#i spent way too long colouring this lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catiuskaa · 10 months

Text

Yeah, Flowers Follow.

You have always been committed to your duty at your mom's flower shop since she got hurt carrying bags of dirt over a month ago. It was mostly just you and the flowers, until he barged in one day, slapped 20 bucks on the countertop and with a passive-aggressive tone, asked: "How do I say fuck you in flower?"

because seo changbin + fluff will always have me in a chokehold. And a flower au? fuck yea, bring it on, babe.

inspired by this pin which I'll link here

edit: omg guys you loved this so much I just couldn't resist making a part two, still, this can be read as a stand-alone, although I hope you guy's like this one as much as its 'second part', which I'll link here

Word count: 5k. Binnie isn't mean, ok? He's just emo and tough-looking. And kinda introverted. fluff fluff fluff. swearing. kinda horny towards the end, but no spice added. Lol

You wiped your sweat from your forehead, rolling your sleeves up with a huff as you took back in your hands a big old water can. You watered the lilies and small ivies that remained outside of the flower shop, quickly waddling back inside for more water.

Your mother was usually the one who took care of Lilac, the flower shop. At first, it had been her and your aunties, but it all flew away after your grandma's passing. You had been young, so much that your memories of the time were mostly made of blurry faces that were not present in your life to this day. Your mom had been okay taking care of the small flowery world she built, but an accident with a heavy bag of dirt over a month ago made you complain. She reluctantly let you handle the store until her back got better, which was coming along slowly.

After watering the plants, sweeping the floor, pruning the bonsais, and preparing the several bouquet orders you had for the day, you ran out of things to do, settling to play some jazzy music while you reviewed your class’ notes as you waited for clients.

Your evening was quite calming. Clients came in like droplets, so the shop never felt too crowded. Most of them asked for flowers for their loved ones, some even speaking about their partners, how they had met, or the dates they were excited to have.

It was cute. You had always been fond of the small flower shop and shared the interest with your mom, reason why you didn't care about taking the lead for a while or doing your homework there. You loved the way the flowers brought people together, and the stories and meanings that they had behind them.

Just as you figured out the answer to that one question you had been stuck on, the bell rang, indicating someone's presence inside. Someone that approached you in a rather passive-aggressive manner.

"How can I say 'fuck you' in flower?"

Words that you had never imagined coming out of someone's mouth —which was something, considering the wide range that your imagination could reach sometimes—.

You carefully observed the man's gestures, who didn't stop scanning the place. Years spent helping out at the flower shop had given you a kind of sixth sense, one that allowed you to easily see through people's appearances.

"Do you have anything in mind, or do you not care as long as it is full of loathing?" You inquired with a sweet smile.

Changbin found himself suddenly falling into the harmony of your eyes without realizing it. You quickly left the books on the shelf under the counter, lowered the music and turned to him. Your eyes rested on his, brown and limpid, to which he adopted a belligerent posture in response, an action that —to his surprise— did not unsettle you. He quickly shook his head, focusing on the anger that remained inside of him.

"Make it striking. Something so colourful that can even hurt to look at." You giggled.

"Intense." He held back a smile, his lips twitching. "One second."

He stared at your figure as you went to the small workshop behind the counter. The feeling that Changbin had at first had nothing to do with what he was perceiving at that time. A pleasant floral smell, mixed with mint and lavender essence filled the building. It wasn't only the exquisite aroma that captivated the man, but the beautiful colourful landscape that that small establishment hid. The white wood decoration made any bouquet or flower pot stand out as if it were the icing on a cake. The large windows allowed a large amount of light to enter, and they gave amplitude to the small place.

It was a beautiful place, but strange. Peculiar, for sure, and it was due to the chromatic order of its flowers. Sorted by colour scale, regardless of the species. The red roses were with the poppies, the tulips with the clivias and the orange jasmines. The ferns, aloe vera and fittonias were also together, despite having nothing to do with each other. The coves, cherry blossoms and hydrangeas shared a common space that at first glance, they should not have. It was a beautiful chaos, but it was still a floral hustle and bustle.

"Do you like it?" You asked sweetly when you came back.

"It's not bad." He replied vaguely. "It's..." Ravishing "...small."

From his attitude and the way he studied the place, almost as if he expected some kind of danger to appear among the pots and leaves, some would say he was not to be messed with, but to you, he looked like someone rather shy and quite sceptical, nothing to do with what he might seem as, considering that tattooed bad-guy build and the killer stare that he carried around. A thought occurred that his somewhat murderous look did not allow him to say what he really thought.

Nevertheless, you could agree with him. Not only was it a small store, but it was a disarray of varieties. Nevertheless, to Changbin, above all, feeling watched all the time was something he was used to, yet your stare felt different, making him feel more goosebumps the longer he was under your eager gaze. He couldn't help it, but when you looked at him so kindly, he felt strange.

He wanted you to stop looking at him.

"Orders arrive on Wednesdays," you mentioned, already arranged behind the counter. "Shop opens at nine, so feel free to arrive whenever. I will need more flowers for your bouquet, so until then, I'm afraid I can't have it. Either that or..."

Changbin interrupted you. He couldn't stand to have those deep-coloured eyes immersing in his own.

"Wednesday is fine." He said in a huff.

You smiled, dimples on display. "Okay! Then as long as you stop by on Wednesday, we can arrange the bouquet. I'll be here, spraying water to the chrysanthemums, alliums and hydrangeas."

Changbin felt his chest tighten, his eyes wandering around your features, your dimples, your lips. He stopped himself, took back his cash almost in a hurry, and left almost as quickly as he had arrived.

"See you then, and thanks for shopping in Lilac!"

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

Wednesday. The delivery truck was parked on the street facing the back of the store to unload the flowers you had ordered for the week.

To your surprise, Mystery —the nickname you had chosen for him, that sounded way better than 'fuck you flower boy'— came back precisely at nine am, and again, surprisingly enough, he wasn't alone.

He looked way more relaxed with his friend, the anger that almost shocked you looking long gone as his features didn't remain tense.

The bell rang as you were preparing the workshop for the arrival of the many flowers.

"Wow, this place is lit." His friend had good taste, judging by what you could hear.

"Thank you!" You mentioned with a cheeky smile, startling both men when you came out of nowhere. "Sorry, the truck’s outside, but I’ll be here in a minute."

You approached the delivery guy, who was opening the truck and setting the ramp so lowering the different flowers wouldn’t be too hard.

“Hey, Jerry!”

A comfortable chat took place between the two, who had met each other several times ever since your mom got hurt.

Inside, another conversation was happening. “Remind me, what are we waiting for, buddy?” Han asked as he wandered about in the colourful building.

Changbin sighed, frustrated at the reminder.

“The boss said something the other day I didn’t like. As a matter of fact, I despised it,” he grunted. “He looked at my desk and saw the bouquet I kept there, the one we got for that other show, you know?” Han hummed, paying attention. Weirdly enough, Seo’s eyes never left the backdoor you had gone through, not even when he continued. “So he mentioned how untidy my desk looked, how disgusting it would look when the flowers died, and hinted that flowers would look way better in his studio. It made me fucking angry. I don’t care if no one likes you that much to give you pretty flowers.” Han cleared his throat, allowing Changbin to return from his hating cloud. “Yeah. Uh. So we’re here to plan his bouquet.”

“Sheesh, I get that. The boss can be such an asshole sometimes.” Jisung mentioned vaguely. “But why nine am?”

Because I needed the excuse to see her. “I want to get this over with. If I’m lucky, he’ll even brag about the flowers.” He smirked, hiding his true intentions.

He suddenly heard some giggles through the door you had crossed. Han arched his brows.

“So you offered to pay for coffee and takeaway tonight for me just so I’d come with you here only to get flowers for the big man? Really?” He said, faking innocence as he settled his elbows on the counter, holding his cheeks in his hands, almost like a toddler.

He gave Han a side-eye. He shrugged. “Give me one more sign, and I might start thinking that…”

Bin covered his mouth. “Don’t. And that also goes to don’t lick it, or I’ll make sure Minho air fries you.”

Jisung lifted his hands, giving up. “I wonder what’s going on back there.” He smirked, teasing.

Changbin didn't want to flutter around you two, but he knew that putting the flowers in the store wasn’t that hard. He clenched his jaw unconsciously.

"If I had known that you were looking for an employee, I would have come running," said the boy, putting his cap back. “If you are looking for more staff, you know where I am.”

"It's very kind of you, but I never looked for anyone in the first place. Mom wouldn’t even dare to accept it,” you laughed. “Also, I wouldn't bother you knowing that you have your own trade. In addition, I get to put my skills to the test, but I can get quite moody sometimes. I bite, you know.”

He arched an eyebrow. "Don't worry about any of that. Working with you would be a thousand times better than distributing flowers throughout the city.”

Maybe it had been how you laughed or the snarky reply he had just heard, but Changbin needed that man to leave. Now.

Your eyes landed on that buff silhouette who entered the inside of the truck. Seo continued to unload the flowers. You tried to finish the conversation, but the guy wouldn’t stop talking while there was a client of yours doing your fucking job. You grew tired of Jerry, and you got up inside the trunk, willing for the man to take a hint and leave already.

Han couldn’t believe his eyes.

"Oh, please don't," Jerry went up too. "I'll take care of moving the plants.”

"Don't worry, it's the last one.” You tiredly smiled at him.

You took the remaining bouquet and got out of the truck behind Seo while the delivery guy wondered when the flowers had been unloaded. You quickly said your goodbyes before you returned to the counter.

"Thank you for lowering the flowers, it was not your job yet you did it anyways,” you smiled shyly as you started preparing the table in front of you with different sorts of labels plus the diferent tools you needed. “Sorry for the wait.”

“You’re fine. Don’t worry.”

Han stared blankly at the man who scolded him singlehandedly every day he was late to the studio just by a minute. He then stared back at you, then at his friend.

No bloody way. Holy shit.

"For your order, I found something the other day I though you might enjoy," your smile widened, your eyes like crescent moons as you handed him a small book.

“Oh.”

It was an old copy of a book that read “The Language of Flowers.”

“Maybe you could search up in the insults chapter if you see any meaning that you think could suit.”

He looked at you and quickly back to the book so he wouldn’t drift away in your eyes like days ago.

“Yeah, fine.”

Changbin was not very talkative, but the bitter tone with which he spoke was unusual. Han could tell, years of knowing the man allowed him to feel a bad mood in the way he communicated. His gaze was more frivolous than usual, and he squeezed his lips as if he didn't want to say anything. Shockingly to him, you noticed and were unable to let it go.

"Is something wrong?" You questioned softly. “Are you upset?”

Changbin hesitated. Han gave him a soft kick where he knew you wouldn’t see it.

“Yes.”

You started slowly writing in the labels before you as he, at the same pace, passed the pages.

"May I know why?"

Changbin cleared his throat. Shit, why was he so nervous?

"That guy was just talking, and that's why I had to do his job,” he grunted.

"I... I'm sorry." You looked down, sounding sincere. “If I hadn't given him a conversation, he would have started unloading the flowers.”

It wasn't true, and Changbin wasn't an idiot. That guy wouldn't have taken his eyes away from you unless he didn't have enough time to finish his shift.

But that didn't matter to him. What mattered was that your voice didn’t sound the same when you talked about this guy. It didn’t sound right.

"What type of flower is a Forget-Me-Not?" Han interrupted, looking at the book, reading past Changbin's shoulder. If he continued like that, Seo may not scold him anymore. For a short time, at least. Maybe a week.

"Oh." You recovered your kind smile, and the knot that had formed on Changbin’s chest untangled as soon as he heard your excited tone as you showed Han the small blue flowers. “They actually import them, from Mexico! Did you know?” You asked no one in particular, the two men in the shop suddenly interested in the topic as you continued to blabber about flowers.

To Changbin, only when you talked about them, your voice seemed less annoying. Even pretty, he could admit —not out loud, obviously—. But he liked it, mentally classifying your sweet tone of voice into “I-would-listen-to-it-to-fall-asleep”.

No one would notice.

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

“Dude. You are like, I don’t know, totally in love with her?” Han said as he took a sip from his takeaway coffee as he entered the recording studio and sat on the sofa.

In his mind, just because he hadn’t paid for it, it tasted ten times better, even though if it was the same he chose every day.

The accusation almost made Changbin spit his own drink. He stared at it, wondering if there could be something in it that could’ve explained why his face felt so hot all of a sudden.

Fuck, was it that noticeable?

“Yeah man, it is really noticeable.” Han smiled, surprised at his silent victory. “You look at her like Minho Hyung looks at his cats. It’s sickening, really.”

Changbin frowned. “I do not.” Jisung deadpanned.

“Says the man that made me third wheel in a fucking flower shop.”

“What are you guys bickering about?” Chan asked with a small smile as he got inside.

“Changbin is in love with the flower girl two blocks away.” Han teased in a sing-song voice.

“Fuck that.” Chan’s eyes grew big with emotion.

“Shit, he is.”

“Actually, Hyung,” Jisung mentioned as he handed Chan the other coffee he had bought, “I think she might like him back.”

Changbin coughed violently. The others smiled.

“Why the fuck would she?” He frowned again, his eyes not leaving his phone. “I literally met her last week and behaved like a piece of shit.”

Both Chan and Han smiled, knowing that by not refusing the allegation, Changbin was actually interested in Miss Flower Girl.

“Remember the analogy I made with Minho and his cats? Same shit goes for her. I’ve never seen anyone staring so intensely at someone’s eyes.” Han trembled, exaggerating. “Chills. Literal chills.”

Small hope was planted in Changbin’s heart, but he tried to shove it deep inside him. “Either way, after I go and get the flowers from her, whatever this is, is over. There’s no chance,” he shrugged.

Chan and Jisung shared worried looks. Despite what Changbin could show to people, he was a loving, sensible person. They both knew that if he had silently admitted the existence of a crush on this girl, it was because he meant it. And for a guy like him, who was often viewed as mean and rude or even dangerous, he usually chose to approach new people the less, so whatever was going through his mind meant a big deal.

Chan tsked. “Maybe it’s none of my business, bro, but after Hari, I’ve-.”

“Spare me the trip, Hyung,” Changbin interrupted in a low voice. “She’s been stalking me for months since I broke up with her. I really don’t want to hear it.”

Chan patted his back, a sad smile on his features as he looked at his friend.

“S’good, man. No hard feelings.”

After working on some tracks for a while, the topic was thoroughly avoided by the members, until Changbin sighed.

“Okay. You guys can stop your mind games.”

The others gave him a puzzled look.

“Whaddya mean?” The Australian wondered.

Seo let a small smile show as he passed his hands through his face.

“I really want to see her again.”

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

So thanks to Chris, the bell in the flower shop rang once again. You were humming a popular song, one that Changbin knew, so instead of approaching you, he wandered through the isles filled with flowers, listening to you as you continued the melody.

His heart beat like crazy when after a while, he opened and closed the door again, pretending he hadn’t been there listening to you.

“Oh, hey, Mystery.”

Your smile made his heart skip a beat. The sundress you were wearing, along with the short brown apron, made him swallow dry.

“Flower girl,” he greeted. You lifted your eyebrows.

“That’s a change of attitude. What can I do for you today?”

Do me. “I was wondering if you could deliver the flower bouquet. Is that possible?” He asked politely.

Your dimples showed when you smiled at him, looking for a notebook in the mess that your study guides made.

“College?” He wondered, staring at your eyes daringly as he pointed to your books.

“Music major, final year,” you grinned. “For your delivery, write the address here, and I’ll deliver it myself,” you played with a strand of hair, quickly moving it behind your ear.

Chanbin’s hands tickled. He wanted to do that too.

“I wouldn’t do it usually, but I figured you wouldn’t enjoy seeing Jerry again.”

He scoffed as he scribbled in the notebook. You cackled.

Suddenly, a loud noise from the workshop startled both of you, who were kind of lost in the other’s eyes.

“Girl, are you still here?” Your mother asked loudly.

You facepalmed, mouthing ‘sorry’ to Changbin, to which he quickly gestured that it was fine.

“You ok, mom?” You replied.

“I’m fine! God, you spend your days here. If it were me, I’d be outside kissing boys!”

Your face turned red in the blink of an eye. “Mom?!” Changbin held back his laughter, covering his mouth with his hand.

She never answered, just chuckled teasingly.

Changbin quickly closed the notebook and gave it to you, his cheeks suddenly almost as red as yours.

“See you soon, I guess?” He smiled, still holding back a loud cackle.

“Stop laughing.” You snickered. “But yeah. See ya… eh…”

“Changbin. Seo Changbin.” He left, smilling like an idiot.

You opened the notebook as you raised the music’s volume again, blushing furiously at your discovery.

Along with the address of what you recognised as some well-known company and the name of who the flowers where for, he had left a note below it.

In case you want to go kiss boys.

Was that… his phone number?

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

After closing the shop for the day, you stared at the flower bouquet as you were walking down the street, headed to where Changbin had written down. After figuring your way out with the maps app on your phone, you decided that taking your bike would be stupid, as it only was two blocks away.

The mix of colours was striking. At least, it had that. You hoped the person who would receive it would like it, meanings aside, considering you put effort into it.

The company was bigger than you expected. Before you could allow yourself to enter and look around, a security guard stopped you.

“Excuse me, miss, no one is allowed inside without a pass,” he explained.

You smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck. “I was just here to deliver this…? I wasn’t told about this restriction, my client just said that I should deliver it in person.” Yeah, that was a lie, but he didn’t know that. “Would it be ok if I went inside? It’ll be only for a minute.”

He sighed, then shrugged. “I don’t think I’m allowed to let you pass…”

“Oi, Hyung!”

A somewhat tall man —at least taller than you— approached you two.

“You’re Flower Girl, right?” He said, sounding excited, failing to hide it. “She’s with me, don’t worry.”

You entered the company with him, but after that, you stopped and turned to him.

“I appreciate the help, but who are you?”

He smiled. “Yikes. Forgot about that. My name is Chris, it’s nice to meet you. I am close friends with Changbin.”

Your eyes softened, and you smiled. “Oh, I see.” You then looked back at the notebook you carried, the one Changbin had written down in. “Do you know where could I find Park Jin Young’s office?”

Chan looked at you weirdly. “Changbin paid for flowers for the big man? Damn.”

You giggled. “It’s not what it looks like. These flowers all have different meanings, and none of those is a good one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! For example, the orange carnations?” You pointed out one of the flowers. “Those mean ‘I hate you.’”

Chan snorted and laughed at every meaning of every flower you gave him.

“Chan!”

He turned around to face whoever had called him, seeing Changbin approaching him, looking anxious.

“Chan, she’s fucking downstairs.”

Chris’ stare turned darker. Your heart tightened in your chest.

“Stay with her. I’ll go see if I can talk to security.” Chris managed to say before he rushed downstairs.

“Bin, is everything good?”

He noticed your presence, to which he froze for a second. Time started to feel slow. His spine locked up, and his shoulders stiffened. He even felt his shirt stretch in a sudden motion.

“Flower Girl.” You could feel the sudden state of relaxation he arrived, his figure visibly less tense.

You hesitated on what to do but then chose to act by instinct. Hugging him.

He tensed up again, the sudden act taking him by surprise. You tried stepping back, feeling like you had made him awkward, but he then pulled you in a bear hug.

“Thanks, pretty.” He whispered in your ear. “I needed that.”

“S’ok.” You smiled, a fluttering feeling settling in your stomach

He stepped away, shyness all over him. You smiled at him, but something changed as he looked at someone behind you.

Before you could turn around to see what had been the issue, he got way closer than a second ago, a hand travelling to your cheek, directing your face to meet his.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Seo whispered, just before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your confused self couldn’t manage the sudden emotions that ran through your body. You felt his tongue brush your lips, and you had to make an effort not to drop the flower bouquet when you started matching his pace, feeling him smile in between the kiss.

Concentrated on the man that had a hand on your face and an arm around your waist, you were too into it that you didn’t hear a woman gasp at the end of the corridor, leaving in a rush, crying fake tears.

Don’t get Changbin wrong. Seeing the girl that had tried to manipulate and gaslight him out of his music career just so he could spend his time doing stuff for her, things she took for granted, he figured the only way of making her leave should be a harsh one.

And okaaaay, he might have been dying to kiss you for a while now.

After texting Chan that she was gone, you both eventually arrived in front of the office.

He stayed behind as you entered, approaching a somewhat 50-year-old man with clothes as striking as the bouquet you had in your hands.

“Who sends these?” He questioned, his features suddenly looking younger when he smiled.

“Seo Changbin, sir," you bowed. "Have a good day!”

You couldn’t help but snicker when you closed the door. You found the three known men standing in front of you.

“So? Did he like them?” Han inquired.

“Pfft. I made that bouquet. Of course, he loved them.” You bragged jokingly.

The three of them offered to give you a quick tour, as it wasn’t common to have the opportunity to see the JYP building from the inside. Before you realised, it started pouring outside, heavy rain that looked like it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

You cursed under your breath. If you even dared to walk under that rain, you would end up swimming your way home, your skirt and your blouse ruined.

3RACHA stood behind you, noticing that you were still at the entrance after a bit. Both Jisung and Chan ushered and pushed Seo to where you were.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, in a tone softer than what you expected.

“It’s just… ugh.” You looked at him, then tsked.

He froze when you got even closer, passing your hands above his shoulders. He had to hold back a shiver when your hands brushed his neck.

“Got no one to do this for you, I guess?” you gently fixed his collar, hands lingering on him more than they should have.

He couldn’t hold back a smile, looking at you differently, in a more intense way.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You ended the topic quickly, your eyes wandering from his eyes, then his lips, and back to his eyes again. You swallowed dry. “I can’t go back home with this rain, but my phone died, so I can't call for a cab or an Uber.”

He looked at you up and down. “Are you in a hurry?”

You stared at him, trying to match the intensity from before. “Not really. I just don’t have anything better to do. Why?”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Neither Chan nor Han could say that Changbin was the messiest of the three, but he still was messy a generous amount. So when he got into the studio and picked up everything in less than five minutes, they gave him a look.

“Use protection, you bitch.” Jisung teased. Bin ruffled his hair.

“Fuck off," he chuckled. "See you tomorrow, guys.”

He guided you to the parking lot, and you both started driving.

Changbin’s grip on the steering wheel tightened when he noticed how your skirt rode up your knees when you sat down.

“Wait, I didn’t give you my address.” You realised, confused as to where was he going.

“I know.”

You looked around when he entered an underground parking lot, then parked and quickly got up to open your door.

He got really close, unbuckling your seat belt.

“You don’t need to be home tonight, right?” His eyes didn’t leave your lips when he asked.

“No.” You answered, almost in a whisper.

He took your hand as you got out of his car. Changbin walked with you to where the elevators were, hands still linked.

“Where are we?”

He pressed the elevator button and looked at you, even more intensely than later at the studio.

“My place.” He kept looking down at your lips. “I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

You woke up the following morning with a warm body next to you, the feeling making you snuggle closer to Changbin, passing his arm and setting it on your waist.

The sound of a notification made you groan in a low voice, reaching for your clothes and grabbing your phone from your jacket’s pocket. It was your mom.

You didn’t arrive last night. Where are you?

You smiled and replied.

I went to kiss a boy, like you said.

You went back to bed, looking fondly at the man next to you.

A buzz from your phone made you wake up from your daydreaming.

Cheeky girl. Flowers follow?

You laughed. As a florist, your mom had made up the expression one day. When saying “flowers follow”, it meant that there would be a positive outcome of whatever you had on your hands.

You knew that to your mom, in this context, 'flowers follow' meant just one thing.

Yeah, flowers follow.

Yeah. You might have fallen in love with him.

Don’t you dare come back home without that boy. I’ll cook something!

“What’s got you all smiley?” A sleepy Changbin made you giggle even more.

He, on the other side, could definitely get used to a morning like that.

You left your phone on the bedside table, and then got close to him again, tangling your legs in between his. He poked your dimples, and you chuckled.

“You, silly flower boy.”

~Kats, who has the urge to put lil’ details in every fic, like how the flower shop is named Lilac, which means ‘first love’ in flower, or how the flower that Han asks about means 'true love'.

(if you ask me, she was humming Come Inside of My Heart, bc I fucking love that song)

487 notes · View notes

hollytoshaw · 2 days

Text

noisy neighbour part two | harry lewis

✩ ✩ ✩

summary: in which y/n owns a coffee shop and harry is her noisy neighbour

word count : 5.7k

part one here

a/n: this is part two of my noisy neighbour series!!! read part one before this <3 there will be more parts to this as its a proper slow burnerrr. sorry for the slow updates i haven't forgotten about this series lol xxx

masterlist <3333

✩ ✩ ✩

Y/N had come to the conclusion that life was much better when she didn’t let silly lies get in her way. It had been a week since she had come clean to her noisy neighbour, or Harry, as she now knew him, and life couldn’t get any better.

After the pair had laughed about her moment of foolishness and how they were both a little too loud for their own good, they were able to move past it all and properly get to know the person they were living next door to.

Y/N found out more about Harry’s whole ‘Youtuber’ lifestyle. He was part of a group of seven boys that made videos that came out every Sunday, but he also had other channels in which he’d play computer games and do funny reaction videos—the source of all that playful shouting she had heard through the walls. He told her that he’d gotten bored of his old apartment and wanted a change of scenery, so he chose the small-scale but nonetheless nice flat next door to hers. He lived alone and was 27; his favourite colour was blue, and his favourite cake was chocolate. He liked coffee,cycling, surfing, and the occasional beer, and he loved travelling anywhere in the world, near or far; he just loved exploring places. He had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister, and was from a little channel island named Guernsey. Y/N had never been.

She told him all the little details she could think of about herself in return. She was always sort of bad at introductions, cringing when they used to say ‘’Tell us three facts about you’’ in school, never knowing what to say. But she managed nonetheless. She told him all about her dream of having a cafe of her own and how she came to do so. She loved old music, mainly Abba, to which he laughed and told her he knew already, making a playful jab at the singing he had heard from next door. She too lived alone but was 26; her favourite colour was green, and her favourite cake was lemon. She also liked coffee, not so much cycling or surfing, and opted for cider whenever she went to the pub. While she hadn’t been travelling much herself due to paying off her university debts and then starting up her coffee shop, she still shared the desire to travel anywhere in the world—far away from London.

It was such a breath of fresh air for Y/N. Owning a cafe all on her own meant early mornings and late nights, and her weekends were either spent visiting her parents or nestled away in her flat watching episodes of Vanderpump Rules or trying new recipes for baked goods that she was thinking about selling in the cafe. Because of this, she had found it hard to find time to make friends, and while she had her fair share, she barely saw them; they either had big city jobs or were living outside of London and starting a family. It just felt nice for Y/N to just sit and chat with someone a similar age to her and talk about nonsense for a while.

While the conversation the pair shared was cut short by Harry needing to get to work and record a podcast, they shared numbers (only in case one of them got a parcel for the other, of course), and Harry said he’d pop back in soon to finish where they left off.

So that was it. It had been a week, and she hadn’t seen him since, but that was all she could think about. It wasn’t even like Y/N had a crush, or so she convinced herself, but she longed to talk to him again; it just felt nice. While the occasional old lady that came into the cafe was great to chat with, asking away about how her day was going or what their plans were for the day, she still preferred the little chat she had with Harry; it just felt different, and she couldn’t put her finger on why.

But then she got all in her own head. Maybe he didn’t come back in because he realised she was a bit weird, having lied about living next door and that he was only being friendly and entertaining the conversation, but in reality, he didn’t want to be talking to her at all. Y/N knew she was probably getting a bit ahead of herself, but she couldn’t help but think the worst. She had always been a bit of a pessimist.

It was now Monday again, and the cafe had just begun to die down after the lunch rush. After cleaning tables and putting cups and saucers back in place, Y/N finally felt like she had it all under control. There was no one in the shop, and looking at the time, the clock read 1:00 p.m., a perfect chance for Y/N to have her lunch break. She had scoffed a croissant earlier that morning and topped herself up with flat whites throughout the day, but now she was starving. She walked over to the door, flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘close’ and walked back behind the counter to prepare herself something nice to eat.

She wasn’t long into making a ham and cheese toastie when she heard three loud knocks on the glass door. Usually she’d shout ‘’We’re closed’’ and continue what she was doing, but another three knocks followed, and she thought she’d just let them in and eat her sandwich another time.

As she turned around, she saw a hooded figure standing outside the door—it was lashing rain in London today (shocker) —but she could barely make their face out through the raindrops on the door. Nearing closer, she realised it was Harry. After a week, he’d returned. Maybe her pessimism wasn’t always right.

Letting him in, she moved back as he took his coat off, the black puffer soaked from the awful weather.

''Hello, you,’’ he smiled, lifting the hood of his jumper from his head. ‘’Didn’t realise you closed this early.’’

‘’Hiya,’’ she smiled back. ‘’Just closed for lunch, that’s all.’’

Furrowing his brows, he replied, ''U-Oh, right, I can come back later if you’re busy.’’

She laughed, taking his coat from him to hang it up on the coat stand next to the door. ‘’Don’t be silly. I’m only having a toastie, nothing special.’’

‘’Lovely stuff,’’ he said, clapping his hands together and following her towards the counter.

‘’How’ve you been?’’ she asked. ‘’Horrible weather today, isn’t it?’’ Classic brit filling empty silence with talks of the weather.

‘’I know, proper pain in the arse,’’ he laughed. ‘’Been good, though. Just back from a holiday with the boys, but so typical, I’ve come back to the shittest weather possible.’’

''Ooh, lucky you,’’ Y/N smiled as she resumed the making of her lunch. ‘’Go anywhere nice?’’

‘’Went to the Maldives for two days for a video,’’ he said nonchalantly, ‘’was a good laugh though.’’

‘’Wow, that must've been unreal.’’ she gasped, placing her sandwich on a small green plate before looking back at him. ‘’Can I get you anything to eat? I feel like a knob if I’m sat scoffing my face and I’ve not made you anything.’’

Harry smiled, watching as the girl moved her plaited hair so that it was out of her face. He thought she was quite pretty with her hair tied back, freckled cheeks, and a peach-coloured blusher on her face. She was wearing her same old green apron, but instead of the jumper she had on the last time he saw her, she had a striped long-sleeve top paired with black jeans. Yeah, she was really quite pretty, he thought.

‘’No, I’m fine, thanks. I got a meal deal in the airport earlier,’’ he paused. ‘’And I’m trying to keep off the cakes, but they do look bloody brilliant today.’’

Y/N laughed, ''Well, you’re in the wrong place if you’re trying to keep off the sweet stuff. I got cakes coming out of my ears in this place.’’

The conversation felt easy for Y/N. It was almost weird to think about their first few conversations, stiff and awkward, thinking the other was a bit rude and not really interested in making small talk. But now, it felt like they could talk for ages; the initial uneasiness was now a distant memory.

‘’So what brings you here?’’ she started. ‘’Surprised you’re not straight to bed after that long flight.’’

They sat down at a little table in front of the counter, Y/N enjoying her lunch and Harry watching, fumbling with his fingers.

''Oh, trust me, I’m knackered.’’ he laughed. ‘’But I thought I’d pop in. Remember, I said I would last time, finish where we left off, and all.’’

Course Y/N was remembered. It had been all she thought about for the last seven days.

‘’Oh right, yeah’’ she said between mouthfuls of her sandwich. ‘’Well,tell me all about this Maldives trip then.’’

✩ ✩ ✩

A few days had passed since Y/N and Harry’s last encounter. And that was all she could think about.

After leaving her cafe to go back to his flat, the pair shared a few jokey text messages: Harry sending her random pictures he’d taken on his holiday and Y/N sharing snaps of new baked goods that she’d made, with him responding with a classic ‘Save me one.’ It was nothing serious, but it was nice to have playful conversations away from her busy working day and Harry’s video shoots.

Despite only a small proximity separating the pair, Y/N longed for the next time she might bump into him, almost hoping that a parcel would get delivered to the wrong address to give her some reason to knock on his door or that he’d finally succumb to his sweet tooth and trod down the stairs to try whatever fresh baked treats she had to offer.

It made her laugh that only a few weeks ago she’d dreaded the thought of seeing him and hated the thought of having to make small talk with him, but now it was all she’d thought of. And don’t get her wrong, she was no romanticist or anything of that sort but when she found something she liked or in this case, a person she liked talking to, it was hard for her to take her mind away from them.

Another day had come to an end for Y/N. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air as she wiped down the last table in her cosy little shop. It had been a long day for her, filled with the hustle and bustle of customers coming in and out. She felt swept off her feet trying to make sure everything ran smoothly and made a mental note that maybe it was time to hire some help.

Now, as the clock struck closing time, Y/N couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of her upstairs flat. Locking up the cafe, she made her way up the narrow staircase and into her home. The familiar creak of the stairs under her feet echoed in the empty hallway—a comforting sound that signalled the end of another day’s work.

As she reached the door, she let out a contented sigh—peace at last. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped into her sanctuary.

The soft glow of string lights greeted her, casting a warm and inviting atmosphere through the room. She’d forgotten to turn them off the night before and was surprised the batteries had lasted the day. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across the hardwood floor to her living area, where a plush green sofa beckoned her to sink into its comforting embrace.

Her days always went the same after work. She’d come upstairs, sit down on the sofa, and stick some random television show on for some background noise, needing to just sit for a moment after being on her feet all day. The stress of the day always melted away as she allowed herself to just be in the moment, relishing the peace and quiet of her own space.

Next to the sofa, a stack of books awaited her attention. She had been reading some Dolly Alderton novel that a friend had recommended, and so far she was loving it. There was nothing quite like getting lost in the pages of a good book; all she needed now was a nice cup of tea, and she’d be in heaven.

It’d felt like hours had passed as Y/N finally got to the end of another chapter. The gentle hum of the TV in the background continued as Y/N settled down the book and turned her attention to her phone, wondering if she had any new messages from a certain someone. And lo and behold, she did.

Clicking the message open, she saw a picture that Harry had taken from what she assumed to be his living room. Her view was similar, just at a different angle—the Shoreditch’s streets looking equally as ‘London’-esque from both their windows. He had added a little message to the bottom of it: ‘This weather is mental. Think it calls for tea and some cake.’ Y/N hadn’t seen the message with her phone on ‘Do not disturb’ and her eyes well focused on the piece of fiction she was reading, and he had sent it over twenty minutes ago, but she assumed he was still next door, not wanting to dare step out in the treacherous rain.

She wondered if he was hinting at her to send him a text and offer some cakes from downstairs. Or maybe even invite him over to try the pastries she’d sent him a picture of only a few days ago. Of course, Y/N didn’t really know if he was hinting at anything, but she really hoped he was. The time on her phone showed it was just past 7:00 p.m., and having eaten a small lunch earlier in the day, she too was in the mood for some cake and tea, not really bothered by the thought of cooking dinner and having to wash up loads of pots and pans in the kitchen.

She lifted herself up from the comfy sofa and into her kitchen space, opening the fridge to see if she had any nice delights to cure her craving. There sat a small blue tupperware, inside two vanilla cupcakes, left over from the day, perfect. Two. Perfect.

Whether he had been hinting or not, Y/N took the tupperware in hand and stuffed her feet into her fluffy slippers. Unlocking her door and making her way down the stairs towards his door, she felt giddy. She thought it was a nice gesture to turn up with a little treat that he had longed for, and she hoped maybe the two could share a nice chat over a cup of tea as they looked out on the London rain. It’d be nice.

As she got to the door, she lifted her hand up, ready to press the buzzer to his blue door, but as she did, she heard the faint strains of music drifting through the air, accompanied by a girl’s laughter. Her hand froze, and a wave of disappointment washed over her. Doubt crept into Y/N’s mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt whatever moment Harry was sharing with another.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N turned on her heel and retreated back up the stairs to her flat. She knew she was being silly, but she felt a sting in her heart, and she couldn’t shake the image of Harry’s front door from her mind.

Back in her kitchen. Y/N set the cupcakes on the counter; her appetite for something sweet was now long gone. She wondered if she had misinterpreted Harry’s kindness and their conversations as something more. Sure, the two had shared a few playful texts, updates throughout the day, and random pictures, but that was the extent of it so far. Y/N felt like an idiot.

She never did respond to Harry’s text that night.

✩ ✩ ✩

Another few days passed, and Y/N had finally gotten over her little strop. Well…sort of. She didn’t have much to go on other than the fact that she’d heard a woman’s voice and lots of laughter, which she knew didn’t necessarily mean Harry had a girlfriend, but she'd rather nip her feelings in the bud than wonder about the what-ifs that could of been had he opened the door. Plus, Y/N felt a bit silly. He’d never given an indication that their chats were anything more than friendly, and the texts they shared weren’t suggestive in any way—I mean, you could probably send your mother the same things. So she knew it was better to cut her little strop short before she got herself all tangled up in her feelings.

She’d had another long week in the cafe, busy with big orders and endless amounts of coffee, and she knew it was definitely time she put out an advertisement for a job vacancy. But that was a job for another day as she was currently getting ready to go out with a few friends in a pub just near Old Street. It had been a while since she’d found the time to meet up with people (with their big city jobs and her never ending hustle in the cafe) and considering she’d given Harry radio silence for the past few days, this was the most socialising she’d done outside of the occasional old lady in the cafe. So, Y/N was buzzing. She reached for her favourite pair of Adidas Sambas, their sleek black design accentuating her style. The leather was very worn despite carrying many stories of past adventures. Y/N made a mental note that she’d get a new pair out of her next paycheck. Her outfit was bold yet chic, a lot different from her usual jeans, t-shirt, and green apron combo. A leopard print midi skirt is paired with a black fitted crop top and a leather jacket over her shoulders to give the outfit unmistakable flair. She always enjoyed dressing up, even if it was just for a quick pint—it just gave her something to do and was a nice change from her usual get-up.

With a flick of her wrist, she grabbed her essentials—a phone, cardholder, and keys—and headed out the door. It wasn’t raining in London for once, with spring slowly creeping in, so Y/N didn’t bother with an umbrella, deciding her jacket was enough protection from whatever the weather had in mind. It felt nice as she walked along the busy Shoreditch streets with the city lights beckoning, couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing—it made her heart squeeze, and she felt like the night was promising her excitement and all sorts of possibilities.

The pub night was everything Y/N had hoped it would be. It had been a welcome contrast of warmth and laughter, and seeing her friends, who usually worked nine to five, was a breath of fresh air. With flushed cheeks from all the lively conversations and talks of fond memories, not to mention the five pints of fruity cider she had drank, Y/N left the pub with the cheesiest grin on her face. A few kisses to the cheek and warm hugs later, Y/N waved goodbye to her group of mates and headed back towards the Old Street roundabout.

The city seemed quieter now; most of its energy was subdued despite it only being 10:00 p.m. Walking around familiar streets, she felt a sense of comfort in solitude but wished she hadn’t forgotten her airpods because there’d be nothing better than a peaceful stroll accompanied by her favourite indie music playlist in the back.

The pub was only about a ten-minute walk from her flat, so it didn’t take too long, and Y/N felt herself subconsciously speed walking as the cold London air got to her, now regretting her choice of jacket. As she neared closer to her doorstep, she could see a hooded figure placed on it, a backpack in front of them, and a phone in their hand as they scrolled aimlessly. Her eyes felt a bit hazy from the cider, and she approached apprehensively, her mind wandering to the possibilities of it being a crazy ex-boyfriend or a drunken friend hoping to rest their heads for the night. But as she moved closer, her anxiousness eased. It was only her neighbour. Harry. Harry, who she’d given the cold shoulder to for the past few days.

His friendly face looked up at the sound of her approaching footsteps. A slightly flustered expression on his face.

‘’Hi Harry,’’ she smiled. ‘’You alright?’’

Getting up from his crouched position, he moved aside, letting her stand in front of her own door. ''Oh, you life saver, been waiting ages.’’

She looked up at him, a glow on her face, not too sure if it was caused by the pints or his general presence. ‘’What for?’’

‘’I’ve been a right numpty and locked myself out.’’ he laughed.

‘’Oh shit,’’ she laughed back, buzzing from alcohol. Y/N was a lightweight by definition; the smell of alcohol could probably get her drunk, and at this moment she felt buzzed.

‘’I know, pain the arse,’’ Harry said, pinching in between his eyes. ‘’Can’t even try to get a key cut because everywhere’s shut.’’

‘’You got any friends that’ll let you crash for the night?’’ Y/N asked, feeling genuine concern for the poor boy sitting outside their doors. She hadn’t even asked how long he’d been there—it could have been hours.

‘’Tried a few but got no response,’’ Harry sighed, "I guess no one wants a rogue sleepover at 10 at night.’’

‘’Good friends you’ve got,’’ she teased, confidence of drink taking over her.

‘’Oh shush you,’’ he playfully said back.

A small silence fell over the toy as Y/N fumbled around in her bag to find her keys, the street light giving her enough of a torch to be able to find them. Every time she drank, she’d experience a small panic that she’d managed to lose all of her belongings, but luckily for her, everything seemed intact.

‘’So what are you going to do?’’ Y/N said as she went to put her key in the lock.

Harry paused for a moment. While the two had shared the occasional message and nice chat over coffee, he felt a bit bold with what he was about to ask. Not being the most social person, he had weighed out the options of whether or not it would be awkward if she'd say yes to his question—he'd more than likely have to sit chatting for a while and then maybe have an uncomfortable sleep on whatever sofa or bed she’d have to offer—but at the same time, he reminded himself that it was only Y/N and whatever awkwardness could have come between them had well and truly been dissolved by their initial meeting. And truthfully, Harry was all for saying outlandish things and asking rogue questions, so if she did say no, he’d just take it on the chin and find somewhere else to go.

‘’I hate to ask,’’ he paused sheepishly. ‘’I really do. But by any chance, I could come in for a bit, or at least till one of my friends picks up their phone and lets me stay around theirs.’’

‘’You hate to ask?’’ Y/N smirked, cocking her head to one side. ‘’Am I really that insufferable?’’

Harry’s eyes widened at her words. ''N-no, no, not at all. It’s just that I thought, ’’

‘’Stop your blubbering for a moment,’’ she laughed. ‘’It’s fine, really.’’

‘’You sure?’’ he smiled. ‘’Don’t have to say yes, 'coz you feel sorry for me.’’

And yes, Y/N did feel a bit sorry for the blubbering boy sitting in front of their adjacent doors. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than being locked out of her own flat and left out in the cold in London with nowhere else to go—it was a frustrating inconvenience to say the least. Plus, Y/N was always a bit of a generous soul, never really able to say no to people, always biting her tongue when she felt awkward, and with a few pints combined, she was feeling especially generous.

‘’Honestly, no bother.’’ she replied, unlocking her door. ‘’I’ll probably be awake for the next few hours anyway, so companies are good.’’ An absolute lie on Y/N’s part. Any drink would usually send Y/N into a tired haze, and she couldn’t think of anything better than sticking on her pyjamas and curling up in bed, but it’d have to be put on hold for the night.

Following her up the stairs and into her living area, Harry let his eyes analyse the room. Fairy lights adorned nearly every wall, blankets crowded on the sofa, a few plants dotted around the room, and an endless amount of cookbooks—while Harry didn’t know too much about Y/N, he could still recognise that her little flat was an exact replica of her as a person.

‘’Nice place,’’ he said, placing his backpack down on the wooden floor.

‘’Cheers,’’ she smiled, ‘’similar to yours?’’

‘’Similar size, but mines full of cardboard boxes at the moment,’’ he laughed, ‘’yours has a lot more life to it.’’

‘’Took a good few IKEA trips to get it this perfect, I won’t lie.’’ Since walking in, Y/N had dropped her bag by the door, walking into the kitchen space to find some snacks or atleast a drink to give to her unexpected guest.

‘’You want a cider?’’ she asked, rummaging through the fridge to find a can of Strawberry Old Mout that she had left over from the last time she had a guest in her flat. She couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous as she looked around the brightly lit fridge - it felt weird having Harry in her flat. Different somehow, more intimate than their casual chats down in the cafe or over text. But especially after her little moment of weakness the other day and the fact that he more than likely had a girlfriend, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on being the good host she was.

"You know what- I’ll take one," he replied,thinking nothing sounded better than a cold cider after his shambles of an evening. ‘’Only if you’re drinking too - don’t wanna start getting leathered on my own,’’

‘’As if you’d get leathered off of one cider,’’ Y/N laughed, passing him a can and cracking open her own, ‘’Plus I’m 5 ciders deep already so think it’ll be me getting leathered, not you.’’

Harry shared a laugh with her, holding his hands up in defeat, ‘’Alright, you piss head. You just been necking ciders on London streets then or what?’’

‘’Oh shut up,’’ if she had been closer to him, Y/N probably would of swatted him on the arm for the absolute nonsense that left his mouth but the kitchen counter separated the two, so she kept her arms to her side, ‘’I was just out in the pub.’’

‘’So that’s what the mysterious Y/N gets up to when she’s not running a cafe,’’ he said, raising his eyebrows as if he’d uncovered some maddening truth about her.

‘’Mysterious?’’ she snorted back regrettably but she couldn’t help it and plus after a few drinks, her snorted laugh always seemed to appear.

‘’Well ye-yeah, mysterious.’’ he paused, taking another big gulp of his drink and Y/N wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d managed to finish it by now. ‘’Haven’t heard from you in a few days and then you come swanning in after a few pints, I’d say that’s pretty mysterious.’’

‘’God, you talk some shit,’’ she said, laughing at his use of words.

‘’S’true though, haven’t heard from you.’’

‘’I haven’t heard from you either?’’

‘’You liar! I texted you the other night and got no reply,’’ Harry said, clutching at his heart in a playful manner, ‘’really hurt my feelings.’’

‘’You’re such a windup,’’ she grinned, ‘’Didn’t take you as the type to be hung up over no replies,’’

‘’Broke my heart really. I was waiting for you to reply and say you had a cake and a chat waiting for me but got nothing.’

So maybe Y/N hadn’t taken his hints wrongly.

‘’And then my sister turned up and I couldn’t even come round and pester you for a slice of lemon cake,’’ he continued, ‘’my plan went out the window,’’ His sister! Y/N mentally scolded herself in her head for being so silly that night and thinking the worst.

‘’Your plan?’’ she challenged.

‘’Yeah, my plan to butter you up and then steal every last slice of cake you had going for you.’’ he joked.

What an idiot, Y/N thought. But a funny idiot, nonetheless. ‘Ah, well, you should have told me your sister was round and I would have been more than happy to share something with her - sure, she would have been better company than you anyways,’’ she joked, in return. She couldn’t tell if it was the ciders making her head feel dizzy or nonchalant playfulness, but she felt giddy and confident.

‘’No one likes a liar, Y/N.’’ he beamed, ‘’We both know that’s a massive lie.’’

‘’Hmm maybe.’’

‘’So, pub, did you say?’’ he questioned, ‘’W-was it a date or?’’

‘’Think I go to the pub on a first date?’’ she said, raising her brow in amusement.

‘’Nothing wrong with a pint and a bag of crisps for the first date.’’ he defended.

‘’It’s that where you take all your unlucky ladies then?’’

‘’Ha! Unlucky. It’d be the luckiest night of their lives,’’

‘’Oh I bet,’’ Y/N laughed, ‘’But no, just a few drinks with some of my friends. Nothing mad.’’

‘’Very cool.’’ Harry grinned.

‘’Shut-up,’’ Y/N grinned back in return.

The two fell into a silence, each other not really knowing what to say. Y/N could feel the lull of the alcohol weaning off and she knew she’d be drifting off if she stayed up any longer. She didn’t want to come across rude, enjoying his company but her bed was calling her name and she needed to call it a night knowing she had to be up in the morning to sort out admin for the cafe.

‘’I think I might head to bed, I’m feeling knackered.’’ Y/N sighed.

‘’Leaving me all alone, one cider deep?’’ Harry laughed.

‘’Sorry but I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for any longer,’’ A giggle uttering from her lips, ‘’You’re more than welcome to stay on the sofa thought until you get your keys sorted and all.’’

‘’You’re a star, Y/N.’’ Harry smiled in return as he made his way to the couch to make himself comfortable for the night. He couldn’t have been more grateful for her in the moment, thinking back to not so long ago when he was out in the cold, locked outside of his flat. Course, they’d made familiar with each other the past few weeks but he couldn’t get over the kindness of the girl - or pity that she had for him - but either way he was thankful nonetheless.

‘’There’s a few blankets on the side and some cushions so it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable,’’ Y/N paused, walking over the basket of random throws and cushions she had by the corner of her living room, signalling him to choose his pickings. ‘’Right, I’ll see you in the morning. Night Harry.’’

‘’Night, Y/N. Thanks again.’’ And that was the last thing he saw, her gleaming smile, cheeks red from alcohol as she walked down the hall to the last room that he knew now was her bedroom and headed to bed.

Y/N woke up with a pounding headache the next morning followed by a dry mouth and a queasy stomach. She hadn’t even drank much but in her defense she rarely ever did so any alcoholic beverage would always send her sideways the next day. Blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming through her window, she groaned, regretting the cheap ciders of the previous night. Her memory was a bit hazy, blurred by the fog of alcohol but she did remember one thing. There was a Harry on her sofa.

Dragging herself out of bed, she quickly sorted herself out, combing through her hair and fixing her pyjamas, not wanting to look an absolute state in front of the boy. She stumbled to the kitchen, head throbbing with every step, desperate for a glass of water. But as she walked into her living space, he was nowhere to be found. Surely she hadn’t been so drunk she had imagined the whole night.

She could remember everything from the loud music of the pub, the dancing and laughs she shared with her friends. And she most definitely remembered the blue eyed boy that was sat outside her front door, locked out from his home.

She did a quick check of her phone to see if she had any texts from Harry but the only notifications were a few Instagram tags from her mates and a text from her mum asking what she thought of the banana loaf she had made. Nothing from Harry.

Walking around the kitchen to grab a glass for her water, she noticed out of the corner of her eye the little notepad she had on her kitchen counter was opened, a few words scribbled on it and a black biro pen next to it.

On the note read ‘Thank you for letting me stay last night, you’re an angel. I had to leave early this morning to meet the landlord for a spare key but I really do owe you. Let me know when you’re free, I’m thinking of dinner on me? Thank you again, Harry x’

With a little smile on her lips as he fingers traced over his messy handwriting, she felt a sigh of relief. Dinner on him, it was and she couldn’t wait.

a/n: thank you for reading. sorry for the wait!!! there defo won't be a long wait for part three. this is such a slow burn but promise it gets more cutesy in part three <333

#w2s #wroetoshaw #w2s x reader #harry wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry w2s #sidemen #w2s fic #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw oneshot #hollytoshaw #chris md #arthurtv #sidemen x reader

108 notes · View notes

sanctus-ingenium · 2 years

Photo

u guys wanna see more WIPs... similar to the last post, here are Some WIPs

all of these were started in sai before going on to procreate. before going back to sai again in the case of the strength card

so Blue Sky/Out Of Time... yeah it’s extremely self-explanatory, it’s very obvious what this scene depicts and i’m sure everyone gets it (this is a joke i’ve had multiple people dm me asking wtf this even is). the one element that absolutely NEEDED to be there was the LED digital clock with a bullshit time on it, and i decided to replace it with an AIRE warning sign instead and put the LED readouts in the bg. the warning sign in this setting serves the purpose of informing ppl when there are hostile faeries around. i knew what the colours would be from the beginning, but it took a bit for me to realise what sort of shading style i wanted (it took forever). but i did know i wanted to contrast the very sketchy black void against the cleaner and almost cartoony/comic book style rest of the drawing, to emphasise the fact that the foreground sky and background void are made of two very different things. again i used a colour shifting brush to quickly make all the shards of sky different colours, but originally i planned to have some of the shards be dark or night time (with stars or the moon etc). unfortunately it didn’t work, it was too dark and pascal got lost against it.

My Eyes Are Up Here is pretty obviously the exact same scene with the same character, in the same field, but with a different sort of atmosphere. i sketched this in sai then did the final in procreate. originally it was going to have a black background

i really like this version tbh but the blue works better. i think he looks good against dark backgrounds where it’s kind of hard to see wtf is even happening there

so about the neon signs..... i’m well aware that the sketch has way more promise than what the final ultimately was, and that’s because i found that i didn’t have the technical or artistic ability to pull off the complex neon signs like i wanted to. i couldn’t get it looking good enough so i had to scrap them. but these signs will be back, i want to draw them properly and do them justice. the gif was unplanned too but i thought it would be fun to have the flicker be very intermittent so that if you scrolled past it you might not even realise, or you’d have to stick with it just to catch it looping. i used GIMP to make the gif and change the frame rate, and this actually took a very long time because i had to preview it over and over. anyway if you WERE to get lost in the púca’s field, in this story, you would see neon signs like this encouraging you to follow them.

Strength is actually the last drawing i ever made that ended with a paint-over in sai, and the oldest drawing here. as such i actually don’t think it’s representative of my current ability but i do have a soft spot for it for sentimental reasons lol. the reason for the paint-over in sai was because i drew this at a time when i still did not trust procreate to be able to place the level of finish on it that i wanted

the background took me a thousand years to figure out. literally it was so annoying that i considered scrapping it for something simpler. but the idea was for it to be a kind of fairytale-ish lost in the woods sort of look while also appearing like the blood vessels around the human heart. the branches were also supposed to be heart-shaped in cross-section but i spent so long zoomed in painting them that i forgot to zoom out to see if all those fine details were actually visible, and it turned out they weren’t. i was disappointed that i couldn’t get félix’s tattoos to look right but that’s what i get for making a character with shit tons of both tattoos and body hair. i also got rid of the foreground branches really soon because they weren’t adding anything and muddied up the readability of his pose

the swan is from a daemon au and bears no relation to my other swan characters. i just like swans a lot

#this again!

2K notes · View notes

hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 3 months

Text

Kinkuary Day 7

AN: Shoutout to that one time Elv and I spoke about Mingyu wearing lace panties months ago. It was a big inspiration for this, and it's been rotating in my brain since then.

Synopsis: After a lot of encouragement and motivation from you, Mingyu finally tries out something in your bedroom that he's been curious about for some time now.

General tags and warnings: Kim Mingyu x Fem! Reader, established relationship and that's it honestly lol. This is very much pwp.

Primary kink: Crossdressing.

Smut tags and warnings: Dom leaning! Reader, sub leaning! Mingyu, Mingyu in feminine lingerie, nipple play (m. and f. receiving), oral sex (m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), piv sex without a condom, Reader cries very briefly due to being overwhelmed, dirty talk, some praise, hints of a size and a strength kink, brief manhandling and creampie.

Word count: 2.5k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

To say you're excited would be a gross understatement.

Exhilaration would probably be the best way to describe what you're feeling and even it doesn't adequately convey the feeling of your heart thundering in your chest and your blood simmering in your veins.

“Gyu, are you done?” You call out to your boyfriend. Hoping you don't sound too antsy or impatient. His comfort means more to you than anything else and you'd gladly wait as long as it takes for him.

“Y-Yeah um I'm coming out now,” comes his timid response. Before you can reassure him that he can take his time, he steps out of your shared bathroom. Stopping all of the air in your lungs and causing your heart to leap all the way up to your throat.

Mingyu is a gorgeous man. It still boggles your mind a little that he's a real person who exists. He looks beautiful no matter what but, now? With the lingerie the two of you spent hours agonising over adorning his massive frame? You don't think you've ever been more attracted to him in your entire life.

“Gyu,” you whisper, scanning his entire body from head to toe just to commit every detail to memory, “you look beautiful.”

The blush that colours his cheeks somehow makes him look even more gorgeous and you really don't think you can handle not touching him any longer.

“Come here, baby,” you command softly, shuffling backwards onto your shared bed. Desire coiling in the pit of your stomach as he follows you without any more prompting. The lace stretching across his large frame with every movement he makes.

You knew pink would be his colour.

Despite the embarrassment you could feel radiating from him earlier, Mingyu lets you kiss him easily. Melting against your mouth within seconds while you spread your thighs for him to make himself at home between. His large hands already desperately clutching your waist as your tongue snakes its way into his mouth. Commiting the taste of him to memory like you haven't kissed him hundreds of thousands of times before.

“My pretty boy. You look so gorgeous,” you mutter against his lips. Giggling into him when he flinches and hisses in slight pain after you snap his bra against his skin. Always so responsive. Any reply to your words is cut short by quiet gasps when you kiss along his jaw and throat. Licking and biting at every bit of skin you can.

You can feel yourself growing wetter with every whimper he lets out and shudder of him beneath your touch. It's all made worse by the hardness you can start to feel pressing against your bare slit.

An idea springs to mind and you grin wolfishly into his throat before using momentum to roll him onto his back. He blinks up at you. You'd take a few minutes to simply appreciate how endearing he looks under the lowlight of your bedroom but, you're a woman on a mission.

Mingyu moans into your mouth when your hands shove up the bra that stretches across his muscular chest. His hips bucking up into you when you palm his pecs greedily. Smiling against his lips when he shivers as your fingers lightly brush over his nipples. Mingyu's sensitivity has always been a fascination of yours. Even after being together for so many years, he's still so responsive to even your faintest touches.

You bite down on his plump lips in time with your fingers tugging on his nipples and his reaction is immediate. His hands jump from where they were fisting your sheets to gripping your thighs. Digging into their thickest parts while your fingers continue to toy with his sensitive nipples and you teasingly nip at his lip until it starts to bruise.

He whines once you separate from his lips but you soothe him with a few kisses along his jaw and neck. Determined not to get distracted this time, you continue your descent until your lips come in contact with the lace of his bra. Your clit pulses when you glance up only to find his eyes staring at you with enough intensity to stop your heart briefly. Maintaining eye contact, you kiss your way to one of his nipples.

Mingyu is the first one to look away.

His eyes flutter shut when you envelope his nipple in your mouth while your fingers continue to tug and pinch his other nipple. God, everything about him tastes delicious. Maybe you're biased. Maybe you're too far gone for him but, you're convinced Mingyu was made to melt in your mouth. Every part of him.

Based on the way he squirms underneath you and grinds his large cock against you in search of any kind of friction, you think he agrees. Your body moves against his without much input from your brain. Grinding onto him to help ease some of the dull throbbing at the apex of your thighs. Glancing up at him through your lashes, you drink in every minute shift in his expression. Especially when you swap over to his other nipple and give it the same treatment.

A strangled curse is punched from the depths of his chest when you run your teeth along his nipple. His hands shifting from your thighs to your ass. Clutching at you in an attempt to ground himself but, also to press you down onto his length. You can't help the moan that leaves your mouth when he clumsily bumps against your clit. The stimulation causing electricity to fire all along your spine.

Briefly, you allow yourself to get lost in the frenzied grinding and continue to lavish his chest with bites and sucks while your hands palm at him. His breathy whimpers and moans shoot straight to your already throbbing clit and you can feel yourself growing impatient. As much as you're enjoying having your mouth on his beautiful chest, you have another goal in mind. So, with a great deal of strength, you continue your descent down his body. Kissing down his stomach and smiling when he flinches away when you brush against a spot that's ticklish for him.

It's pavlovian the way spit starts to pool in your mouth when you reach the waistband of his panties. They looked phenomenal on him already but, with his big cock straining against the translucent lace, he looks absolutely filthy. You make a note to ask him later if he'd let you take pictures of him in this set. Or any other sets you can convince him to try on. Mingyu props himself up on his arms to watch you as you mouth at him through the fabric. Dark eyes committing every detail of this scene to memory while his thoroughly kissed lips part.

“Fuck, baby I– your mouth feels so good,” he groans, his jaw clenching when you lick his tip through the fabric. You're sure his panties are ruined now with a mix of his pre-cum and your copious amounts of spit but, you couldn't care less. You'll buy all the panties in the world for him if it means having him like this. Having teased him and yourself enough, you tug them off of him. Mingyu lifts his hips readily, just as ready as you are for whatever you're planning to give him. The panties rest just above where his stockings start and the sight of that sends one of your hands in-between your sticky thighs. Your fingers pressing into your clit in time with your other hand grasping his thick cock. Fuck. To think when you two started dating his cock used to intimidate you. Now you can't imagine anything except excitement coursing through your veins at the sight of it.

Your fingers rub circles into your clit at the same pace as your hand strokes him. It's not nearly enough for him based on his frustrated whines and jerky thrusts of his hips into your hold but, you haven't quite had your fun yet. Picking up your pace marginally, you choose then to take his tip into your mouth. Moaning around him at the taste that hits your tongue. It's so Mingyu and your fingers pick up their pace as well. You could spend hours sucking him off if he'd let you. The weight and taste of him in your mouth always makes your brain so fuzzy.

A choked whimper of your name leaves his lips as you sink further down on him. The gagging sound of him hitting the back of your throat forces a guttural sound from him and his fingers weave themselves into your hair. Mingyu, ever the sweetheart, doesn't push you further down onto him. If anything, he uses his hold on you to ground himself as you move up and down on him. It's messy and dirty and you're pretty sure your jaw is going to ache like hell tomorrow but, it's all worth it.

He shallowly thrusts into your mouth and fist, high-pitched apologies spilling from his lips every time you accidentally choke around him. You want to tell him it's fine. That you don't mind in the slightest. However, you don't think it's worth it to detach yourself from him. So, you hope your watery eyes communicate enough.

The emptiness is starting to hurt so, you push three of your fingers into your dripping entrance. They don't provide nearly enough of a stretch, especially compared to Mingyu's fingers and cock but, it'll have to do for now. It's much better than being completely empty and the stretch your fingers provide makes you moan around him. Your pace falters momentarily while you savour the sensation of your fingers and grind your clit down onto the heel of your palm. Mingyu happily picks up your slack. Fucking your mouth faster while he throws himself back into the mountain of pillows he's resting on.

You can read Mingyu like the back of your hand. Actually, you're certain you know him better than the back of your hand. When his cock starts throbbing more incessantly and his thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier, you know he's getting close.

So, you tighten your grip on the base of his cock and remove your mouth from him. His eyes are wide, watery and wild when they meet yours. You would laugh at the pout on his handsome face if you weren't too busy catching your breath and dealing with the slight sting settling in the back of your throat. Once your lungs have greedily inhaled as much air as they can, you crawl your way up his body and slot your mouth against his. Mingyu groans into you, tasting himself on your tongue while you drag your dripping folds along his bare cock.

“Gyu,” you moan into his mouth, “I want you to be a good boy and fuck m–” before you can finish your sentence, you find yourself on your back with your boyfriend towering over you. His large hands drag you in place until he's between your thighs. His eyes never leave your face. Zeroing in on every shift in your expression as he starts to push himself into you. Even after all these years, you can't help the way your fingers claw at his muscular back and your lips part readily when he sinks into you.

He leans down to kiss you, pressing his own sounds of pleasure into you until he's completely inside of you. “Gyu fuck you feel so good,” you moan into his mouth, desire clawing at your insides with every pulse of his massive cock and his hands spanning themselves along your hips. “Always make me feel so full,” you whimper, tears rolling down your face at the sheer intensity you're feeling. A sound from somewhere deep in his chest is ripped from him and he snaps his hips into you harshly. Starting a punishing pace while his hands tug your gown up to collarbones so he can kiss and lick your breasts. Giving you a taste of your own medicine as the obscene noises of his cock splitting you open ring in your ears.

“So pretty. So beautiful. Feel so tight and wet around my dick. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” he babbles into your spit smeared skin. Using his strength to his advantage to keep you pressed exactly where he wants you. The juxtaposition of this large, ridiculously strong man who you're head over heels in love with dressed up in one of the most delicate sets you've ever seen makes your head spin. The thought is enough to cause your hand to weasel its way between your two, sweat drenched, overheated bodies until your fingers find your swollen clit again.

Mingyu mutters a string of curses into your breasts when he feels the way your pussy grips him like a vice. Pulling away from you just so that he can see the way you bring yourself closer to the edge. Thoroughly kissed lips parted with your barely open eyes glossy with desire. Despite the way his balls seize at the sight, he's determined for you to cum first. He won't let himself go any other way.

So, he exploits a few weaknesses he's picked up on over the years.

A startled gasp flies from your lips when Mingyu uses his strength to shove your legs into your chest. You can already feel the angle starting to cause a burn to settle into your thighs. But fuck, does it push him impossibly deeper into you. Between that and his canines digging into your neck, it's only a matter of time until your vision blurs and your entire body free falls underneath him.

Mingyu fucks you through it all. Drawing out your climax with strokes that aren't nearly as quick but haven't dropped an ounce in intensity. All you can do is lie there and take it. Clenching and unclenching your sheets between your sweaty fists as your thighs shake underneath his somehow steady hold. You're too far gone to make out exactly what comes out of your mouth but, apparently it's enough for Mingyu to shove his face in the hollow between your neck and your shoulder and cum inside of you.

His hoarse whimpers and groans of your name unintentionally cause your walls to clamp down on him further. It's not like you can help it. How are you not going to react to your beautiful boyfriend saying your name like that while also cumming inside of you? You're only human after all.

His hold on you loosens after some time and you feel him sag against you. His cock softens inside of you but Mingyu is in no hurry to move. Humming in appreciation when your fingers toy with his hair and pressing kisses into your shoulder.

“Gyu, I love you and all but, my thighs hurt,” you say with a laugh, giggling when he profusely apologises and removes your legs from where they were pressed into your chest. Resuming his position on top of you like you're his own personal body pillow.

You know you need to get up and clean yourselves up but, you're happy to lie here and bask in his affection for just a bit longer.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Kinkuary Masterlist | Seventeen Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

#kim mingyu smut #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu x reader smut #mingyu x reader smut #seventeen x reader smut

144 notes · View notes

warden-melli · 2 months

Text

I remember how excited I was for X and Y to come out. I’d dreamed of a 3d pokemon game for as long as I could remember, and the hype leading up to those games being released was some of the best of any pokemon game ever. Fairy type, sylveon, character customisation and we all got to play it together for the first time. My favourite Pokémon of all time, Mewtwo, got TWO new forms via the most exciting feature I’d seen a Pokémon game add at that point, mega evolution! I couldn’t have been more excited

I saved for months and bought my 3ds (which I still have and use to this day. It’s pink a colour chosen specifically to be Sylveon themed) and went to the midnight launch. I picked my starter (A chespin I named Rook. Yes, I still have him too) and set off. X and Y was the game that got me into shiny hunting (chain fishing and the friend safari lol), and the meta. It was the first game I ever found pokerus, and it was so much fun relearning Pokémon types after the fairy shake up. Pokemon amie, the ghost girl, and whatever Sycamore and Lysandre had going on, I loved these games so much. They were even the first Pokemon games I got to use my new name in after coming out.

I played the game together with my friend, and as embarrassing as it is I actually cried at the end when Az was reunited with Floette. I remember feeling so overwhelmed (in a good way) during the end credits. I swear I’m the only pokemon fan who was glad that they never distributed Az’s Floette (even though it was found in the code) because I couldn’t stand the thought of the two being separated again

Tbh I even wonder if I’d have gotten so attached to Melli if not for X an Y and my fondness for Az. When I first saw him Melli’s hair reminded me a bit of Az’s, and with his height and flower theme I couldn’t help but think of Az more, and then I just kept finding more connections between the two. I may never have really paid much attention to him if not for Az, and that’s so funny to think about

I always felt like X and Y’s story wasn’t finished, and for years I’ve hoped they’d someday finish or expand on its story. There was so much left unexplained (ghost girl, letter, Zygarde) and I’ve spent a ton of time thinking about it over the years. I really hope that some of these questions finally get answers, and that just maybe we’ll get to spend some more time with King Az again. Up until now I thought it was me reaching or wishful thinking, but Kalos legends is real and it’s really happening and I’m so excited I haven’t stopped shaking since the announcement

#im sorry I can’t shut up #I don’t know if you can understand how excited I am rn #this is my lifelong special interest and it’s like 10 Christmas’s all at once #pokemon #pokemon xy #Pokémon legends za #plza #Melli speaks

60 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 1 year

Text

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he’s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He’s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

#joel miller x reader #tlou #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers

840 notes · View notes

devourers-of-god · 2 months

Note

Hii :D

for first i wanted to say that i love your blog and the way you describe the characters!

can i request HC of the characters on valentine's day? if you don't want to do it to everyone, it could be just Travis and Sal. i'll let you decide there, take as much time as you want and if you don't want to do it, everything is fine. (i hope i wrote it well, it's a bit difficult for me to write in english)

HIII! thank you so much for the compliments it is very heart warming :( SOrry im late about your request HAHAH I will indeed do Sal and Travis only,,, you know me so well anon ,,, You wrote everything perfectly !! I couldn't have guessed if you didn't tell me :) ILY REQUESTS ARE OPEN PEOPLE! LOOK ALIVE! /ref but plz everyone, read my carrd In my bio before submitting.. its upsetting to see asks that doesn't meet my rules...

SAL AND TRAVIS ON VALENTINES DAY

Type : Headcanons

Warnings: None! Mostly Fluff sorry y'all I don't write nsfw

SAL

= Sal prepared some things for you by the gentle help of Ashley, because sal didn't know how to please you and Ash is your best friend.

= I think Sal would make you a valentines boo basket like the ones you see on TikTok. Filled with your favourite chocolates and CDS, cute slippers, horror movie blanket, jewelry and some surprises connected to your interests.

= He would come by your apartment/house and wear ''clean clothes'' ( Jeans he washed the night before and his favourite shirt lol), with his nails freshly painted of a beautiful black colour.

= He also brought movies to watch, romantic ones you say? Hell nah this Sal Fisher, he brought horror movies that you would enjoy.

= You were so happy by his gifts that you jumped right into his arms and dragged him into your room, he cuddled and kissed you A BUNCH because boy was he happy his partner liked what he bought them. He filled your entire face with kisses, when Sal started he couldn't stop.

= After all the affection was received, you two were stuck on the couch, under your new blanket, cuddling and watching movies. For the occasion Sal took off his mask, only if no one was there that day, which made you very happy and flustered to see your lover's face after a long day.

TRAVIS (ARGHBHHH EEEK ^0^DNWAODNSNF)

= Travis already struggles with showing affection, it was very hard to warp his mind around celebrating for the first time in his life Valentines day with his boyfriend.

= He also had to ask Ashley because she's your best friend after all, she recommended following his heart and doing something classic to not stress him too much. And that he did!

= My sweet boy put on a suit for you and bought flowers, not just any flowers tho, Travis believe in flower language. Which is that every single flower has a different meaning when given. He carefully chose Daisies (I truly love you), Red Carnation (My heart aches for you), Honey Suckles (Devoted affection) and lastly, Salvia Red (forever mine). Yes he could've chosen classic roses but he felt like you might think that he didn't put in any effort.

= This boy is an hopeless romantic and decided to write you a letter about his true feelings since he was so bad at expressing them in front of you, words couldn't leave his mouth but they were flowing with the help of his fountain pen.

= He then picked up gourmet chocolates, a bit expensive but he thought it would make you happy. Ashley suggested that he makes a mixtape of your favourite songs on a cassette since you had a walkman. He made 2 mixtapes, one of your favourites and the other one is songs that reminds him of you.

= He showed up to your door in the evening and your jaw dropped, seeing your boyfriend in a suit made you feel things you've never felt before. He felt super happy by your reaction and the letter was so profound it made you cry. You also knew flower language and you were basically bawling because of the effort (and money) he spent on you.

OKAY DONE ! you guys can see that I prefer travis over sal oops,,, I hope everyone still loved it! plz plz plz send me things because im desperate.... I love you all guys.......

51 notes · View notes

imtrashraccoon · 4 months

Text

This one covers a variety of subjects and the prompt could be interpreted literally or metaphorically. I dunno, I couldn't find a good place to stop writing it lol. Also, I think I'm going to include word counts when these get pretty long from now on.

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Horror - Sharp

Word Count: 2,900

You were in the middle of sweeping the floors and going some general cleaning, when Axe stopped by again. You'd gotten used to the slow but steady knocks that signaled his arrival by now and since you were a little busy, you just called out for him to come in as you knew the door was unlocked.

The door opened and shut as he actually entered your apartment. Then his warm, quiet voice called out to you, "hey, i brought somethin' if ya want to try it..."

You poked your head around the corner to greet him, only to see how shocked he looked. His red eyelight had shrunk down to the size of a penny and it was clearly wobbling around the edges. His posture was stiff and his fists clenched tightly, despite holding a small crock pot with one arm.

You frowned and leaned the broom up against the wall before approaching him carefully. "Is everything okay?" you asked.

His gaze flicked over you quickly, never focusing on one place for too long as if he was inspecting you, eventually settling on your left hand. You started to ask again when he carefully set the crock pot on the ground and stepped closer to you. He went to reach for your hand but hesitated when you stepped backwards.

"are you okay? what happened to your hand?" he finally asked.

You grimaced and looked down at the thick bandage around your index finger. "Oh, this? I'm fine, I just got a bit careless and nicked my finger with a knife while making lunch earlier." To sort of prove your point, you flexed your fingers, although it was a bit difficult with how wrapped up your hand was.

His gaze lingered on your finger for a long moment before he glanced back at your face again. Sucking a deep breath through his teeth, you could see he was trying his best to calm down again before speaking.

"sorry... i just... i could smell blood and i guess i panicked..." he muttered. His cheekbones seemed to flicker a cobalt colour which, while it was momentarily fascinating, you quickly realized he was embarrassed for getting so worked up over nothing.

You frowned and quickly inspected your bandage for any leakage, but you'd taken great care to wrap it as securely as you could. "Huh, I swear I cleaned up after everything, although there was quite a bit of blood..." Shaking your head, you added, "It pretty much stopped bleeding after a couple of minutes though, so I don't think I need to get stitches."

"i have a really strong sense of smell...helps with huntin'..." Axe picked up the crock pot and turned to you. Before you had time to ask what that even meant, he decided to change the subject. "i think you should try some of this," he stated in a firm voice.

He was already on his way to your kitchen to put the small appliance down on a counter and so you just followed him without protest. Whatever he'd made certainly smelled good, although you'd barely just eaten lunch, and you didn't want to ruin your dinner by eating anything heavy right now. You really hoped he wouldn't be upset by this with how adamant he'd sounded.

Clearing your throat, you moved over to the counter so you could look at him. "It smells really good, what is it by the way?" you asked.

Axe smiled as he removed the lid and gave the heavenly contents a quick stir with a spoon. " 's called chicken divan," he hummed.

"Ooh, sounds delicious." You hesitated for a moment before trying to approach the real issue. "Um, Axe?"

His gaze flicked to you and he tilted his skull in a questioning manner. "what's up?" he asked.

"This looks really good and I can tell you spent a long time making it, but I don't think I could eat much of anything right at this moment. You see, I just had lunch... I'm not trying to be rude or anything... I just..."

His left eye socket narrowed ever so slightly as you continued rambling although he didn't interrupt you, and just waited until you'd run out of steam. He didn't look upset per say but his expression seemed so neutral that you couldn't be sure.

He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder when you'd stopped speaking. "i'm not offended, okay? i'm just concerned about ya and eatin' even just a little will help..." He spoke slowly like he was trying to explain something but didn't really know the best words.

You didn't really understand why he wanted you to try his food so bad. It was just food, right? He was also acting really concerned when you'd only had a small accident earlier and were okay now.

"How will it help? Am I missing something here?"

"cause it has healin' magic in it... all food made by monsters does," he said plainly.

When you gave him a confused look, something seemed to click and his eye sockets widened in surprise. "you've never had monster food have you?" he asked and glanced around your kitchen as if he'd spot some sort of ingredient to prove him wrong.

"No? I've heard it's good but I've never really paid attention." You crossed your arms when he glanced back at you in disbelief. "Axe, you're my only monster friend and in case you haven't noticed, I don't spend a lot of time out and about making new friends, monster or human."

He hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. "fair enough, i didn't realize. it'll help heal your injury though like nothin' happened."

You couldn't argue with that, especially since your finger was still throbbing painfully, even if it wasn't actively bleeding any more. So, you managed to eat a small portion of the incredibly tender chicken and broccoli in order to ease his concern. It had been a long time since you'd even eaten anything this delicious.

Axe seemed to relax some after you'd finished eating, although you couldn't help but get the feeling that he would've preferred if you'd eaten more. He didn't complain though and when you complimented his cooking, seemed positively pleased. Although, he still appeared to be on edge about something if the way he kept looking you over was any indication.

When you caught him studying you once again, you reached over and gently touched his arm. "Hey, Axe? Are you alright?" you asked.

He seemed to startle and jumped slightly. His gaze silently flicked to your hand and then back to you with a surprised expression.

"i... i'm fine, just..."

You could see him struggling to answer and he couldn't seem to maintain eye contact at the same time. Still, you gave him a patient smile and rubbed his hoodie sleeve in a reassuring manner.

"You can tell me if something's bothering you. That's what friends are for, you know?"

"it's...hard to talk about," he responded.

"I don't mind listening..."

Axe let out a heavy sigh and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs from the table. Following suit, you sat down next to him and waited patiently. He stared at his clawed hands for several long minutes before speaking again.

"things used to be really rough...where i'm from... there was a famine... folks had to resort to...drastic measures to survive... if it weren't for paps and myself, the whole town would've...fallen down..."

As he spoke, you noticed how detached and hollow his tone of voice had become. You could also feel the depths of his pain, as if you were taking a peek into his very soul, and it hurt. Still, you wanted to be there for him and so you stayed seated nearby, resting your hand on his arm in an effort to comfort him.

"it's hard seein' people i care about hurt or even just hungry... i've seen so many just...give up..." He made eye contact with you and held it before adding, "you have no idea what i've had to do just to survive..."

You couldn't help but glance away under the intensity of his gaze. Was it just you or had the room become colder all of the sudden? Swallowing nervously, you steeled yourself to look back at him, only to find that he was still staring.

"Well... I, uh, can't say I fully understand how awful literally starving to death is, but you're doing better now, right?" When he nodded slowly, you sighed and continued talking. "That's a relief to hear at least. I'm touched that you trust me enough to tell me about this when I can tell it's not a pleasant thing for you to discuss."

He continued to stare at you for what felt like an eternity. Unfortunately, you couldn't tell what he was currently thinking from his indecipherable facial expressions. Just when you could hardly take the unofficial staring contest any longer, he finally broke the silence.

"you're a strange human..." he muttered.

You couldn't help the quick bark of laughter at his comment. "I thought we'd already established that by now," you teased.

That same cobalt colour from before flickered across his zygomatic bones and he glanced away, scratching the right side of his skull awkwardly. "heh... right, i almost forgot..."

"I wouldn't have stuck around at all when we first met if I didn't like you, okay? I stand by the people I count as friends and I consider you a good friend, Axe."

His blue blush deepened slightly which was kind of adorable, considering he was such a giant of a skeleton. He certainly seemed easier to fluster today, although a lot had also happened in the short time he'd been here. You would definitely have to tease him about it another time.

"you did it again."

You were a bit taken aback by the suddenness of his statement and blinked owlishly at him. "Did what again?" you asked.

"the thing you did with intent. it was like...you forced all of your concern and reassurance into my soul."

Your eyes widened in shock and you quickly pulled your hand away from him, although he looked a little disappointed when you did so. "Crap, I wasn't trying to...manipulate you or anything like that..." You buried your face in your hands and groaned, "I really have no idea how Intent or magic works... I'm sorry, Axe."

He chuckled and shook his skull. "nah, ya didn't do anythin' wrong. it...felt nice actually..."

"Really...?" You peeked between your fingers at him to check that he wasn't upset, thankfully he just seemed mildly amused. "Any chance you could explain what it is so I can try not to accidentally do it again?"

"eh, i'm really not the best person to ask..." Axe thought for a moment before continuing. "do ya at least know about human soul traits?"

You nodded, "Yeah, it's pretty common knowledge now, although only mages can really know their primary trait. Anyone without magic can't really, unless you know a monster willing to draw you into an Encounter or have to get some expensive procedure done."

"figures," he muttered. "i used to be able to tell at a glance but after everythin' that happened, my magic changed completely. i pretty much only use it to get around now and rarely even then."

"I'm guessing you can't draw me into an Encounter to actually find out then?"

He got a bit of an odd look at the idea and shrugged. "more like i won't... 's not that i don't trust ya...i just don't trust myself..."

"Ah." He probably didn't want to risk nearly killing you again after what happened the first time. The weird thing was, you were pretty sure he hadn't actually pulled you into an Encounter back then, but you'd never been in one to know either.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I understand they're something personal to monsters and I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

" 's fine, i don't get offended easily compared to some guys i know." Axe took a deep breath before quietly adding, "well, i don't tend to lash out if someone insults me at least..."

"Why would anyone...?"

He gestured to the left side of his skull before you could finish your question, drawing your attention to his large red eyelight but also, the gaping hole in his skull. You'd almost forgotten that wasn't normal as it just seemed like a part of him as a person, rather than a likely traumatic injury.

"Oh... Still though, why make fun of the guy who could bench press anyone without breaking a sweat?"

He shrugged, "dunno, some folks are probably too dense for their own good. i never used to look like this though..."

"How so?" you asked softly.

"used to be shorter...less scary looking too. no claws or sharp teeth either... 's the result of changin' to make survival easier."

It was hard to picture him as anything but the large, sharp-edged skeleton currently sitting at your dining table. He tended to be the honest type though so you had no reason to believe he was messing with you.

"So...is that what you meant by hunting earlier?"

He nodded but remained quiet.

You felt like you had to say something to make him feel slightly better. It was true that he was on the scary side as far as appearance goes, but you'd seen how gentle he could be. He wasn't some scary, evil person, at least in your eyes.

"You know, you are quite scary on the outside. However, unlike a lot of humans I've met over the years, you seem to wear your heart on your sleeve and aren't hiding malicious intentions on the inside." You smiled warmly at him and added, "I... I consider you a good friend... Which is saying a lot because I don't really have any friends."

His permanent smile instantly morphed into the most genuine grin you'd seen to date. He looked like he desperately wanted to give you a hug but was physically holding himself back for the time being.

"heh, i'm touched to say the least..." he said, although you could tell that was quite the understatement. "i consider ya a good friend too and, as i betcha understand, i don't make friends easily."

Hearing that he felt the same, you felt an overwhelming wave of joy flow over you. No one would understand that you got along with this teddy bear of a man better than any of them, despite how scary he looked.

But then, you remembered your previous question that had brought up this conversation in the first place. "So, not to brush aside this awesome moment, but what about Intent? What does it have to do with soul traits?"

He didn't seem to mind that you'd changed the subject and nodded thoughtfully as he considered your question again. "well, i 'spect your primary soul trait is some variation of kindness considerin' how empathetic you've always been towards me. i can't say i've ever met a human who uses intent to make others feel better like you do."

He scratched his skull and added, "it's hard to describe... normal humans can't really sense intent as far as i know, but it's like you're giving all of your current feelings to me."

He chuckled when you gave him a look of bewilderment and took your right hand in his much larger one. "don't worry, ya aren't doing it all the time, at least from what i've sensed, just today and the last time. i think ya need to purposely touch me anyways."

You breathed a huge sigh of relief and glanced down at your joined hands before looking back up to him again. "That's good to hear, I was really worried I'd been acting inappropriately or something."

"nah, you're fine, lil' chip..."

You blinked in surprise and did a great job at imitating a goldfish for a moment, much to Axe's amusement. "Excuse me?! You did not just call me short..." you hissed under your breath.

He actually laughed, to the point of nearly being brought to tears, much to your annoyance. You pulled your hand away and crossed your arms until he finally calmed down enough to speak again.

"what? it's cute, like you, so why not? if we're goin' to be friends, you should know i like to give my friends nicknames..." he said while flicking a stray tear away from his left eye socket.

You tried to remain firm and pout, but you couldn't. He was adorable and while you'd always hated it when people picked on you for being a bit smaller than average, you didn't really mind it coming from him. He seemed completely genuine and not like he was trying to belittle you either.

"Fine, but only because i like you..." you grumbled. "And you better make it up to me by coming to visit more often."

He chuckled again and patted your head in a way that was probably supposed to be affectionate. "okay, okay, i'll see if i can make some room in my schedule so we can hang out more, just for you..."

You could feel your cheeks grow warm with the way he was looking at and talking to you. "You better..." was all you could manage to retort with.

#badsansuary #raccoons drabbles #undertale #horrortale #horrortale sans #horror sans x reader #reader #female reader #axe #oneshot #have some empathy dear

79 notes · View notes