing explicit happens!!

Lucifer

It was a curse set up by the Anti Lucifer League. When he put on his usual attire it transformed into a full blown maid dress with thigh highs that he couldn't take off.

Refused to get out of his room until the curse wore off. He made sure that there were no cameras anywhere near him.

You are the only one he lets in, but warns you that if you laugh he is throwing you out. Needless to say you are over the moon.

While he is annoyed about the curse he can't deny the fact that he likes the way you look at him.

There was one scene in season 3 where MC made Lucifer sit on their lap and he really liked it (his intimacy bar went up). Do that to him.

If you want to try to do anything with him while he is in that dress you'll have to take lead. He has a hard time saying no to you so he will most likely go with whatever you want after a while. But makes you swear you won't tell anyone.

After the curse is over he goes straight to Satan and Belphegor to punish them. Mammon too since he tried to take pictures in order to sell them.

The only reason he won't try to drink demonus until he forgets this whole is because of you. becauseofhowwellyoufuckedhim

You probably won't see him like that ever again tho

Mammon

He lost a bet to Asmo when they went to a party. He tried to win some money but it just ended up with him wearing that cursed maid outfit.

He goes to hide into your room. Why? Because you're his human so this is your problem too. Unknown to him, this was more of a blessing to you.

You were doing your own thing when he bursts into your room, locks the door and starts to complain about the stupid bet.

You probably didn't pay too much attention to what he was saying, more focused on the way the dress would ride up his thighs. The outfit was chosen by Asmo, so it was pretty revealing.

He was about to tell you off for not paying attention to what he was saying but stopped when he saw that way you were looking him.

He tries to play it off, hoping you wouldn't notice the shift in his mood or the way his whole face heat up.

Good thing the door is locked. Because that act is not gonna last long. The maid dress is not comming off either, it looked too good on him.

If you asked him enough times he might wear the maid outfit again. But that's because he is your first man and he doesn't want you to go to one of his brothers for that.

Leviathan

He was trying on a maid dress for a future cosplay when you entered his room without knocking.

You kind of stared at each other for a few minutes. Levi was thinking if calling Lotan would get him out of the situation while you were busy admiring how he looked in the maid outfit.

He snapped out of thoughts when he realized you took a picture of him. You had to calm him down and explain that you just like how he looks and you're not trying to make fun of him.

Tries to go on with working on his cosplay while you hang out in his room but can't really focus. Not only are you constantly checking him out, but this whole situation reminds him of an anime hentai

Just thinking about that scene and what happened between the protagonist and the love interest made him blush. The fact that you were acting just like the love interest did not help at all.

It's up to you to ask him what got him blushing so much. He tries to deny it at first but it was obvious he was lying.

He was already preparing for you to be disgusted and leave the room but instead you told him to continue

Chances are he may need to get a new maid dress for his cosplay.

Satan

He had to test how the curse for Lucifer would work, unfortunately it backfired to him. Now he was stuck in a maid dress with cat ears and tail.

You would think the cat ears and tail would make him happy at least but not really.(I think there was a chat where he said he doesn't like the idea of cat maids).

He locked himself in the room until he figured a way to get rid of the curse. No need for his brothers to see him like that and for Lucifer to find out about the future prank.

He texted you to come into his room to help him figure out a way to get rid of the curse. Yes, you knew Lucifer would get pranked into wearing a maid dress. No, you didn't tell him at all.

You did not help at all. He started to get frustrated with you since he thought you were just laughing at him. He decided to observe you more before confronting you and that's when he realized you may have a thing for him in that damn dress.

It was clear you had no intention of helping and he didn't really have the heart to tell you to leave either so he decided to let you indulge a bit. In the name of finding out more about the curse of course.

After the curse finally wears off, to your dissapointment, he nearly didn't want to use the curse with Belphie on Lucifer. He didn't even want to think what you would do with Lucifer if you saw him in that dress.

Asmodeus

He was going through some old outfits when he found the maid dress and decided to try it on. He didn't really remember where he got it from, it was probably a gift given by one of his fans.

The moment he tried it on he immediately called you into his room to see how good he looked.

Friendly reminder to everyone, he can feel when people are attracted to him. It's confirmed somewhere in season 2. He knew you were into this shit in less than a minute.

To his credit, his intentions were pure when he invited you into his room. Things changed he sensed your attraction to him in that attire. Even without his power, it was still obvious from the way your eyes were following him.

Tries to drop subtle hints at first. Yes he knows you really like how he looks in a maid dress, but that doesn't mean you want to do anything with him at the moment.

If you seem like you want to take things further, which you most likely want to, he will keep going. Might as well put that maid dress to good use.

Will drop hints to his brothers about your preference. In the name of helping them, of course.

After that he will try on different outfits to see if he can get the same reaction out of you again.

Beelzebub

He lost a bet to Asmo and had to wear the maid dress. He was not as bothered by the dress but by the fact that he missed on a free meal from losing the bet.

He was not planning on going out of the house for that day , so the curse didn't affect him that much.

You found him in the kitchen, emptying out the fridge. Since it was too late to stop him at the point you decided to join him and have a snack.

He felt a bit embarrasses at first but quickly got over it when he saw you didn't make fun of him.

He was too focused on eating and making conversation with you to notice the way your eyes wondered around his body. It wasn't a revealing dress by any means, but it was a bit too small for him, making it seem like it would tear at any second.

It didn't help that he decided to use the dress as a napkin. So whenever he would wipe his mouth, he would lift the dress, giving you a full view of his thighs.

In the end the maid dress got to dirty for Beel to keep on wearing it so you offered to wash it for him.

Any sadness from the fact that Beel had to change was quickly overshadowed by the fact that he stripped in front of you without a care in the world. Yeah he did have a blush on his face but it wasn't the first time you saw him like that, so to Beel it was no big deal.

Not wearing the maid dress anymore didn't seem like such a sad thing now...

Belphegor

The curse he tried to put on Lucifer backfired and now he was the one in a maid dress. At least it was comfortable enough to sleep in.

He decided to just sleep the curse away, and what better place is there to sleep than next to you?

When you got a text from to go into his room, you weren't exactly expecting to see him in a maid dress, but you weren't about to complain.

His original plan was only to take a nap with you, but the little shit caught on the fact that you may like him in that dress, so he decided to put it to test.

He tried a bunch of weird 'sleep positions' where he was practically all over you, trying to get a reaction out of you.

After a while he got enough of teasing you and saying that you watched too many of Levi's animes

After all that moving around and teasing you he was not tired anymore. In fact, he made you take responsability for him not being able to sleep properly anymore. It's up to you to decide what you want to do from then on.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor x reader

[winchesterandpie]

Careful Hands, Precious Cargo

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Word Count: 1522

Warnings: highly self-indulgent, very soft Jake, tiny bit of angst, mostly really sweet

A/N: I had this floating around in my head and I had to write it. I just really would like for someone to hold my face, and Jake Seresin will do the trick. I'm so sorry my posting is erratic, we just finished all the orientation stuff for my program and next week is going to be super hectic with the start of classes and lab rotations. I think I have another fic for Bradley ready to go, so I'll probably post it sometime this weekend. Anyways, I really enjoyed writing this fic and I hope you all enjoy reading it!

The first time Jake cupped your face in both hands, your response caught him off guard. 

It was a few weeks after he asked you out, and only a few days after he’d asked you to be his girlfriend. You were both in your kitchen and you had just taken a sip of the hot cocoa you made. He was leaning against the counter across from you, grinning as he dropped marshmallows into his own mug.

“Hey, sweetheart, save me some, will you?” you teased at how many he was getting.

He didn’t hear anything past ‘sweetheart.’ In an instant, he was in front of you, lifting his hands to your cheeks.

Jake may have short-circuited at the nickname, but when thumbs skimmed across your face, it was like you did a hard reset. Your whole body melted, and your head weighed heavy into his touch. He would have been lying if he said it didn’t affect him. Though you hadn’t known each other long, it was a signal of your trust to let him support you.

He kissed you so sweetly that night.

From then on, he kept the trick in his back pocket and even experimented a little. One hand alone never elicited the same response. A tight hug came close, and playing with your hair for long enough came closer still. But nothing quite released you like holding your face between his hands.

Jake used that knowledge to his advantage.

One night, after the two of you moved in together, he came home to find you staring at your computer, your fingers tapping against the keys without typing. He slid his arms around your shoulders from behind. You tipped your head back as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, sweets,” he greeted you quietly.

“Hey.” He heard it in your voice--how you were trying to sound okay.

A quick glance at the screen of your laptop revealed that you were looking at the task you had told him about yesterday. You had told him you weren’t looking forward to it and that it stressed you out. From the looks of it, you were still trying to start.

“How was work?”

“Eh.” You shrugged.

Jake pressed a kiss to your shoulder before moving to crouch in front of you.

“Darlin’, talk to me.” he offered, waiting just a little longer to pull out his secret weapon.

When you could only shrug again, he struck. Jake’s hands were sliding up to hold your face and after a second or two, everything released. From the outside, it looked like you were curling in on yourself, but he could see how the tension drained from your whole body.

He let you sag against him, happy to take on the burden if it would give you peace.

“That’s it,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Somewhere amid the low light, Jake’s quiet reassurances, and his hands on your face, your nerves eased. With Jake at your side, you were brave enough to start the task at last. For his praise when you finished, you would have done the dreaded thing several times over. As it was, you only had to do it the one time before you could fall into his arms.

Jake never mentioned it to you, knowing you would get embarrassed. He loved the bashful way you would duck your head and glance between him and the floor, but this? The way you just settled into his hands was unmatched. He couldn’t stand if you started guarding your reaction in embarrassment.

It wasn’t easy to not give away. He found himself regularly fighting the urge to lift his hands to your cheeks. Still, he couldn’t stop himself every time. Jake reached for you as often as he didn’t, but always in private. He wasn’t about to share that part of you with anyone else.

He reached for you again on the beach. You had planned a picnic for him as a surprise. You’d brought all his favorites in a little basket and he was ready to drop down on one knee and propose on the spot, even before he saw that you’d brought slices of rich chocolate cake for dessert.

“You spoil me,” he told you with a twinkle in his blue-green eyes.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” you replied simply.

You were gazing at him with so much love he thought his heart would burst. His hands found your face, bringing your forehead to his as his thumbs brushed back and forth almost instinctively. Your eyes drifted shut how they always did as you relaxed into him.

“I love you.” Jake left a gentle kiss on your lips. You returned it without hesitation, though it only deepened when one hand slipped from the side of your face to your waist. He kept it tender, unwilling to push it further when you were just so pliant in his hands.

When your lungs begged for air, you pulled back just a little to look at him. “I love you too.”

He was so blindingly in love with you that it hurt sometimes. You held his heart as tenderly as he held you. You were the first person he had truly trusted with that cargo, and Jake knew he was in safe hands.

Sometimes, the way the two of you showed that love was more complex. When he left on assignments, you were often worried. He worried about you too. Because of that mutual worry, the two of you could get into arguments before he left.

Today, Jake couldn’t bear to part from you on a sour note.

“Look, I don’t want to fight right now,” he said, his chin dropping as he pushed a hand through his hair. “Come here, please?”

What were you supposed to say to that when you hadn’t really wanted to fight either? His arms opened to you and you went into them easily. He held you tightly to his chest, pressing a kiss to your head.

When you started crying, his hands shifted to your shoulders, pushing you back just far enough to look at you. 

“Darlin’,” Jake said softly, taking your face into his hands.

The tears kept coming, even as you relaxed in his hold. His thumbs brushed back and forth slowly, evenly, soothingly across your cheeks.

“I’m scared, Jake.” The confession fell from your lips, drawn there by his gentle hands. “I know you’re damn good at what you do, and I trust that.” You paused, and he waited for you to continue. “It just scares me that anything could happen to you and I…” When you broke off this time, shaking your head like you couldn’t go on, he spoke up quietly.

“I get scared too,” he admitted to you. “Anything could happen here, not just up in the air. I worry about both of us every time I leave.”

You reached up to hold his face, finding the few tears that slipped from his sea-green eyes. He leaned into your touch and pressed a quick kiss to your palm.

“Really?”

“Really.”

You were both quiet for a moment, tension melting from both of you.

“If I could stay, I would,” he said at last. “I hate leaving you.”

“I know.” You sighed, lettting your head tip forward against his. “And I also know that you love what you do. I want you to have flying, I really do.”

“I know,” he echoed with a small flash of his usually-broad grin. “I’ll be able to call on this assignment.”

“I’ll still miss you, sweetheart.”

Jake stilled only briefly at the nickname, then tipped your chin so your lips met his briefly. “I’ll miss you too, sweets. I always miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” you said after another moment. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight.”

He kissed you again in reassurance. “S’okay. I get it.”

“It’s just easier to let you go when I can convince myself that I’m mad.”

“Why do you think I argue back? I do it too.”

You chuckled weakly, the silent tears finally subsiding. “We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

“Pair of fools.” He laughed too. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He felt your head bob in a nod in his hands, signalling that you were okay, at least for now. “I’ll come back to you. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

When he was away from you, he missed everything about you. It caught him off guard when he found he especially missed holding your face in his hands. He missed the way you relaxed, missed how every worry in your eyes eased. 

You felt safe with him, and it made him feel safe too.

So when he came home, he spent almost the entire evening just holding you, holding your face. His heart eased with every second he passed with you. Every pass of his thumb, a heartbeat. Every slow breath that fanned across his skin, a confession. Every moment together, a promise.

You both held precious cargo, and neither of you would let go.

Top Gun Taglist:

@malindacath

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman #i'm so soft for soft jake #where do I acquire one in real life? #anybody know? #top gun #top gun maverick

[majesty-madness]

"Only a Dream" - Satoru Gojo x reader (sfw)

Summary: In a half conscious state, Y/N utters a name Gojo hasn’t heard in a long time.’

Word Count: 900+

Warnings: JJK Season 2 SPOILERS!!, angst, affectionate Gojo, comfort, light kissing

a/n: not proofread. Super, super self indulgent but who wouldn’t over this mans? And side note, saw what happened to Gojo, what the fuck?

Also, Commissions are still available and if you could check that out would be a big help, thank you!

Main Masterlist

The sun shined so brightly that day despite their circumstances. The light refracted through the water of the ocean, making it sparkle a deep blue that seeped a welcoming aura. 

One moment, she was standing on the edge of the sand gazing out into the sea then the moment she blinked, she was running around through the water. She could still recall the breathless laughter as she chased after two very familiar figures, a young man with white hair and glowing blue eyes and the other a girl with black hair, blue eyes, and a smile that was contagious. 

The two laughed amongst one another before turning to face her, both smiling. 

“Y/N, come with us?” The girl spoke, reaching her hand forward for Y/N to take. 

She reached out, preparing to feel the warmth of skin as their hands touched. “Of course-”

Gojo opened the door to Y/N’s office, at first he didn’t see her when he walked in but as soon as he took a couple of more steps inside he realized why. She was lying peacefully across the couch that had been there before she’d taken it over. 

He couldn’t help the endearing smile spreading from cheek to cheek all the while walking closer to her, and crouching down to stare at her sleepy expression. His eyes memorized every detail outlining her face, from the crease in her eyebrow to the pink hue of her lips he even reached up to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear once he’d noticed it kept tickling her nose. 

Eventually, he went to reach from her shoulder to gently shake her awake when she began to mumble, followed by a single word. 

“Amanai…”

Though it was low, and barely audible, Gojo’s heart stuttered for just a moment. 

When Y/N finally opened her eyes, she seemed to stare at nothing for a couple of seconds before they widened, indicating she was now fully awake. She blinked, one, two, three times as she remembered where she was. 

“Satoru, what are you doing here?” She asked with a mighty stretch, and a long yawn as she sat up. 

“Looking for you, had a lunch date remember?” He asked sweetly, resting his chin in his palm. 

Recognition soon flared in her eyes and over her face. “Oh god, sorry. I wanted to take a little cat nap before we met up, looks like I slept longer than I intended.” 

“Well…” Gojo sighed, “If I was dreaming about the old days, I wouldn’t want to wake up either.” 

That caused her to pause, peering at him with a confused look. “How did you know what I was dreaming about?”

His playful attitude vanished, and the expression he wore had a surprising seriousness. “You said “Amanai” in your sleep.” 

Her confusion fell quickly, leaving her feeling the pang of despair. “Yeah, I was remembering that day we went to the beach in Okinawa; before she had to assimilate with Tengen.” 

“Do you dream of the old days a lot?” Gojo asked, getting up from the floor to sit next to her. 

“Only when I think about it, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.” 

Gojo reached one arm to curl around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her towards him to lean her head against his chest then used the other one to wrap around her front. Y/N didn’t miss a beat as she willingly tucked herself into him, her own arms wrapping around his torso.

“I think about it too, all the time.” Gojo admitted as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. 

Y/N felt the slightest bit of tears gather in her eyes at his confession. She knew that despite his outgoing, silly nature, Gojo carried so much guilt and regret on his shoulders. It made her heart ache knowing that she couldn’t help lessen the burden.

“I miss her, Satoru. I miss the way things used to be.” 

He lightly nodded, “I know.” 

Gojo heard a small sniffle from below him causing him to peer down, the tiniest of tears managed to escape and rolled down Y/N’s cheek. “Hey now, there’s no need for tears…” He raised his hand to softly wipe the tear away. “I’m still here, and you’re still here. That’s all that matters.”

Y/N tilted her head back a bit to look up at him, her heart thundering in her chest. “I love you, Satoru.” 

He smiled. “I love you too.” As he said this, he was already leaning down and kissing her, keeping the balance between tenderness and passion. 

It didn't last very long though and as he pulled away, Y/N did attempt to chase after him but he laughed. “As much as I’d like to continue, you haven’t eaten since early this morning, so why don’t we go on that lunch date, huh?”

Normally, Y/N might have pouted but right now her stomach fluttered with the utmost love for this man as he always looked out for her. “Okay, you’re right, let’s go.”

He pecked her one more time on the cheek before helping her to her feet, and they headed out the door. Unlike the other times, Gojo kept a firm hold on her hand the whole walk to the nearest restaurant as he knew just how easy it would be to lose her much like they lost Amanai that day.

________

editing note: I don't know if anyone is going to notice but I forget a small chunk of writing in here so I'm adding it now: as of 10/26/23 at 9:30 at night. God I'm dumb...anyway, I fixed it!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x female reader #gojo fluff #gojo fanfic #gojo angst #gojo oneshot #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk angst

[cantwritethetword]

That's Cheating

Fic Descript: During a training session, it's revealed that Miles is ticklish. Pavitr thoroughly enjoys the experience, and just when Miles thought it couldn't get worse, Miguel decides he wants to wrestle him. Surely Miguel wouldn't use Miles' weakness against him, right?

~ A/N - My first ever Into/Across The SpiderVerse fic !!!!

I absolutely adored these guys when they came on screen, and I finally have the fic idea to do their group dynamic justice!

By the way, this is also absolutely me being super self indulgent sdjsklhfkls cause I've had this whole scenario running around my head any time I'm training with these 3 specific people and it KILLS ME so I need to get it on paper lmao I'm so lee for so many of my wrestling friends it's not even funny jsdfhdfjhafk.

ALSO QUICK WARNING THIS IS A LONG ONE SDJHLKSDHAFLK ALL THE ONES WHERE I PUT ALL MY LITTLE LEE THOUGHTS INTO END UP SO FUCKING LONG LMAO APOLOGIES FAM IT'S LIKE ALMOST 3K

I hope it's good!

Enoy! ~

Tag List:

Masterpost Link 

Miles never turned down the chance to train with his fellow spider people. Since he first walked through the doors an was offered the chance to practice, Miles had grabbed the opportunity with both fists.

Not just because it was one of the few places he could properly use his skills and abilities to their full potential (without risking revealing himself as spiderman or injuring a civilian in the process), but there was something about training at the spider society headquarters that gave him almost limitless energy.

He wasn't sure how much of that energy was adrenaline, how much was power from the spider bite, or how much was just because he loved spending time with his favourite people.

But no matter the reason, this little quirk of his enabled him to continue sparring round after round when most would need a few minutes of reprieve between sets. And he would be lying if he said it didn't give him a little mood boost when the other spider people commented on his incredible stamina.

"Ugh, Miles do you ever get tired?" Pavitr groaned as he managed to flip Miles onto his back and clamber on top of the kid, pinning him to the ground. "We've been at this for like ten minutes straight!"

Miles grinned, his arms pushing against Pavitr's knees that were currently either side of his ribs to wriggle himself out. "You giving up already?"

"No way." Pavitr grunted, as Miles's movements had almost made him topple. "But I'll take a rest while you figure this out."

Pavitr, the asshole, decided to take this moment to shoot webs onto Miles's wrists - sticking them to the floor next to Mile's sides. Straining against the webs, Miles silently thanked the fact that it was Pavitr he was with. If this were an actual fight, Miles knew his face would currently be a punching bag.

But just because Pavitr wasn't going to injure him, it didn't mean there wasn't a threat.

"Come on Miles! Get out!" Pavitr teased, poking Mile's unprotected forehead.

The kid shook his head to try and get rid of Pavitr's annoying fingers.

Bad idea.

In the process of protecting his forehead, Miles had encouraged his friend to move his poking elsewhere. And it only took a few prods to Mile's neck for him to break into giggles.

"Agh- Pahahav-" Miles squeaked out before he could stop himself.

Pavitr stopped, an amazed grin across his face. "What was that?"

Miles froze for a second, realising just how severely his body had just betrayed him, before starting to thrash a little more desperately against the webbing trapping his hands.

"Are you ticklish?" Pavitr questioned with a teasy smirk, poking Miles's neck another few times.

"NO-!" Miles grunted, using every inch of willpower in his body to resist the laughter bubbling in his chest. "Don't!"

Completely ignoring Miles's pleads, Pavitr moved his prodding fingers down to Miles's collarbones.

And that was where the kid cracked.

"NOhohoho!" Miles squealed, shoulders trying their best to scrunch up and protect himself. "Pahahav stohohop!"

Pavitr beamed, absolutely ecstatic at his newfound discovery. "Oh my god, you are ticklish!"

"Shhhh!" Miles begged through his giggles, giving up on resisting his own reactions and focusing his efforts on preventing his ticklishness from becoming the newest piece of gossip.

"Why?" Pavitr laughed. "You're the one who's making all the nois-"

"What's this?" A voice chuckled from behind the two.

Pavitr paused his attack, and - after recognising who it was - Miles breathed a sigh of relief. Both because he could finally actually breathe again, and because the voice came from his old mentor - someone who already knew how ridiculously ticklish he was and hadn't told a soul.

Peter B, clearly having just finished a spar with someone by the looks of his flushed face and sweaty t-shirt, made his way to kneel down next to the pair before chuckling again.

"Ah, I see you've found Miles's little weakness."

Pavitr let out an indignant noise. "You already knew about this?!? And you didn't tell us?"

Peter shrugged. "Figured you guys would find out eventually, he's too ticklish to hide it for long."

"Peter!" Miles groaned. "Guys can we not talk about this right now!"

With a grin, Pavitr turned back to Miles. "Oh we can stop talking if you'd like..."

Before Miles could realise what Pavitr meant, ten fingers began tapping against the front of his ribs, and he was once again sent into a helpless fit of giggles.

"NOnononono Pahav people ahare gonna see!"

"Who would see?" Pavitr laughed. "It's just us over here; you, me and Peter."

"Plus Miguel, somewhere..." Peter added, looking around them for his friend. "But I doubt he's listening to your little situation kid, he's probably off doing Miguel things, as Miguel does."

Half expecting a beetlejuice moment at the three mentions of the guy's name, Miles flicked his eyes around the room (as best as he could - he was still pinned on his back) to try and spot Miguel. Thankfully, it seemed the slightly intimidating spiderman was too busy helping another pair of spiders with their match on the other side of the room.

"See!" Pavitr continued, digging a little harder into Miles's ribs. "Nothing to be worried about buddy!"

"IHIHIT'S STIHIHILL CHEHEATING!" Miles whined through his laughter, somehow managing to swallow the scream that almost burst out of his mouth at the sensation of Pavitr clawing into his sides.

"Ehhhhh..." Peter tilted his head with a grimace on his face. "Technically it's not, there's no specific rules against it."

Miles shook his head violently. "IHIHIT'S CHEHEHEATING!"

"You having so. much. energy. is what's cheating!" Pavitr responded, poking to emphasise his words. "But fine, let's ask Miguel."

Miles's eyes went wide, and his laughter turned to desperate begging. He couldn't possibly live through the sheer embarrassment of giggling like a child in front of someone as stone-faced and important as Miguel.

But no matter how many 'no's the kid strung together in rapid succession - a rather impressive display of his lung capacity to be completely honest - his pleading was fruitless, as Pavitr had already waved down Miguel, and the man was making his way over.

Thankfully there were a few seconds of rest until Miguel arrived that were completely tickle-free, so Miles had a chance to somewhat compose himself. Still, he knew that he would need much longer to reduce the redness his face had taken on in the last few minutes of torture.

"Yes?" Miguel said as he knelt down, one eyebrow slightly raised at the position the two boys were currently in.

"Is tickling illegal?" Pavitr asked genuinely, much to Miles's surprise. He was expecting some kind of teasy grin shot in his direction, but it seemed Pav was just as interested in Miguel's answer as he was in taking Miles apart at his fingers. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad.

Even more to Miles's surprise was the quiet chuckle that escaped Miguel's mouth.

"Technically not, why?" Miguel responded, a small (but definitely present) grin on his face.

"Oh no reason..." Pavitr smirked at Miles (who was quickly realising he spoke too soon about how easy this interaction would be). "Just that I found out Miles was ticklish and wanted to try and see if he would submit because of it."

Miles could feel his face flush even redder than before, and he couldn't even cover his cheeks cause his damn hands were still stuck. So he resorted to rolling his eyes above his head to avoid looking at anyone for the remainder of the conversation.

Miguel once again let out a breathy chuckle. "Well, I haven't seen it happen before, and we're about to finish up the official training session... But we can always find out later."

That last comment snapped Miles's face back into Miguel's line of vision.

And, if this whole situation wasn't already flustered enough, Miles could have sworn Miguel winked as he stood up and called out to everyone to finish their current drill and pack up.

After chatting for a few moments with some of the other spider people, Miles watched as most of the group cleared from the gym. Aside from Miguel and Peter (who were practicing something on one side of the mats), the gym was practically empty.

Which made the sound of thudding feet all the more terrifying coming his way.

Miles yelped as someone tackled him to the floor and climbed on top of his hips.

"You didn't think we were finished, did you?" Pavitr grinned down at his friend, before digging his thumbs into the pocket right above Miles's hips.

"NOHOHO PAHAHAV!" Miles shrieked, caught so off guard he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

Pavitr laughed. "Glad we're on the same page then!"

"Stohohop ihihit!" The kid giggled, pushing at Pav's wrists - a much easier feat now that his hands weren't spider-webbed to the floor (but still not quite easy enough to push Pav's hands away).

With Miles now being able to fight back, there was actually a fight to be had. Still a very one-sided fight, but enough of a back-and-forth match to eat at Pavitr's strength.

And Pavitr's energy drained far quicker than Miles's did.

Keeping a very wriggly Miles consistently trapped and tickled was quite the challenge for India's favourite spiderman, so most of Pavitr's efforts were concentrated on Miles's hips. Certainly his hips were effective, but the hope of escape kept Miles going just long enough that Pavitr's teasy smirk started to fade into an open-mouthed grin (for maximum oxygen intake).

By the time Miles's breathing was wheezy, Pavitr sounded just as exhausted. Both boys were drenched in sweat, and neither were sure where their own ended and the other's began. Pavitr's thumbs slowed, and Miles was finally able to push those troublesome fingers away from his sensitive hips with one final residual giggle.

Letting himself breathe for a moment, Pavitr gave Miles's shoulder a friendly pat. "Damn you put up a good fight, I'm dead after that!"

Miles chuckled and nodded in agreement, still a little woozy from the post-tickle haze.

"You up for some food?" Pav asked, standing up and offering to help Miles to his feet.

"Sounds gr-" Miles began.

"Actually," Miguel interrupted the pair, making Miles freeze for a moment.

How long had he been watching them?? Had he seen Miles get absolutely wrecked?? Oh god, would Miguel ever take him seriously again after that??

Miguel continued. "Miles, want to have a round?"

That was definitely not the direction Miles thought this conversation was going. Thank god, Miguel must have only just finished with Peter. And now that he was looking, Miles could see a (somehow even more) sweaty Peter gathering his stuff and heading out of the gym.

Perfect. Miguel hadn't seen a thing.

Miles nodded, slightly intimidated with the idea of attempting to wrestle someone as experienced as Miguel, but keen to try (and perhaps get a little closer to the reserved leader of the Spider Society).

"Excellent." Miguel gave a small nod, and positioned himself in the centre of the mat.

"Well, good luck." Pavitr smiled, clapping Miles on the back before heading out towards the cafeteria.

Miles took a breath, calming his racing thoughts and tired lungs, before moving to face Miguel.

The pair moved slowly to start, attempting a few takedowns and swings at each other but not fully committing to any, before Miguel swiftly spun to the floor and knocked Miles straight off his feet.

God it was frustrating that Miguel could do that with so much control that it almost seemed to happen in slow motion.

Without even letting himself catch his breath on the floor, Miles tried to scramble to a crouched position, but Miguel was either too quick or predicted his movements too well.

One moment he was almost to his feet, the next Miles was flat on his back with the side of Miguel's chest pressing against the front of his. One of his arms was trapped at an outward angle by Miguel's hand, but Miles couldn't quite see what was going on past that with Miguel's back in the way.

Then Miles tensed.

A soft but unmistakably sharp sensation was gently tapping at his side, enough to fill Miles's chest with tickly anticipation but not so much that he was convinced that was what was happening.

Surely not. Surely Miguel was far too mature for something as childish as tickling.

Still, as Miles struggled to escape Miguel's hold, he struggled even more to contain the laughter threatening to spill out of his mouth at the tickly sensations radiating from his side.

"Mihi- Miguehel?" Miles strained, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

Miguel chuckled, and spoke with possibly the teasiest voice Miles had ever heard come out of his mouth. "What's the matter?"

Oooh that motherfucker. Miguel knew exactly what was happening, Miles could feel the smirk radiating off Miguel's face. And somehow that made it significantly harder for the poor kid to control himself.

"Whahat- Wahait- Mihiguehel-" Miles stuttered, giggles already peppering every word he spoke.

"Pavitr wasn't kidding..." Miguel hummed, his claws switching from tapping with all four talons to scratching a single finger up and down every-so-gently. "You really are ticklish."

Miles whined (though it came out sounding more like a laugh), his hips trying to squirm away from the tortuous feeling. "No, noho no no Miguehel plehease-"

"And I was curious what he was saying about submitting you just by tickling..." He continued, bringing back the rest of his hand to softly claw against Miles's lowest ribs.

Even that gentle sensation brought Miles almost to the brink, his eyes practically popped out of his head and a stream of uncontrollable giggles flooded from his mouth. How the hell was it already tickling this badly??

"Mihihi- Mihihgue- Nohoho stohohop!"

"Huh." Miguel chuckled again, god that sent shivers down Miles's spine every time it happened (which really wasn't helping). "Already that bad? What about if I do this?"

The agonisingly slow clawing turned to full-handed squeezing up and down the soft part of Miles's side, and Miles shrieked. As if waking a sleeper agent, his brain seemed to suddenly (and conveniently) remember he had two arms - and only one was stuck. Half punching his opponent in desperation, Miles thudded his free hand against Miguel's back to try and push himself out.

"NOHOHOHO MIHIHIGUEHEHEL PLEHEHEASE!" He begged, legs kicking wildly without reason or result. "STOHOHOP!"

Miguel paused, lifting his head and turning it as much as he could towards Miles (only being able to see the kid from the corner of his eye). "Is that you tapping out?"

Whilst momentarily catching his breath, Miles paused. On one hand, he was rather close to death, and wasn't sure how much more of Miguel's teasing he could handle. But on the other, there was something almost precious about seeing such a weirdly personal side of the stoic man. Should he submit, and cease the frankly torturous situation he had found himself in, or should he push onwards, hoping Miguel would eventually show mercy if Miles actually needed him to (though at this stage, it was hard to say he wasn't slightly enjoying the playful interaction).

Eh, Miles was always a stubborn kid. And he was proud of it.

"Nohohope!" He shook his head, bracing himself.

Miguel gave a surprised scoff. "You really do have a ridiculous amount of stamina, huh."

Miles tried to grin cockily, though even he knew it probably looked more like a nervous invitation for Miguel to continue.

And continue he did.

Like a switch had flipped, Miguel launched his clawed hand into a rapid tickle-assault against Miles's entire torso. Within seconds, every inch of the kid's sides, ribs, stomach, and hips had been poked and squeezed and vibrated against before Miles even had the chance to react. The sudden zero-to-a-hundred spike of intensity caught the younger superhero completely off-guard, making him squeal at a pitch he genuinely didn't think he could each anymore.

"NOHOHOHO MIHIHIGUEHEHEL!" Miles cackled, twisting and writhing under his attacker.

Miguel gave a surprised laugh at the increased movement. "Hey, you asked for it kid, not my problem."

"NONONONO IHI CAHAHAN'T!"

"Ok, Ok..." Miguel playfully rolled his eyes, not that Miles could see (or really pay attention), and released the kid from his grip.

Miles flopped both arms over his face, covering his burning cheeks, and laid there for a few moments panting. Miguel chuckled, reaching to give the kid a few sympathetic pats at whatever body part was closest to him.

Seeing a hand move out of the corner of his eye, in the general direction of his stomach, Miles yelped and curled away from it in a mess of giggles. "Nonono plehease, I'm dohohone!"

Giving the final laugh of the interaction, Miguel grinned at the kid. "So there is a way to tire you out... I'll keep that in mind."

#crow's tickle fic #across the spiderverse tickle fic

[httpdwaekki]

migraine | c.m.m.

pairing: chad meeks martin x fem!reader, platonic!anika kayoko x fem!reader

summary: you have a migraine but ur pretty boy is there to help u through it.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: v self indulgent, mentions of nudity (nothing sexual), cheesy, hella pet names, probably too long for the concept LMAO

additional notes: hi ! i’m trying to get back into writing so i’m a little rusty. please feel free to send me chad and scream requests just no smut pls. i hope u guys enjoy and let me know how you like it! also just fair warning this is super self indulgent because i get so many migraines and it’s very cheesy lol.

masterlist

p.s. if u get migraines get a gel migraine cap from amazon, absolute game changer, okay love u bye <3

*gif is not mine! credits to the owner!*

you wanted nothing more than the curl up in your comfy bed, in your dark room, and let the stabbing pain in your skull run its course. but you were not so lucky, you had class and then a study session with chad, so you had to suck it up a bit longer.

you had migraines all the time though so you were used to just powering through them. your film studies class ended and you realized you spent the whole class trying to relieve the pressure in your head and not actually taking notes. you sighed, shoving your books and laptop into your bag, figuring you’ll just ask anika for them to copy. you walked out of your film studies class with anika, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

‘hey ani, can i borrow your notes later? i kinda zoned out and didn’t get to finish mine.” you asked, glancing at her. “for sure! you okay? you seem like, i don’t know, not yourself.” your heart warmed at your friend’s concern. “i’m okay, just a little tired.” you reassured her. she stops, grabbing your arm, making you stop as well.

“babe, i’ve known you since high school, i’ve seen you after all-nighters, this is not you just being tired.” you sigh, looking away. “what’s really going on?” she said bumping your arm. “ i have a migraine, but before you go all mama bear on me, i have it under control.” you smile brightly at her but she’s still not convinced.

“i’m fine, I promise! i just need to eat and get some medicine and i’ll be fine.” she gives you one last look before responding, “okay fine but you better use your gel cap when you get back from studying with chad.” you rolled your eyes, “okay mom, i will.” she smiled, sticking her tongue out before looping her arm through your’s. you giggled, walking out of the building, finding the twins standing next to a bench waiting for their favorite girls.

anika runs off and launches herself at the shorter twin, while chad smiles, walking up to you. he kisses your cheek, and wraps his arms around you, which you gladly return. “hi angel.” he says in your ear.

“hi bub.” you mumbled, kissing kissing his jaw before resting your head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief. he leans down, kissing your temple, before pulling away slightly.

he takes a moment to examine your face, taking note of the dark circles under your eyes and the slight twist of pain, you thought you were hiding so well. “everything okay?” he asks, concerned. you smile slightly a nod. “just a small headache, nothing to worry about.” you reassure him.

“do you wanna just go home and relax then? we can watch a movie or something, we don’t have to study.” he asked, slightly concerned. “no i’m okay, i just need to eat and i’ll be fine.” you smiled again. “she’s lying, she has a migraine.” anika yelled. you peered around chad, giving her a pointed look. “hey, if you’re not gonna take care of yourself, someone has to.” she shrugged. “i hate you, you know that.” you yelled back, before wincing, at the pressure in your head. “ that’s called karma.” you rolled your eyes before meeting the look of an unimpressed chad.

“babe, we can always study another time.” you felt your cheeks heat up from embarrassment. “i don’t want you to miss out on studying just because i have some stupid headache.” you reply, looking down, refusing to meet his eyes. “hey,” he said softly, hooking a finger under your chin. “we can study another time, but you being in pain is so much more important, okay?” you nodded, “okay, i’m sorry.” he nodded before wrapping his arms around you again.

you both stayed there for a moment, pulling apart as anika and mindy walked up. ”i’m gonna go over mindy’s, you gonna be okay by yourself?” anika asks. you nodded, giving her a small smile. “yeah i’ll be good, i’ll take medicine and put my cap on and lay down.” she smiled, content with your answer before pulling you in for a hug. “please take care of our girl.” she says looking to chad. he chuckles before nodding, while you give her another glare. “okay, thank you, bye mom.” you tease as she smirks before pulling away. “bye minds, love you guys.” you wave as the two girls walking away, shouting their own byes and love yous.

you turn back to the pretty boy next to you as he grabs your hand, heading to the direction of your apartment. “do you wanna stop for food or do you have some at home?” he asked. “ we should probably stop because i don’t think we have anything and i’ll probably pass out as soon as i lay down.” he nods before taking a detour to get some food. you both place your orders to go before sitting down at a booth to wait. you drop your head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh. “you doing okay pretty girl?” he asks, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

you nod. “this pressure is starting to get to me is all.” he placed a kiss on your head, “i know, we’ll be home soon and i’ll grab your medicine and gel cap and we’ll eat really quick and then get some sleep, okay?” you nodded again as your name was called to grab your orders. you thanked the girl before starting back to your apartment. the walk back to your apartment felt longer than it was simply because of the amount of pressure building up in your skull.

the two of you walked into your apartment, chad goes off into your room as you set the food on the counter. you throw your bag down before turning on the kitchen light. you lean against the counter, closing your eyes and holding your breath, hoping the pressure will go away. with almost poetic irony the pressure worsened, making you let out a whimper, catching chad’s attention. he comes up next to you, turning off the light, moving an arm to move in front of you. his hands move to your cheeks lifting your head, catching a glimpse of the tears that have made their way down your cheeks.

“oh angel.” he coos, causing more tears to fall. “it hurts so bad, i just want it to stop.” you cry. he immediately pulls you against him,wrapping himself around you, as if to protect you. “i know my angel, i’m sorry.” he coos, kissing the crown of your head. “ try to breathe, take a deep breath, okay? just like this, okay?” he says before taking a deep breath. you try to follow, the first one coming out as a shudder but getting stronger the more you do it. “good job baby, just like that, you’re doing so good angel.” he praises. you take a few more deep breaths before you feel him move causing you to whine.

“i’m just gonna pick you up and bring you to your room okay?” you nod before feeling him grab your thighs, to lift you. “ doing so good angel, i’m gonna sit you down on the bed and grab you some clothes to change into okay?” you nod once more before he sets you down, kissing your temples before walking to your closet. you watch him grab some shorts and one of his shirts. “do you want help changing?” he asks quietly. you nod, “please.” you whispered. “alright, lift up your arms pretty girl.” he said, tapping your arm. you lift up your arms before you feel him grab the edge of your shirt, pulling it off.

“i’m gonna take your bra off too, is that okay?” he asked, pausing his movements, looking at you. you nod again, dropping your arms, as he reaches behind you, undoing the clasp and pulling the straps down your arms before throwing it in your hamper. he kisses both shoulders before slipping the shirt over your head, letting you slip your arms through. “i love you, my beautiful girl.” he says, kissing you, causing a small smile to grace your lips. “i love you too.” you whisper back, he smiles before handing you the shorts.

“i’m gonna grab your food and cap, i’ll be right back.” you nodded watching him walk out of the room before shimming out of your jeans and slipping on your shorts. you carefully move, grabbing the blanket under you, tucking yourself in. you laid there for a moment, feeling yourself drift off before chad re-enters your room with a tray of everything to help you feel better. “thank you, for everything, you didn’t have to do this.” you say sitting up, grabbing the tray. “you don’t have to thank me, i’m here for you always, the good and the bad.” he said, placing a hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing it slightly.

“eat a bit and i’m gonna go get changed and grab your pills from the medicine cabinet, okay?” he said, giving your leg a reassuring squeeze. you nod before opening your mac n cheese and grabbing a scoop. he smiles before getting up and walking into your bathroom. as you’re eating you take a look around your room noticing he put your lights on the lowest setting giving you enough light to see but not enough to worsen the pain in your head. you also noticed the stuffed cat he bought you that usually stays on your desk was sitting next to you. you could’ve cried right there, what did you do to deserve him? you must’ve done something seriously great in a past life to deserve him because you’ve never met anyone as kind and loving as him.

he walked out of your bathroom, causing you to look over to him. he didn’t have a shirt on and was wearing some sweatpants he left at your apartment. “what the hell did i do to deserve you?” you said quietly. he smiled before sitting on the edge of your bed, putting his hand back on your thigh. “you deserve everything and more my angel.” he responded, still smiling. he holds out his hand, handing you your medicine, you grab them, and your water bottle before taking the pills. you both sat there in silence while you both ate, once you both finished you put your cap on, and chad grabbed the tray bringing everything back into the kitchen.

you grabbed the stuffed cat before settling back into your blankets, you feel yourself drifting off when you felt the bed dip beside you. you waited for him to get under the blanket and lay down before moving to lay against him, with your head on his chest. with your one hand resting on his abdomen, you started stroking it slightly with your thumb, almost soothing yourself before placing a light kiss above his heart, as a thank you. the last thing you remember is him placing one last kiss on the top of your head before your body completely relaxed, drifting off to sleep.

i hope you all enjoyed! i know this was probably a little long for the concept but i really liked it, i’ll probably edited it a bit tomorrow but i really liked how it came out! let me know know what you guys think! don’t forget to drink water, and take ur meds, love u!

#chad meeks martin #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks martin imagine #chad meeks martin x reader #scream #scream imagine #scream 6 #scream 6 imagine

[jm-2406]

Note - this is just a self indulgent silly little drabble written in just fifteen minutes because of the stress overload I was feeling.

Imagine, boyfriend!Bucky surprising you.

Word count - 365 words.

-

“Wow.” You heard your boyfriend's voice from the door of your bedroom as you finished getting ready. He was trying to be discreet but you could hear his words loud and clear as he said something along the line, “I think I have died because heaven is in front of me.”

“Same feelings, baby. You're my favourite view too.” You replied laughing-ly. Bucky continued to gaze at you like you have hung the moon. Honestly, it was the same thing for you too. You always harboured a crush on him but didn't say anything because apparently Bucky and you were not ‘compatible’ in your words. Unknown to you, the super soldier felt the same.

It wasn't until Christmas, three months ago, that he acted on his feelings after seeing Sam flirting with you. At first you felt taken aback by his advances but Sam convinced you to act along because he was tired of Bucky's sulking every time he saw you but would refuse to ask you out.

Surprisingly, on your part and unsurprisingly, on Sam's part, the high school trick of making your crush jealous worked. Now here you guys were, just three months later and already in love.

“Do you have something for me, sarge?”

“Uhh. Actually… yes.” He replied, rubbing the back of his head.

You were about to ask him what he brought when you felt something soft and kinda wet near your ankles. Looking down you locked eyes with the snowy little creature. “Woof!” The puppy barked, wagging its tail happily.

“I hope you don't mind but this little one was suffering out there. I couldn't leave it all alone and scared.” He tried to explain nervously. You didn't say anything, just picked up the puppy and placed a chaste kiss on your boyfriend's cheek. “I like him.”

“It's a girl. Thought she would keep you company when I have to leave for missions.” The man smiled, feeling proud of himself.

“I love you. Do you know that?”

“I know, doll. I know.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #𝐣 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

[fluffyhare]

Like Real People Do, Part 5! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Avery is curious about tickling, which he's never experienced. Casper can hardly contain himself. Both are a bit nervous -- can they find a way to break the ice?

☁️ Warnings: Ler!Casper, Lee!Avery, VERY SUGGESTIVE, LOTS OF TEASING, SUPER SUPER GAY, NO MINORS!

☁️ Author's Note: This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever shared with Tumblr, and if you can believe it, I didn't even go as far as I wanted to, and I am planning on continuing this scene ahh-

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 *you are here

Part 6

Part 7

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

“So… how do you want me?”

We were standing at the foot of my neatly made, queen-sized bed. Avery was so tall that day, I wondered if his feet would hang off the end; it was going to be close. Biting my lip, I was helpless but to imagine him lying on his back, arms over his head as I straddled his waist, his boisterous laughter filling the room. How did I want him? How did I not? 

I turned to look at him, still dressed in his cold-weather day clothes. He hadn't even taken off his sweater, yet. 

“Well, you won't be very comfortable wearing that outfit. You might… get a bit warm. Did you bring anything to sleep in?”

“Warm, huh? You must have big plans for me,” he quipped, catching me off guard, and then added with a giggle before I could respond, “just playing; I’ll go change.”

As clothing shuffled on the other side of the bathroom door, I was grateful for the hum of my AC unit to cushion the silence. Just listening felt intrusive, but my apartment was so small, there was no way to give him more privacy. Leaning against the wall of my bedroom, I looked down at my socked toes flexing against the carpet. I’d never seen Avery's bare feet before. I'd never seen most parts of his body; in the few months I'd known him, he'd never worn anything more revealing than his standard short sleeve button-up and slacks, even in the summer. Sheepishly, I wondered what his belly looked like; I bet it was as soft as the rest of him, maybe even softer. I wondered if I'd be able to see the mysterious storm inside of him more clearly on a bigger canvas. I imagined his ribs, his sides, his underarms… how ticklish was each spot? Was he squirmy? Squeaky? Was he the type to hold his giggles in until he couldn't stand it anymore…? 

I whimpered, fidgeting impatiently as I tried to resist the urge to imagine him further; I was beginning to sweat, and we hadn't even started yet. Graciously, I did not have to wait long – hearing the bathroom door open, I peeked around the corner. 

Avery emerged wearing a sky-blue tank top and matching plaid flannel pants. Like some Victorian-era aristocrat spying an uncovered ankle for the first time, I blushed at the sight of his smooth, white shoulders and biceps. His skin had the appearance of marble, albeit with a slight translucency; like thick smoke trapped in a bottle, I could barely make out the billowing, swirling texture beneath.

“Ah… I stole these clothes. It was before we met,” said Avery, bashfully.

I took a moment to gather myself. “Oh, th-that’s okay. Walmart has enough money, you know? And, that blue looks very nice on you.” 

A much lighter shade of blue colored his pallid cheeks. “Oh, thank you! You told me before that you liked when I wore this color, so… I thought you might like it.”

A brief silence passed between us.

“So, dewdrop… do you want me to just lay down?” 

The tension was palpable. I was desperate to break the ice. 

“Sure, just get comfortable. And, geez… don't be so tense!” I paused, exhaling a held breath, and appreciating the irony that I was also very tense. I summoned my strength to say the next few words out loud: “T-tickling is supposed to be fun, you know? You're not nervous, are you? It's just me… little pipsqueak Casper,” I reassured him, offering a shy smile. “I'm not gonna torture you, okay? We'll go slow.” 

Avery smiled back, but I was still sensing a bit of trepidation. “Ah… I guess I am a little nervous. I mean, I'm excited, too! I just know this is important to you, and… I'm worried I won't… meet your expectations.” He trailed off, growing quiet at the end as he looked away from me. 

Avery's expression crushed me like a piece of hard candy. I closed the gap between us, placing my hands on his bare shoulders. 

“You worry so much about disappointing me, and yet you never have, not one time. Avery, there is no way you could react that would change how I feel about you. Even if it turns out that you hate being tickled. Hell, I'm… I'm grateful you're even willing to try this with me,” I comforted, gently stroking my thumb along his skin. “If you don't like it, nothing will change. We'll just get some ice cream, watch another movie and cuddle until it's time for bed. Okay?” 

He smiled at me, then; a real smile, and he seemed to relax a bit, too. “Thanks, dewdrop.” 

“Anytime, cutie. Now go get comfortable, and we'll see if this pipsqueak can give you a giggle or two.” 

+++ 

I inhaled deeply as a stream of cool vapor filled the room. Keeping a humidifier in my apartment was a necessity when Avery was around, especially during the dryer months. He liked when I used scented oil, too; today it was lavender, but I could still detect the scents of old books and wet stone on Avery's skin as he laid beside me. I sat at his hip on the bed, legs folded pretzel-style as I placed my hands on his tummy, over his shirt. 

“I’m just gonna rub a bit first, okay?” I didn't want to catch him off guard – I'd never touched Avery like this before. Sure, I'd rubbed his back or arms occasionally while cuddling, but I'd never intentionally touched a “classic tickle spot” with intent, the way I was about to. 

“Ah, okay…” He relaxed a bit, sinking into the bed as my hands rubbed his belly, over his shirt. Through the thin fabric, his skin was cool and soft against my palms. I felt a slight vibration as he hummed; he seemed to be enjoying it. As I caressed near where his belly button would be, Avery’s face scrunched a bit, and he shifted slightly against the bed. 

“Holy shit, already?” I thought. My heart was going crazy. 

“What's wrong?” I asked, the faintest lilt in my voice. 

“I, ah, felt something… different…“ He said, a little breathlessly. I watched his blush deepen, soft blue spreading across his face. 

“Hehe, if this is already making you squirm, you're probably super ticklish,” I said, and then grew a bit bolder, “you ready to try a real tickle, now?”

It seemed he mustered a bit of confidence, himself, because his response caught me off guard:

“Do your worst, dewdrop.” His eyes were teasing; even a bit challenging. Where did this come from?! 

Despite my furious blush, I did all I could do: respond in kind. 

“Oh, my worst? Alright, you asked for it, Nimbus!” 

With that, my fingers went from flat to clawed, and I began to wiggle them into Avery's soft tummy. It was far from my worst; I knew he didn't even understand what he’d asked for, and I didn't want to overwhelm him. Nonetheless, his response validated my suspicions. 

Avery's back arched off the bed, his fingers splaying out as his hands rested at his sides. His cheeks puffed up as his face scrunched even more, and I could see him fighting a smile that threatened to break into a laugh at any second. His blush was so vibrant now, his glasses were fogging up. Noticeably absent, though, was any effort to stop me. 

My god.

Something awoke inside me, and I let it take control. 

“What's wrong, cupcake~? I thought you wanted my worst, and this is still far from it. Doesn't look like you're handling it too well, are you? Are you just a little ticklish here? Why don't you tell me~?” My words were saturated with teasing. Though I wasn't inexperienced with tickling, I'd had very few opportunities to be the tickler in the past, and that side of me clearly ached to come alive. Despite practically trembling with nervous energy, there was no reasoning with the demon; it was hungry, and Avery was the first meal it’d had in years. 

“I- kehehe… I c- ahahaha!” He tried to respond, his words both laced with and interrupted by laughter at each attempt. My fingers jumped around to different spots on his belly – scribbling below his navel, gently pinching his sides, wiggling all ten into his softness at the center, never letting him adjust to the sensation. It was immediately clear just how uncontrollable his giggles were; Avery laughed as though he didn't expect to, and was being ambushed by just how ticklish he was. 

“Awwww, who knew clouds were this ticklish? C'mon, I know you've got a big laugh in there… let's hear it, hm? Do I need to try a different spot, maybe?” I taunted, moving my hands up to his chest, my digits now formed into wide claws as I gently dug my fingertips into his ribs. 

“PFFFff hehehehahaha!” He cried, and for the first time, he moved his hands. I was expecting him to grab my wrists – instead, he used them to cover his now wildly-flushed face. My heart melted. How was he this cute?! 

“Aww, don't hide from me! I want to see you laughing up a storm!” I joked, unable to resist giggling along with him; his unrestrained laughter was infectious. It seemed my weather-related wordplay had quite the effect on Avery as well, as his laughter spiked significantly.

“Don't sahahahahay THAHAHhahahat!” he whined through his cackling, hands still firmly covering his blushing face. He squirmed beneath my fingers, which still randomly and playfully spidered along his ribcage. Considering his laughter was practically bouncing off the walls, he stayed remarkably still as I tickled him; I wondered if it was because he enjoyed it? 

“Hehehe, aww, what's wrong? Was the weather teasing a little too close to home? Listen, being this ticklish is snow laughing matter,” I continued to taunt, twisting the knife as my fingers switched to dancing up and down his plush, unguarded sides. Avery roared with laughter. 

“AHAHAHhahah! STAHAHAHAP!” He begged, and I instantly stilled my fingertips. Still hiding his face, Avery's chest heaved as he caught his breath, exhales fluttering with soft giggles. I tenderly stroked the curves of his head, and as I did, I felt a curious tingle in my fingers – then, I noticed for the first time that tiny sparks of electricity were shooting off from his skin. 

“Are you okay? I didn't mean to overwhelm you,” I said, afraid for a moment that I had gone too far. 

I watched as he lowered his hands and looked at me. He was beaming; the edges of his flushed face practically glowed with humming electricity. 

“That was so much fun! I can see why you like it so much.” His huge grin revealed a row of delicate, round teeth.

“I am so glad you liked it! Gosh, Avery, you are so ticklish. In fact, I bet you're ticklish everywhere.” 

“Ooh, can we find out?”

I stared at him. I had never said it out loud, but in that moment, I was sure I couldn't possibly love him more. 

“Oh, don't worry – the night is young, and I've got lots more weather puns I can't wait to try on you.” 

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

[astronomoney]

Pairing: Tim Drake x nb!reader (it’s not super romance heavy but I might do a part two)

Prompts: n/a this is purely self indulgent

Summary: sometimes life gives you lemons and sometimes life tells you your best friend and the guy you hate are the same person, your not sure what’s worse

Warnings: n/a

A/n: is this canon compliant? no. does it make much sense? not really. do I like and did I have fun writing it? absolutely. read at your own risk Masterlist also this should be totally nb but if you see anything that’s gender solid please let me know so I can fix it

Word count: 2k it got to long but there’s plenty of material for a second part (wink wink nudge nudge)

Secrets Spilled

Rich people suck. More specifically, rich teenagers suck. You should know, you go to school with one. Tim Drake, the pride and joy of Gotham Academy and the adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Was he actually adopted? You didn’t remember but that didn’t matter. Mr. Wayne has a habit of picking up strays almost as bad as Batman and Tim Drake was lucky enough to end up under his umbrella of wealth.

You had 3 classes with Tim Drake. He was smart and most of the teachers liked him well enough, in fact most of the school liked him. You however hated him. Sure he was cute and he seemed nice enough and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it but something about him was just off. Like he had some big secret or something.

No one at school seemed to agree with you on that. They all thought he was a perfect angel so you stopped trying to convince them of your anti-drake agenda a long time ago. Thankfully you had one person in your life who always listened to your rants.

“He sounds like a douchebag,” Red Robin said, sitting cross legged on your bed with an ice pack against his lip. Through some minor computer shenanigans, aka illegal hacking (nothing to bad), you had met and become close friends with none other than Red Robin.

It was a mutually beneficial friendship. For him it was an apartment almost exactly halfway between safe houses so on nights like tonight when he was a little bloody and bruised he’d stop by and you’d help patch him up. For you it was a captivated audience for your late night rants.

“Oh he totally is! Thank you for that, no one ever agrees with me,” You rolled your eyes thinking about how many times you’d heard people gush about the billionaire brat. You sat down across from him and opened the first aid kit you’d just dug out from under your bed.

You were too busy rifling through the various bandages and ointments to notice your vigilante friend desperately trying to hide his smirk. “Yeah no problem,”

“He’s way smart too, which is super annoying.” You found the healing gel you were looking for. “I swear he’s hiding something, he must be like an alien or a robot or-” You looked up to see a laugh-suppressing-grin on the heros face, “Don’t laugh, I'm serious! This guy is a pain and just because he’s hot people let it slide!”

Red's face went completely serious and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks tint pink underneath his domino mask but then again his left side had a sizable cut on it so you really couldn’t tell. “You- you think he’s hot?”

“That is so not the point I'm trying to make!” You rolled your eyes and dabbed a bit of gel on the cut. “But yeah, his looks are like, his only redeeming quality.” Once you had laid a thin layer against the cut you used some butterfly bandages to hold it closed. It was exactly pretty but it would heal well, and the gel would make it nothing but a small scar in a week or so. “You know, you kinda look like him. Is that what you're hiding?” You used this opportunity to tap the bottom edge of the mask, resisting the urge to just take it off right then. “Rugged good looks and a billionaire smile.”

“Oh ha ha,” He retorted sarcastically, lightly moving your hand away from the fabric. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to know his identity. It’s not that he didn’t want to tell you, it’s just that he’d heard you complain about his alter ego enough times to worry about your reaction, plus the whole ‘your-life-would-be-in-constant-danger-if-you-knew’ thing. Lately he’d found himself going out of his way to end up knocking on your window and he didn’t want what you had to change.

“You're no fun.” You huffed, hoping off the bed stashing the first-aid kit once again. You heard a small buzz and knew that Red had gotten an alert.

He stood up, and listen for a second. You could only guess he was getting instructions via earpiece. “Got it, I’m on my way.” He called over coms before turning back to you with an apologetic look.

You spoke before he could get an apology out. “Let me guess, some goon’s breaking open an ATM and everyone else is busy?”

“Pretty much yeah,” He ducked under your windowsill onto your fire escape. “Thanks for the help. I don’t know where I'd be without you.”

“Probably at that robbery already,” You gently shoved him the rest of the way through the window and bid him farewell. You watched him grapple off into the dim moonlight before getting back into your bed. Over the past few weeks you’d started staying up later just in case a certain someone happened by, this of course made that full 8 hours a little harder to come by. You didn’t really care though, a little less sleep for a little more time with him seemed like a fair trade.

The next morning finally came and you weren’t exactly pleased to hear the familiar beeping of your alarm clock. Still you forced yourself out of bed, pulled your uniform on and got your stuff together before heading out the door to another day at Gotham Academy.

You didn’t have any classes with Tim on Friday’s but you usually saw him passing you in the hall or at lunch. Today was different. One might even say he was avoiding you, but why. You saw a glimpse of him quickly heading away from you before second period, and at lunch you got a great view of the back of his head for about 30 seconds before he ducked out to go who knows where. Sure, you weren’t exactly friends but today it seemed he’d gone completely out of his way to make sure you didn’t see him. And it was pretty successful, at least until you literally collided with him.

School had let out and you had almost left the building before you remembered you’d left something behind, on your way back to your locker you turned a corner without caution and slammed into him at full force. It was a classic early 2000s movie scene, papers and books flying and strewn across the floor, both parties crouching down to collect up their scattered items and inevitably accidentally grabbing the wrong paper or two.

“Ah sorry, i’m so sorry I didn’t see-” That’s when you actually saw who it was you’d bumped into. “Tim?” You handed him the printed out english paper that definitely wasn’t yours.

“Sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He apologized as you both stood up and placed your papers in your respective books bags. Something about him was even more off then usual. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes, in fact he kept his gaze firmly to his left. Maybe he’d somehow heard you complain about him and now he wanted nothing to do with you. Maybe you’d messed it all up.

You were about to awkwardly say bye and shuffle off when a locker a little ways away from you slammed shut, startling you both and causing Tim to finally look to his right.

“Whoa what happened to your face?” You asked leaning in slightly to see the hefty gash that had been carefully held together with butterfly bandages. “That looks just like,” It clicked. “hOLY-”

“SHHH!” Tim acted fast, he clapped a hand over your mouth, effectively putting your mind shattering realization on silent and rushed the both of you into a thankfully unlocked maintenance closet nearby.

Suddenly a bajillion pieces were falling into place in your mind. Tim cursed. “God, if you know now what I think you know you’re gonna have a lot of questions. So I'm gonna move my hand but you have to be quiet about it. Ok?” He spoke softly and full of concern. After all, he may have just caused a massive overload in your brain. Your kind of enemy and your closest confidant were the same damn person, who knows what that could do to someone’s psyche.

You nodded profusely, still unable to even conjure a sound. Slowly Tim lifted his hand away from your mouth and watched you closely. You didn’t say anything for a beat, you just stared back at him and then, “What the actual fuck! You’re him and he’s- which means- I mean all this time- and… what?!?”

“Umm yeah?” In all honesty this was going better than Tim had imagined it would. Whenever he’d envisioned you finding out it usually started with you cursing him out and ended with you never talking to him again, but now here he was. You hadn’t cursed him out exactly and you were kind of still talking to him so overall, better than expected. “I wanted to tell you ages ago I swear. I just know how you feel about… well me,” He gestured down to his civilian attire. “and I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“All this time,” You were still definitely in shock. “All this time you were him and he was you! And you never told me! I talked about you to you! I called you hot!”

“Oh yeah, thanks by the way.” A shit eating grin had made its way onto his face and you were not pleased.

“Oh fuck off!” You sunk down to sit on a little step stool that happened to be in the closet. “I can’t believe I was so dumb. I mean how did I not see it sooner!”

Tim crouched down in front of you. “To be fair, we put a lot of effort into keeping our secrets.”

“We? Wait a second! If you’re Red Robin, that makes Batman-”

“Yup.”

“And Nightwing-”

“Oh yeah.”

“So Robin is-”

“A total pain in the ass. But yeah, it’s Damian.”

“Holy shit!”

Tim finally let himself laugh a bit at your reaction. You were smart and he knew that, there had been a few times over the past few weeks when he thought you might put it all together and he’d gone out of his way to cover it up. Including (but not limited to) a leaked story to the tabloids about a Tim-Drake-kidnapping-attempt that was thwarted by the one and only Red Robin.

While the tabloids weren’t the most believable sources it had planted a seed in your brain that Red Robin and Tim Drake were in the same place at the same time. Of course thanks to that cut on his cheek he wouldn’t need to lie to you anymore.

“Don’t laugh! I can’t believe I didn’t see this months ago. I mean your stupid mask doesn't even cover that much!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air to emphasize your point.

Tim lightly grabbed your arms and brought them back down. “Ok ok, i’m serious but you seriously need to calm down.” He still had a massive grin on his face.

“I am calm!” You defended. “I mean considering. Wait, how did this start? Did you have to train long? When did you find out who Batman was? Is he really a Vampire?” You rattled off questions a mile a minute, finally the shock and slight annoyance had given way to pure curiosity.

Tim looked around the small maintenance room, contemplating a really bad idea. “I can’t explain anything else here, but if you want I can take you to the Batcave? I mean you’ve already guessed most of the secrets and even if I don't tell you the rest you’ll probably figure it out anyway.”

a/n: I broke 2k and couldn’t figure out a satisfying ending so I just called it here but if y’all show this one some love i’ll do a part too (guest appearances and everything)

taglist: @starship-argo @reveriecore @luvcoy @instabull @littlered-fangirl click here to be added :)

#identity reveal #tim drake x reader #writing fanfiction #writing fanfic #batboys x reader #dc x reader #red robin x y/n #red robin x reader #tim drake fluff #tim drake #tim drake x male reader #tim drake x fem!reader #writing #dc writers #x reader #dc fanfic #robin x reader

[ridhearts]

sing for me {kalim + rook}

when he swears he’ll slap anybody who’s ever told you “you talk too much.” (or maybe...just give them a dirty look).

!! information !!

characters: kalim + rook

reader: gender neutral!

cw: being told in the past that you talk too much, if that’s something you need warned for! Otherwise this is just. unabashed self indulgence

masterlists   ⇿   requests

• • • • • • • Kalim

Kalim wasn’t quite sure how he got you started on the topic. The two of you were simply sitting in his room in silence, working on your respective history homeworks and only losing a shred of focus to occasionally bump the other playfully. Then, re-reading a passage in his textbook for the third time, something ignited Kalim’s curiosity and he asked you about your home. You answered simply at first, but after sitting with it for a few moments, you caved in and began explaining everything you knew in great detail.

To be entirely honest, Kalim had no idea what you were talking about. You were listing off places he had never heard of, holidays that sounded vaguely familiar, and talking about people he would never meet. The only thing Kalim was certain of was how deeply you cared about what you were saying, and even if he wouldn’t remember any of the details, he loved being able to know how you loved your home. Lying on his back, his head hanging off the edge of his mattress, Kalim hugged a pillow tighter to his chest.

A short while later, you coughed in the middle of a sentence and cleared your throat. Kalim waited for you to continue, eager to hear what you had to say next. A few more moments passed before you said, in a scratchy, worn-out voice, “...sorry.”

Kalim’s eyes had been closed in bliss as he listened to your excitement, but your sudden remorse made them shoot open. “For what?”

You had to clear your throat again to speak. “I think I got carried away. I…don’t even know if you know what I was talking about.”

“Well, how am I supposed to learn if you don’t tell me?!” Kalim sat up so quickly he gave himself a head rush, but powered through it to scoot closer to you. He loved listening to you talk. Your voice was enough to perk him up after a long day, and you always had such interesting ideas that he never thought of before! Plus, he could go on and on about how much he liked his home, so it was only fair to listen to you talk about yours! Whether you were remembering fondly or bitterly, no matter what you had to say, Kalim would listen to your stories for hours with no complaints.

He grabbed your hand in both of his and gave you a wide-eyed, pleading look. “Pleeeease keep going? You were telling me something about a playground you always went to, right?”

“Oh, uh…my throat’s pretty dry, and I don’t want to bore you…”

“Never!” Kalim squeezed your hand in his enthusiasm, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you react. Apologetically, he half-kissed, half-nuzzled your knuckles before jumping off the bed. Papers slid to the floor after him as he stumbled forward, nearly yanking the whole blanket off in the process. “I’ll get us something to drink, and then we can take a break and you can tell me all about it!”

• • • • • • • Rook

“So then I started doing some research, and it all started coming back to me! I feel like I just started all over again, you know? Like my passion has been reignited. I have so many ideas for what I want to write about, and the information available here is pretty similar to what we know back in my world! Actually, there are some bits you know more about, which is super cool! Back in my world we didn’t know this, but did you know…”

Even though you couldn’t see it, what with the two of you on the ground with you lying perpendicular to him with your head on his stomach, Rook smiled as you continued telling him about the exciting new program that had caught your eye. He noticed you looking into internships and independent study programs for a specific field, something you mentioned having an interest in before you were transported to this world. It seemed Crowley was still working out a way to send you back and had encouraged you to look into some non-magical skills you could hone once you moved up to your fourth year at NRC. Evidently you found one you liked, as you quickly made yourself sparse to read up on the available knowledge in the library. Rook was your go-to soundboard for figuring out the discrepancies between the information you learned in your world and what was known in this one, as well as your biggest hype man to encourage you to keep an eye on this competitive program. 

“...and put together with that one thing from my world I told you about, it all just makes so much sense. I was thinking about writing my essay on that, but is it plagiarism if I discuss ideas from my world that were common knowledge and don’t exist here yet? Who’s to say I wouldn’t come to that conclusion myself? I’m sure if I look harder I can find an article or two to cite, but it’d be easier if I had access to a database. Do you think Crowley could get me into a database? Don’t let me forget to ask him.”

It seems the birdwatching the two of you had loosely planned for today would have to wait, but Rook didn’t mind one bit. He cherished every moment he got to spend with you, and he loved to be the one to bring out that look of wonder as he showed you some rare species that made a home on NRC grounds, but he adored your excitement even more. Your voice was sweeter than any birdsong to him. Rook could listen to you talk about this for hours - not just to learn more about you, but because he wanted to share your love and interest.

Without meaning to, Rook sighed happily and let his arm fall so that it rested across your midsection. Second later, you trailed off in the middle of a sentence before clearing your throat. Rook could feel the bubbling contentment in his chest give way to a stillness that told him he had done something wrong.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away…and I bet I’ve scared all the birds, too. Uh, did…you have something to say? I didn’t mean to monopolize-”

“Non!” Rook cried out, instantly sitting up. Your head slid into his lap, and he cupped your face before leaning over you. His head blocked out the sun so you could see a distressed expression on his shadowed face. If you weren’t used to his dramatics, you’d be sure he was seconds away from tears. “Je suis désoléI did not mean to sigh in annoyance, I was sighing in bliss! Please, mon amour, continue with your story! I want to hear all about it.”

His theatrics caught you off guard. It was disarming enough to hear him so desolate about a sigh, let alone that he seemed to figure out exactly what you were doing and why. “O-oh, I didn’t mean to be so sensitive. I’ve just probably told you this already, is all.”

“It matters not! Tell me five, ten, a thousand times, and I’ll listen to them all with rapt attention.” He leaned away so you could sit up, readjusting yourself so that when you both reclined, you were side by side. Absently, Rook traces a line down your hairline before kissing the crown of your head. “Keep going! Whoever has discouraged you from speaking your mind has trespassed greatly, but I am here to right their wrongs. So, if you please…”

You sighed, trying not to look too pleased. “You’re so dramatic, you know?” 

Rook only grinned and watched you expectantly. And who were you to keep him waiting?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #kalim al asim x reader #rook hunt x reader #kalim al asim #rook hunt #this is for my sad bitches who have been told they talk too much #or my personal favorite flavor that when you speak you're 'condescending'