#( the inspiration for this came from someone else

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. 

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[jellysmosh]

Better to Leave it Unsaid

Summary: You were a certified yapper, always chatting with anyone and everyone around the Smoffice. Everyone except for one person. Inspired by the song Talk Too Much by COIN.

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff, mutual pining, extremely light angst if you squint

Word count: 6.1k

Note: This is a huge one! I didn't mean to make this so long, but I just kept going lol… I decided to post the whole thing rather than separate it and make y’all wait for a part 2, hehe. I take a lot of inspiration from music, if you couldn’t tell. Please enjoy~!

☆

You had always been talkative, a chatterbox, and a yapper. Your mother used to tell people that when you were a baby, you learned how to speak in full sentences before you learned how to stand on your own two feet. You couldn’t help it, you just loved to talk. It took you years to learn how to think before you speak.

You enjoyed talking to people, it genuinely made you happy to learn about others and share your thoughts. It was a form of connection, whether it was a late night heart-to-heart with your best friend or joking around with a stranger in line at the supermarket. If you could list ‘conversations’ as an interest on your resume, you absolutely would.

This trait worked to your advantage when you joined Smosh as a cast member.

“You’re so good at talking”, Ian joked with you after your first month, “you always seem to know what to say.”

“Practice makes perfect”, you grinned back as he laughed again.

You had quickly become a fan favourite, especially on Reddit Stories and as a guest on Smosh Mouth, being praised for the chemistry you had with the cast members and how you played off each other in discussions. You struggled a bit more on the games channel, you had very little video games experience and you found it difficult to remember board game rules when you played them for the first time. But the subscribers seemed to love making video compilations of everytime you forgot a rule or had to quietly ask for help mid-game.

Working at Smosh was so much fun, not just because you loved your work, but because there was such a diverse and interesting group of people you had long and frequent talks with. You had gotten to know everyone so well throughout the past few months, both cast and crew.

Well.

Everyone except for Spencer.

When you joined Smosh and met all the people working there, you had taken to Spencer in a different way than the others.

The crush you developed on him was quick and severe. You had no idea what to do with it. You were never good with romantic attraction, the few times you made the first move with a potential partner, it always ended disastrously. When it came to someone you really liked, you clammed up. Every time you were around Spencer, you panicked, and your heart sped up when he spoke to you. All the words that normally flowed out of your mouth got all tangled up in your head and stuck in your throat. Even when you two were doing your jobs and he was directing you on a game video, you responded to his directions with a silent, tight-lipped smile without making eye contact.

You did not handle cute guys well. And Spencer was cute. With his big green eyes, cheeky smile, and quick-witted humour, he was exactly your type to a T. It infuriated you, the person you wanted to have a connection with the most was so distant from you, and it was your own fault. You wanted to be close with him like everyone else, having lunch together, hanging out after work, you wanted it all. He definitely noticed how weird you were about him, because he drew back, hardly ever reaching out to you and only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. You couldn’t blame him.

The invisible wall between you guys that you had accidentally built seemed to get taller by the day, and you wished there was some way to knock it down.

☆

“Cut!”

That was a wrap on the most recent Board AF video and it was finally lunchtime. You and the other cast members hopped up from your seats as the room was filled with post-recording chatters.

“Good job, guys!” Spencer clapped his hands, “Amanda and Chanse, that was amazing teamwork. Shayne, super funny, as per usual.” He was wearing his green Smosh merch cap and a white T-shirt today. God, he looked so good.

You pretended not to notice he praised everyone else in the video besides you.

“And great banter, Y/N”, he added before turning to Alex to debrief.

Nevermind. You almost skipped out of the room from the high you got from him complimenting you.

You could really enjoy your lunch break after that. Sitting down between Angela and Amanda, you dug right in, conversing with the others at the table as you did everyday.

“I was watching the shoot just then, you know?” Angela nudged you, speaking between bites, “what’s up with you and Spence?”

You almost bit down on your tongue in surprise.

“What?” You laughed to cover the worried feeling that rose inside you, “what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean”, she spoke quietly, this was between you two. The rest of the table were not paying attention, holding their own conversation about the schedule for the rest of the week. “You, like, don’t look directly at him and you just silently do what he says. No reply, nothing.”

“I didn’t think I had to reply to every direction given”, you shot back, eyes on your food. You were dreading where this situation was heading.

“Okay, okay, no offence”, Angela lay a hand on your leg, eyebrows raised so high it made you laugh, “I have never seen you skip an opportunity to say something.” When she saw your jaw drop, she quickly added, “I’m saying this as a fellow yapper, okay? It takes one to know one. You seem to talk non-stop to anyone until it’s with Spencer, then you shut right up. Are you mad at him? Did he do something to piss you off?”

You sighed and put your fork down.

“No, Angela”, you both leaned back in your chairs, facing each other, “I’m not mad at him, he did nothing wrong.”

“Then?”

“I-”, you quickly glanced around you, checking nobody was paying attention to you two, “I don’t know. Like, I just can’t talk to him.”

“But why?” Angela had her hands out inquisitively, like this was a great mystery she had been thinking about for a long time. “How are you not able to talk to somebody? You start chattering when you hear someone enter the stall next to you in the bathroom. It’s disturbing. Nothing stops you.”

“I don’t know”, you were a lying liar. You knew damn well why you struggled to speak to him. “I just can’t!”

She eyed you suspiciously. She was squinting at you so hard, you resisted the urge to ask if she needed her glasses. This was one of the rare times you actually wanted a conversation to end as soon as possible.

“Right”, she finally conceded, a strange expression on her face, “totally. Yeah. You just don’t know.”

You nodded, smiling like nothing was bothering you. You could tell she wasn’t satisfied with your response but you were just glad she wasn’t pushing it anymore. She was very empathetic, so she could probably feel you were getting uncomfortable.

“Anyway”, she shook her head, poking you gently as she changed the topic, “what are you scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

☆

“And then I told him that I didn’t know where his wallet was and that I was sorry”, you explained, hands gesturing wildly.

“I mean, yeah”, Tommy responded while nodding, “you literally met him five minutes before, how were you meant to know?”

You were telling him a story about some guy you befriended at a bar a while ago when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You spun around to see Spencer standing there, holding his laptop. You didn’t even hear him approaching while you were talking, how long had he been there?

“Hello”, he waved, you silently waved back and Tommy replied with his own ‘hello’. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I need to speak to Y/N about an upcoming video. Sorry, Tommy.”

“No problem, don’t worry about it”, Tommy replied before heading back to his desk, “see you guys later.”

You wanted to yell for him to come back so you wouldn’t be alone with Spencer, but you were left with no choice but to quietly follow Spencer to the games set. He was going to quickly go through how to play a new board game you were set to play with a few of your cast mates because your schedules didn’t line up and you couldn’t be there when he taught the others.

“Okay”, he sighed, plopping down on the large grey couch. “Please sit down”, he nodded his head at the space next to him.

You carefully sat a respectable distance away from him, close enough to properly listen to him but far enough to not get you flustered. As he began to teach you the rules and show you the different cards, you tried your hardest to focus. He made it so difficult, he just looked so gorgeous. His curls were sitting just right today, one stray strand dangling down his forehead, and he was wearing that Creed shirt he always looked good in. His glasses slowly slipped down his nose when he leaned down and you bit your tongue as he adjusted them. You were trying to remember what each card did in the game, but your thoughts kept going back to how nice his voice sounded. He didn’t speak too fast and he kept the volume low since it was just you two sitting on the set, it tickled something in your brain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” His voice calling your name drew you out of your own thoughts.

A single ‘huh?’ was your clever response.

He sighed, seemingly a little frustrated.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Yes”, you responded defensively, vaguely repeating some of the main points you managed to retain from when he was talking.

“Okay”, he nodded, “you did remember a few things. Sorta.”

He picked up the deck of cards and slid them back into their box as you silently watched his fingers work.

“Any questions?”

You looked up at his face to see him looking back at you with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Uh… no”, you flatly replied. You could feel your face and neck gradually get warmer the longer he looked at you.

“No? Any comments? Anything at all?”

You shook your head. Hopefully, this interaction would be ending soon before something devastating happened, like him noticing how red your face was or how clammy your hands were. You looked away and your eyes darted around the set. You didn’t like being speechless, it was an uncomfortable feeling for you.

“Y/N”, he gently pressed. You froze in place, eyes glued to the small table in front of you. “Why…”, he trailed off, not finishing his question before he stood up, “uh, nevermind. We’re done here, I guess. See you around.”

And then he was gone.

You felt relief and anxiety mix together at the bottom of your stomach. You wanted to talk to him so bad but you were so in your own head about him, about your feelings for him. In another world, where you could get over your feelings for him, you could be best friends. You could be talking all day long, asking about each other's days, how your families were going, what your weekend plans were.

Instead, right now, you were the only person in the room, left sitting alone on an empty set.

☆

“What is their problem?” Spencer grumbled, partly to himself, partly to Alex and Shayne, interrupting the conversation they were having right next to Spencer’s desk. They both turned to look down at him, borderline sulking in his chair.

“Y/N?” Shayne hit the nail on the head immediately. Spencer didn’t often talk about his strained relationship with you, but the few times he did have been with these two in particular.

“Yeah”, he lifted his glasses to rub his eyes, “I just met with them to explain the new game we’re playing tomorrow.”

“Awkward?” Alex grinned.

“So awkward”, Spencer threw his hands up, “I really don’t get it! They just refuse to say anything to be besides ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘huh?’”

They could tell Spencer was getting frustrated, not quite angry, moreso confused and unsure on what to do.

“It’s been months since they started”, Shayne crossed his arms, tone neutral, “have they not had a proper conversation with you even once?”

“Never”, Spencer replied, “what about you guys?”

“All the time”, Shayne replied sheepishly.

“Yeah, all the time”, Alex nodded, almost apologetically. “I talked to them this morning about Fortnite for like half an hour. They asked me to explain it to them.”

“You’re kidding me”, Spencer whined, he just could not wrap his head around why you guys just didn’t click. “I would have killed to explain Fortnite to someone for the first time.”

The other two seemed bemused by his turmoil. Spencer feared they may not be taking this seriously. It was serious. Over the past months, he had watched you grow close with other people at Smosh, chatting and bonding so naturally it was as if you had worked there for years. Whenever he saw you, you were always in the middle of a lengthy conversation with someone; you had gained a reputation around the office as an amazing listener who would be easy to talk to for hours. Spencer thought you two could get along great, he was not the most talkative, but he loved to chat and loved to listen. However, Spencer seemed to be the one person in the company that you refused to talk to.

It didn’t help that he thought you were very attractive. It drove him insane, he felt this inexplicable draw to you and yet you avoided even making eye contact with him. Did you find out about his crush on you? Were you grossed out? Was that why you avoided speaking to him? There was no way though, he hadn’t told a single person about how attracted he was to you.

“Look, man”, Shayne gained his attention again, “if it really bothers you, you have to talk to them. They can’t read your mind, they might not even realise they’re doing it.”

That made Spencer laugh, you definitely knew you were doing it.

“Yeah, what Shayne said”, Alex chimed in, “talking to them is going to be a way better approach than sitting on your ass, ripping out your hair trying to solve it.”

“Maybe”, he groaned, turning back to his computer to continue his work, “I’ll think about it.”

Alex and Shayne shared a knowing look before leaving him alone.

☆

The next time you spoke to Spencer alone, he accosted you in the break room.

You were stirring the tea you had just made when you heard footsteps behind you slowly coming to a stop.

Before you could turn around and greet whoever it was, you heard Spencer’s apprehensive voice, “Alex mentioned you were showing an interest in Fortnite.”

You almost dropped your mug, but you managed to keep a firm grip on it as you turned around to face him. You tried to say something but faltered before closing your mouth and nodding. You already knew this was going to be another failed attempt at a conversation. You might as well have run for it then and there.

“Okay, well”, he put his hands in his pockets as he continued, “we could play together sometime? Or I could arrange for us to play on the channel in the future or something.”

You blinked a few times. He was asking to play Fortnite together. You felt so excited, you wanted to chug your tea down like a beer and give him a huge kiss but you controlled your impulses. You were curious about the game because of Spencer talking about it all the time and showing Angela how to play, so you enquired about the game from Alex a few days ago. You saw a chance to get through the invisible wall, conquer your feelings, and really get to know Spencer. You were determined to get over this stupid crush of yours for the sake of befriending him, you were tired of being the only person that didn’t get to enjoy his company.

“That sounds fun”, you managed to blurt out, both you and Spencer seemed shocked that you were actually speaking to him. “I mean, I’m not very experienced with video games, but it looks like a lot of fun”, your voice was quivering from nerves and you just prayed he didn’t notice, “I think all the cosmetics are really cool too.”

“Yes!” Spencer seemed to almost jump at the opportunity to talk to you, “they released a Sabrina Carpenter skin. You like her, don’t you?”

Your heart was going a mile a minute, were you actually managing to talk to him? And how did he know you were a fan of Sabrina Carpenter?

“Yeah, I love her!” You found yourself actually smiling, even though you were resisting the urge to find the nearest escape route like some kind of prey animal, “I didn’t know she had a collaboration with them. I actually just ordered the Short n’ Sweet Deluxe vinyl record I’ve been wanting for ages, it took me, like, an hour to decide which colour to get.”

“And which colour was that?” He asked.

“The blue one”, you quickly replied, “the white pearl one was pretty but I wanted the brighter colour. I thought it would look cuter on my record player.”

You were so excited that Spencer seemed interested in talking to you, it almost outweighed the incredible amount of nerves you were experiencing in that moment. You were trying your absolute hardest to form normal words and sentences in his presence. Having his whole attention on you as you spoke was so foreign and just as scary as it normally was, but it was also sort of thrilling. You felt like a teenager again, trying something new and rebellious that you figured you might regret later. There was a paradox of wanting to talk to him like this more to aid in your mission to get over your feelings for him, but the more he looked at you and spoke to you, the more you felt yourself falling.

You were making crazy progress on holding a conversation with him, though. You were definitely being more reserved than when you chatted with other people in the office, but this was breaking the record for longest talk you’ve ever had with him. It made your heart beat so fast you were scared you would pass out.

You had moved onto the topic of music and your record collection, the one you had been working on ever since you moved into your own apartment.

“I have about 30 now”, you had a small, proud smile on your face, “it’s growing slowly, I try not to blow all my money on them.”

“No, I get it”, he said back, grinning, “that is so cool, frankly.”

You felt your entire upper body flush with heat when he said that, your face feeling red and tingly. Part of you wanted to squeal at his compliment and the other part wanted to disappear, dig a hole into the floor and hide in it. Yapping came so naturally to you, but it was still proving difficult to speak to him. Your brain was in overdrive, trying so hard to pick the right words to say and string them into coherent sentences, stuff that was as easy as breathing when you spoke to anybody else.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer sounded worried all of a sudden. When you looked at him with a confused expression, he pointed at your mug, “your hands are shaking pretty bad right now, you might want to put that drink down.”

You hadn’t noticed, you were indeed shaking, little ripples running through your tea from the movement.

“I’m okay”, you tried to grin widely, but it felt like a grimace. You tightened your hold on your tea, willing yourself to stop trembling. You realised you had probably reached your limit on talking to Spencer for today. Any more and you may have a heart attack. “Just a bit of the shakes, I have weak arms”, you lied.

“Are you sure-“

“Yes!” Your reply was too hasty and too loud, “yes, of course! I really need to get back to work though.”

He nodded as you cautiously stepped past him and almost jogged towards the exit, careful not to spill your drink.

“Talk to you later, Y/N.”

You paused, looking at him over your shoulder. You could have sworn he looked worried, nervous even. You felt extra light on your feet knowing he wanted to talk to you again.

“Yeah”, you couldn’t help the smile that took over your face, cheeks red and hands damp with sweat, “yeah, talk to you later, Spencer.”

He smiled back in a way that made your chest hurt and you couldn’t figure out if there was actually a halo of glowing light around him or you were hallucinating. You had to turn away and keep walking or you would have burst into flames with how warm your entire body had become. The gentle way he spoke to you replayed in your head over and over and over.

How the hell were you going to get over him?

☆

Spencer couldn’t help smiling to himself as he typed. He was a little distracted from his work today.

“What’s gotten into you?” Alex asked, alarmed at his behaviour. “You’re acting weird and happy and giddy.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, it’s just… did something happen?” Alex abandoned their desk and came over to him. They could be such a gossip sometimes. “Did you finally ask Y/N what the problem was?”

“No”, Spencer stopped doing his work too, turning to look at them, “but we had, like, an actual conversation.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up, “wow, really?”

“Yes, dude, we talked about Sabrina Carpenter in Fortnite and their record collection”, he was obviously excited, “and it wasn’t a long talk, but they spoke actual sentences to me.”

“Good for you, buddy”, Alex patted his back, trying not to laugh as Spencer turned back to his monitor with a huge smile on his face, “good for you.”

☆

It had been a week since you had that discussion with Spencer and you were still reeling from it. You both got very busy and you didn’t really find yourself alone with him after that. You were both excited and very scared about the next time you could potentially talk. You had been mentally hyping yourself up before work everyday, just in case. You were determined to push your feelings down as far as possible, so you could have a longer conversation next time.

It was a sunny Friday morning when you breezed through the door, mood high because the barista at the cafe remembered your order and gave you a dollar discount. You greeted every single person you walked past and gave Courtney a huge hug when you saw her.

“You’re in a good mood”, they laughed, “happy Friday, huh?”

“I just feel like today’s gonna be an amazing day”, you hummed, pulling away and grabbing her hand. You swung them around between you wildly as you spoke, “the weather’s gorgeous, my coffee tastes extra good this morning, you look beautiful. It’s been great so far.”

She leaned forward and laughed hard.

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re filming with Spence later?”

“What?” You stopped swinging your arm, looking at her with wide eyes, “that’s not why- no, I didn’t even know, no, well, I did know but, that’s not a reason to- like, I don’t even…”

“Okay, breathe”, Courtney was wheezing with laughter now, “I was just teasing, Y/N. You’re okay.”

You fanned your face lightly, why was it so hot in here all of a sudden? Did they know about your feelings for Spencer? You swore you were working on that. Hopefully, the mention of him won’t make you feel like this soon.

“I’ve never seen you stumble over words like that before”, they started swinging your arms again, “what was that about? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him”, you explained, shaking your head, “I like him! I like him a lot!”

Another weakness of yours that came along with being a yapper was your bad habit of over-explaining. You couldn’t shut up if you tried, unfortunately.

“You… like him a lot?” Courtney raised a single eyebrow, “never heard you admit that before. That’s very interesting.”

“No!” You let go of her hand to wave yours in front of her in a panic, “no, not like that!”

“Yeah”, she replied, slowly stepping away from you and heading back in the direction she was originally going, “totally, yeah. You didn’t mean it like that.”

You rushed away to your desk, cheeks flared up and your head down to hide it. You didn’t see Courtney look back at you with a mischievous smirk.

☆

“Y/N is on one today”, Courtney gasped as everyone was trying to catch their breath. You had told an off-hand, low-brow joke that you did not expect to land, but apparently everyone at Smosh had the humour of a 12 year old boy. Your chest swelled with pride, not from making everyone at the table laugh, but for making specifically Spencer laugh so hard, he was covering his face with his hands.

You silently thanked the heavens that you got to film a Moose Master video with Spencer today without going through the emotional and physical torture of sitting directly next to him. In your opinion, he looked super hot today, he was wearing a hoodie and pushed the sleeves up instead of taking it off when the game really heated up. All you wanted was to stop looking at the cameras and just stare at his tattoos to commit them to memory. Making him laugh while he looked so good was like doing crack. Or what you imagined doing crack was like.

As the game continued, the volume in the room only increased, more rules making people screw up and yell at each other. It was getting intense.

“You said her first name!” You pointed at Noah accusingly, interrupting the tirade he was on, “you broke a rule! I got your ass!”

“Y/N”, clearly frustrated, Noah put his hand up in your face, “shut up for once!” He then continued with the argument he was having with Amanda.

The comment was played for laughs, clearly all in the lighthearted spirit of the game. You had to admit the way he worded it hurt a little bit. But at the end of the day, you knew he didn’t mean it, you had all said stuff you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. It wasn’t a big deal, so you got over that twang of pain pretty fast.

Seeming to notice you had become uncharacteristically silent for a moment, Spencer locked eyes with you from across the table. He silently raised his eyebrows and gave you a miniscule nod, you knew this meant ‘are you okay?’ Your cheeks flushed at him paying attention to solely you amongst the chaos and you nodded back in assurance before returning to the game.

His consideration unleashed a thousand butterflies in your stomach, it was clearly not a big deal, but he still wanted to check on you. You almost wanted to be mad at him for being so cute and sweet. He really was not going to let this ‘getting over your crush’ thing easy.

☆

After an hour, filming wrapped and everyone slowly dispersed. You lingered back a little, discussing something random with Courtney. You two walked off the set a little slower than the others, and once you were back in the main section of the office, you bid Courtney adieu as they went off to take care of something else.

“Hey Y/N”, you jumped a little in surprise, you hadn’t realised Spencer was standing by the door, just out of sight. “Can we talk for a second?”

Oh my god, here we go. You had been gearing up for your next one-on-one conversation with Spencer, you wanted this one to go off without a hitch, leaving him thinking you were charismatic and clever. The problem lay in the fact that when you were finally alone with him, and his beautiful eyes were gazing into yours and only yours, your mind went completely blank.

“Yeah”, you replied, exhaling. You didn’t even realise you had been holding your breath. You were glad nobody else was around to see you embarrass yourself.

“Did…”, Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “did what Noah said during that video upset you? I mean, I know you nodded like you were okay, but I just wanted to check on you to make sure, because that was a pretty rude thing to say”, his eyes were avoiding yours this time, “even though I know you know he didn’t really mean it. That doesn’t make it okay, though. Okay, I’m rambling right now, I’m gonna stop…”

You stared at him speechlessly. He was being so unbelievably cute right now. The care he was showing for you and your feelings endeared him to you so much it hurt.

“Spencer, you’re making this so hard”, you groaned without thinking. When you realised what you said, you wanted to run again. Flight or fight activated.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “making what hard?”

Now you’ve gone and done it. You were incredibly embarrassed, searching the floor for some sort of way out of this situation.

“No, Noah didn’t make me uncomfortable”, you said in a monotone voice.

“Y/N, what am I making hard?” He ignored you and took a step forward, you started to panic.

“That’s what she said”, you couldn’t even laugh at your joke. He didn’t laugh either, and that made you feel even worse.

“Y/N”, Spencer slowly reached for you, as if you were a skittish wild animal. You tried your hardest not to flinch when he gently put his hand on your upper arm. “What’s going on? You can tell me.”

You finally looked up at him. There was an entire galaxy in his eyes you wanted to explore. He had gotten so close to you, but you wanted him even closer.

“I know you don’t really like talking to me, but”, he swallowed, “I really want to change that. You just need to tell me what to do.”

“I do, though”, you mumbled, your face felt so hot, you could probably cook an egg on it. “I want to talk to you all the time, it’s just-”, you shut your mouth, not daring to say anything further.

“What am I making hard for you, Y/N?” He was whispering now.

There was a beat of silence. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, but it felt like it stretched on for hours.

“Getting over you”, you whispered back meekly, hands balling into fists by your sides. “Getting over my big, fat crush on you”, you said a little louder, you were diving into the deep end, laying bare your soul for him.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, entire body almost recoiling in surprise. “That doesn’t make sense. I thought you didn’t like me. You talk to every single person in the office like they’re your best friend except for me.”

“Y-you make me nervous”, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, “I’ve never been any good at talking to cute guys I like.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red. He seemed almost as flustered as you.

“But!” You were fighting to save the situation, the last thing you wanted was to completely fuck up the work environment for both of you because of your schoolyard crush. “I promise I’m trying my best to get over my feelings for you. And then it’ll be so much easier to chat, and we can yap all day long together! I just need some time to work on it, that’s all.”

“Stop”, he murmured, tone pleading. He had stepped even closer, you could feel the heat coming off his body. Or it was just the heat your own face was generating. You were pretty sure you were visibly sweating. “Stop that.”

“What-”

“I don’t want you to”, he gently took your hand and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, a shiver ran up your spine, “I don’t want you to get over me.” His green eyes bore into yours, your heart thudded against your ribcage as you willed yourself not to break eye contact. “I haven’t been able to get over you, you know”, he spoke to you in a quiet tone you had never heard from him before, “ever since we talked in the break room, I’ve been thinking about you all the time.”

You opened your mouth and closed it a few times, completely in shock and searching for words that were not coming to you. You were so accustomed to knowing what to say in reply to pretty much anything, the constant flow of conversation buzzing at the back of your head came to a screeching halt. There was nothing but a heavy silence in your head as the man you’ve been pining for was metaphorically grabbing your heart out of your chest and claiming it as his.

“Just… thinking about you and how funny and bright you are”, he kept going, you had never heard Spencer word-vomit like this and it made your heart soar, “you talk so loud, but I love it because I can still hear you even though you won’t talk to me”, that made you laugh, your free hand coming up to cover your red face. “Your jokes always get me, and I love how you laugh with your whole body. I’m just always thinking about your smile, and your humour, and how kind you are to everyone, you’ve been driving me crazy.”

You covered his mouth with your trembling hand. You were so flustered, you felt like you were going to melt into a puddle any second. He looked at you with expectant eyes, round and imploring, like he was asking a silent question.

“You’re talking more than me for once”, you inspected every part of his face, you rarely had the opportunity to do that, you had been avoiding being close to him all this time after all. He chuckled behind your hand, the way his eyes crinkled a little in the corners when he smiled made you want to scream. You worried that he might be able to feel your racing pulse. “I never thought you would like me back.”

He slowly pushed your hand away from his mouth, “and I never thought you would like me. You acted like you hated me.”

“Okay”, you started, cutting yourself off with an embarrassed chortle, “I was panicking every time I saw you, I’m sorry!”

You joked with each other like that for the next few minutes, your heartbeat slowing slightly as you calmed down. Your chest tightened with excitement as you realised he had inched even closer, almost touching you. He looked at you with so much affection in his eyes when you laughed at something he said. You felt like you were on cloud nine.

“So”, you looked down at your fingers still interlocked, “what does this mean for us then?”

“Well”, Spencer pretended to think really hard, “if you can actually stand talking to me for more than five minutes,” he ignored you as you smacked his chest in fake offence, “would you like to go on a date with me?”

You hummed, also pretending to think really hard. He grinned at you, eyes fond. You wondered if he had been looking at you like that all this time.

“Yes, I think I’d like that”, you answered softly.

Feeling bold, you leaned in slightly, wondering if you could get away with kissing him on the cheek. He had other plans, tilting his head so his lips were almost grazing yours. He stayed still, waiting on you, always waiting on you. Both of you had your eyes half closed, transfixed on each other’s lips. Your stomach flipped as you took the leap, moving forward and pressing your mouth against his. It was absolute bliss.

Just like that, the invisible wall between you came tumbling down. It was like it was never there in the first place as Spencer’s hand squeezed yours tight.

☆

Note: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think! Also, I am happy for people to send requests, I want to try writing shorter fics, so that would be perfect! If you have sent me an ask, please be patient with me as I work through them, thanks guys. <333

♡ masterlist

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝐜.𝐬𝐜

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

word count: 3.0K

genre: fluff, magical realism, dreams more than dreams,

summary: seungcheol keeps seeing advertisements for an art show around the city - all the paintings seem to be of him, but he’s never posed for an artist and he barely exists on social media - at first his friends tease him but the more he sees the paintings, the more he knows he needs to meet the artist and find out why they keep painting him

warnings: explicit language

a/n: this fic is literally an idea i had over a year ago and finally i got inspired yayyyy and yesss...it's not the end ... just the first part - anywayyyy

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

You woke up from another dream with a long sigh, and stared at the ceiling. How long could you keep dreaming of the same face, you wondered. 

It would be one thing if you knew who he was, but you hadn’t a clue. And it had been months. Months of dreaming about soft, pink lips and big, expressive eyes with painfully long lashes. 

At first there were weeks of writing in your journal about a man you had never met and the details of his face: his eyes and lips, the shape of his jaw and the way his bangs always seem to fall in his face. 

You felt like you had this strange intimate view of him. You could easily recognize him in the real world, if you were to ever see him. But your hopes weren’t high.

Even if you sometimes stopped in cafes to watch people because maybe you would catch a glimpse of him. 

It was bad enough that you had been writing about him, but then you started sketching him, thinking that maybe you just needed to get him out of your brain and onto paper. But that had just morphed into putting your ‘dream’ boy onto canvas. You were a painter after all. 

And every painting simply brought him to life that much more. His eyes became brighter and thoughtful, and his face was layered with emotions you didn’t remember from your dreams. He seemed to be coming to life through every painting. 

You had a collection at this point - face after face after face. All versions of the same man - every emotion possible. 

Sometimes he looked happy, but other days his eyes had a way of almost seeming to stare at you, and no matter what expression was on his face, his eyes told you he was carrying a huge mental weight. 

You sometimes stepped back and stared for long stretches of time, trying to place him. Surely that’s all dreams were filled with, people and places you knew, even if you had only seen them in passing. 

You were convinced that you had at least met him, or bumped into him on the train platform, maybe? There had to be some tangible connection. 

Some random person on the street who had lodged in your brain. 

But the longer it went on, the more it felt like something else. You weren’t certain what exactly, but something besides a passing glance at someone as you furtively crammed yourself into a train car or grabbed a hot tea on a random afternoon. 

Some mornings you woke up feeling as those you had practically been next to him somewhere else. You could swear the ghost of his warmth clung to your skin and hair. If you closed your eyes fast enough, you could almost put yourself back wherever you had been. You could almost feel him again, hear his gentle breathing. 

And then there were mornings when you longed to return to whatever dream it was rather than face the day. In a strange way, you felt more and more connected to this man in your dreams. Especially when you stared at certain works. 

You were sure you almost heard something like echoes from certain paintings. Maybe they were thoughts or chatter around him in his real life. But they were tiny things that came to you, usually softly. Soft whispers, like someone murmuring under their breath. 

You were oddly sure that he was a living person who you could run into at almost any moment. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Holy shit, man,” Mingyu gasped and pulled Seungcheol’s shirt sleeve, jerking him back to stand on the sidewalk where Mingyu was staring at an advertisement. 

They had been out drinking, and Seungcheol wasn’t perfectly steady on his feet, “Bro, what’s the holdup?” he glanced back at his friend, wondering why they weren’t crossing the street. 

Mingyu pointed at the advertisement, “Dude, it’s YOU,” Mingyu pushed Seungcheol towards the advertisement for some art show. “Let me take a photo of you next to it,” he demanded, shoving Seungcheol into place. 

Mingyu was already in photographer mode, and Seungcheol wasn’t in the mood to argue over five seconds of his life being spent next to an advert in the rain. 

Seungcheol sighed but stood still while his idiot friend took a photo of him with some random ad. 

“Dude, you blinked,” Mingyu mumbled in annoyance. 

Seungcheol shrugged starting to cross the street again, but Mingyu grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back again. 

“Seriously, it’s freakishly like you, let me get a good photo,” he was demanding and whiny all at once.

Seungcheol groaned. “Okay, fine, fine,” he muttered as he got back in position. He tried to look sober and less desperate to be at home and in bed. He let Mingyu snap several photos and waited until he seemed happy before even attempting to step away this time. 

When he felt his phone vibrate and checked to see the photo of himself in the gc, he assumed he was free to move again. 

“See, I told you, it’s you to a tee, like down to the scowl even,” Mingyu said as he pushed his own phone into Seungcheol’s face, pointing at the zoomed in version. 

Seungcheol finally nodded, admitting that there was a resemblance. But he certainly didn’t think it was some huge meaningful thing. Mingyu was just being Mingyu, overly exuberant over something no one else would have even noticed. 

He was just glad when they split up and he could get home without any more complications. He managed to stumble through the door and pass out on the sofa. 

He had no idea that his phone was exploding with messages as he slipped into a comfortable sleep. 

Even drunk, he knew he would have the dreams he liked. The ones he had been having for the last few months that made him look forward to sleeping more than normal. 

It wasn’t just that he was tired or exhausted, it was like slipping into this perfect moment that he couldn’t place, and he couldn’t experience it when he was awake. The sweet softness of his dreams was too good. 

He almost craved them - the dreams that made feel warm and content. 

He had no idea why he suddenly started having them, but he was glad he had. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[photo attached]

[shua]

holy shit that’s more than ‘similar’ gyu 

[hannie]

fuckkk its like cheol in an alternate world damnnn 

[shua]

i feel like you mean replica ??

[hosh]

@ cheol ur posing for art whaTT sounds like lies 

[wooz]

that i have to agree with @ hosh is annoying, but agreed 😒 who thinks its gyu using some photoshop or smth

[gyu]

tf am i catching strays for?? i just found the insanity and shared

[hannie]

i think i know what i mean @ shua so stfu - alternate universe cheol

[shua]

@ gyu is this fr tho

[gyu]

dude yea fuck […]

it’s at the corner of wabash and fifth go look for yourself […]

and btw you dicks i found like 6 others [photos attached]

[wooz]

fuckkk this is funny and scary

[vern]

is it me or is he kinda hot in these

[shua]

@ vern he’s hot look at the one with the ribbon or whatever def heard jeonghan gasp when he scrolled

[hannie]

i didn’t gasp - i don’t gasp you twit

[wooz]

@ shua so he choked on air

[hannie]

i know your apartment code space boy

[gyu]

anyway back to the topic before there’s a murder inquiry […]

crazy  thing is there’s like even more and the artist says “i paint what comes to me in my dreams”

[hosh]

:OOOOOO spooky fr

[gyu]

def spooky where’s @ dk to hold me hehe

[hosh]

ohh ohh there’s a coffee place next to it let’s all go get photos with art cheol before he wakes up 

[dk]

me hold you? the other way round me thinks bro legit goosebumps at all of these […]

they’re so good to btw how does someone know how he looks even tho??

[cheol]

tf i’m awake @ hosh

[shua]

shhhhhhshhh we aren’t chatting to you dear

[cheol]

it’s the gc!!

[hannie]

right roght go to the one without him hdhsjsksjsjsjs

[hosh]

ok ok we all go to see the spooky paintings and hope that it isn’t irl horror situation just some poor person with @ cheol stuck in their poor brain

[cheol]

hate u all 

[hannie]

so cute 🤏 […]

we all have to go see these right??

[gyu]

tickets aren’t bad? who’s down 

[multiple users typing...]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Seungcheol had woken up briefly when his phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Even barely opening his eyes to read the texts, he knew his friends were up to something. There would probably be a million messages when he woke up.  

And probably a bunch of details about the artist if he knew Mingyu. 

Even falling back to sleep, he did wonder for a moment how a painting even resembled him. He wasn’t on anything - no social media, no photos posted or tagged or anything remotely like that. He hated having accounts, and he’d banned his friends from tagging him. 

He sighed and turned over, curling into the couch and hopefully returning to his dreams. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You were watching your paintings be removed from packing cases. The gallery staff were - they left something to be desired in their handling of things. But the show had sold out. And there were several bids on some of the larger pieces already. 

There was a planned layout for walking through the paintings.

And you had decided the theme would be loosely based on ‘signs of love’.

Things like Eros shooting arrows into a flaming heart like some demented form of target practice. 

And there were actual myths at play too - your “muse” as Hades offering the viewer a pomegranate that would of course trap them with him to be his lover for all times. 

Him paused on a winding, dangerous path, eyes closed, hand on his heart, attempting not to look back and lose his love forever. 

These were the things you had been looking up recently because you had succumbed to the idea that you were meant to meet this person in some weird cosmic way. 

He was your muse purely through some means you couldn’t identify. Some long planned connection created by the universe that you couldn’t parse out. 

You had even looked up things about past lives and how some people believed that souls could be bound together and were always meant to find one another in their next lives.

That idea…you may have lost your mind a bit when you painted with it in mind. The painting was semi-nude, his entire body wrapped strategically in a red ribbon of fate that tied him to someone just out of view and out of his grasp. He had a painful, longing look on his face as he stared off the edge of the canvas into nothingness, looking for his soul mate who was supposedly on the other end of his tether. Hopefully, they were looking for him as well. 

His form and profile were beautiful though. It was almost effortless at this point - you could paint him, sketch him, whatever without even thinking. 

You doodled his eyes and lips in the corners or notebooks or on napkins in cafes while you chatted with people. His profile littered scraps of paper near your desk, all drawn while you researched fables and read poetry like a lovesick middle-schooler. 

One that you especially liked was being held to your fridge with a magnet shaped like a wiener dog. Très chic. Obviously. 

No matter because to your mind, the symbolism throughout the collection was fairly good, especially in the triptychs, particularly, you thought, in your version of him as Venus, appearing in all his glory. One of the biggest differences being that you had swapped the wind god out for various dream gods, since they brought him to you, melding them into a single style of your own. 

You were actually rather pleased with to it. 

There were many that were simply based on different eras, different time periods, since maybe you knew him in another life, but always coming back to some overall symbol of love being included. 

And a few truly reflected your dreams. How your dreams had felt lately. 

Your dreams had become more intense. You felt raw when you woke up - every part of you seemed on high alert. It felt like you were surfacing from underwater after having been there for too long, gasping for air, clutching your bedding, staring around and seeing nothing somehow.

You had seen and felt even more of him. You had no idea what it meant that every night your dreams felt more and more solid, like you had simply shifted without waking to some other place. It had made you frantic to paint everything that popped into your mind. 

There were still stacks of paintings in your studio that you hadn’t brought along, judging some too hastily done to be included. Or simply off theme. Or the paint still wet. 

And now you were finally watching them be installed. Your agent had already asked who your model was and where you had found him. You had simply shrugged and called it ‘fate’. 

It was maybe a blithe answer. But it was true in a way. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Seungcheol had started to get weirdly nervous the week before the gallery show opening.

He had no clue why. 

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that even just seeing the paintings alone was too much. He had gone through them alone, and they were frighteningly like him. 

His expressions and gestures were all captured. But somehow it felt like whoever it was had caught more than just how he looked and moved. It was like they had reached into him and pulled out parts of him for each painting. 

It was unnerving. And it felt too real. Especially since the artist was apparently super private and had no socials. 

Just like him. 

It didn’t matter how many searches he did, he couldn’t even figure out if the name they signed was real or basically their version of ‘Banksy’.

No photo. No bio beyond the college the artist graduated from and various accolades, which he had really had to dig for - that hadn’t been an easy item to find. It was from a years old version of an art gallery’s website. 

He couldn’t fathom how someone who seemed to know him so well could be so anonymous and simultaneously fairly famous for what they created. How was there no photo? No insta account? Nothing? He marveled at that as much as it scared him. 

It meant that even going to the show, he wouldn’t know if he saw the artist or not. He would have no clue. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[hannie]

he has to come 

[shua]

he says it’s too weird

[incoming call]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Come on, don’t you want to see them at least?” Jeonghan asked. 

“I have seen them,” Seungcheol said quietly. He was lying across his bed, talking into Joshua’s phone. He knew his friends wanted him to go. But he couldn’t shake off his nervousness. 

It felt too - he wasn’t even sure how to explain it. 

“I thought you said they don’t even look that much like you?” Jeonghan tried. 

“I lied,” Seungcheol retorted quickly, bluntly. 

Jeonghan hummed softly. “Don’t you at least want to know then? Who the artist is? Why you?”

Seungcheol sighed. “No - it,” he groaned, “does it even matter?”

“I think so - I would want to know.”

“That’s you though, I don’t want to know,” he huffed, “someone with nothing about themselves on their website? They’ll know me though won’t they?” He asked, starting to feel his stomach knot uncomfortably at the idea. 

“They say it’s from ‘dreams’, so maybe they have no clue who you are either”—

Seungcheol shook his head, cutting in. “They have to know me,” he whispered. “They’re all too much like they - it’s like someone sat next to me and painted me - it’s too…too strange,” he trailed off, starting to feel frustrated with the conversation. 

He listened to Jeonghan humming again like he understood everything Seungcheol was saying but was still preparing some other way to try to convince him. 

He bit his lower lip gently, waiting. He knew his friend. He wouldn’t give up. 

Jeonghan sighed. “I’ll come by to get Joshua then - we’ll send you photos,” he said finally. 

Seungcheol’s brow knitted in confusion. He hadn’t expected the conversation to end that way. For Jeonghan, it was fairly abrupt. Seungcheol had expected at least a few more rounds of back and forth. 

He shrugged, though, and gave the phone back to Joshua. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[shua]

giving in so soon?

[hannie]

he hates missing out […]

just get ready and leave when i’m there […]

he’ll show up 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Seungcheol watched Joshua leave and locked the door behind him. He got a few texts confirming that he “really” wasn’t coming. 

He got even more texts when his friends were at the gallery. 

How amazing the paintings were in person. How they really captured Seungcheol - everything about him, apparently. Even the fact that he had a small mole on his palm. 

His nervousness had slowly started to morph into something else as he read his friends’ messages. 

He was missing out.  He was missing out on the moment, on the experience. 

He found himself getting dressed. He knew what everyone else wore, so he wasted some time in his closet before he found what he wanted - a balance of something understated but noticeable too. ‘Singular’ was the word Jeonghan had used earlier in the week when he tried to help Seungcheol pick something. 

He knew when he found it. 

And he was quick to leave once he had. For all he knew, the opening was over. He had the address but not the exact event details. 

a/n: tbd ^^

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

seungcheol master list & main master list & tag list

𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ^^

𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight |୨୧| cold fire (cheol only - attorney au)

drabbles: co-worker & spanking [ s ] | gamer boy [ s ] | professor one [ s ] | valentine's day [ f ] | 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚌.𝚜𝚌 [ s ] | the unknown sender + nudes ones [ s ] #kat_drabbles

oneshots: profound, not sudden [ f ] || bisou bisou request #001 [ s ] ||

series: obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] |୨୧| 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ master list ] [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ] [ pt. 4 f ]

seungcheol bingo [ all s] : knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) | bodyguard + drunk confession | anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing (all up to you part i) | big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) | sexual frustration + ex sex |

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1] [pt. 2] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[tag list] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e] ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎ @stupendouschildnerd [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @tokitosun [e - one/multi ] ☁︎

☁︎ @living0livia [ c.sc - e ] ☁︎ @angelarin [c.sc - one/multi] ☁︎

☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e + wips] ☁︎ @daisymbin [e + wips] ☁︎ @babilou-pov [e + wips] ☁︎ @igetcarriedawaywithyou [c.sc - e + wips] ☁︎ @keyrecsfics [ e + one/multi & wips] ☁︎

[batilenima]

Obsessive! Clark Au

It happens late, after patrol, after another long night of silence that feels more like avoidance than exhaustion.

Bruce is still in his suit, sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. Not injured, just hollow; the kind of drained that doesn't come from fighting criminals, but from being slowly, quietly forgotten.

Tim stands in the doorway watching him, trying to feel angry, but all he feels is guilt... and confusion.

"Bruce" he says softly "We need to talk"

Bruce doesn’t look up "If it's about the mission, it's fine. You can handled it"

"It's not about the mission" Tim says. His voice cracks a little "it's about you"

Bruce finally lifts his head. His eyes are red rimmed, tired in that soul deep way Tim hasn't seen since before… before they all started disappearing on him.

Tim hesitates. Then, quieter: "you've changed"

Bruce's breath hitches. He doesn't speak.

Tim steps into the room, tension rising in his chest "You're pulling away from us, you don't call anymore, you don't check in and you barely speak unless we ask you something"

Bruce's voice is low, flat "You stopped coming to me first"

Tim flinches.

"I used to wait" Bruce says "Every night for someone to come down to the Cave, for a reason to set two plates instead of one. And eventually, I stopped waiting"

Tim's mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Bruce looks down at his gloves. Still on, still stained "To be honest Ididn’t let him in, Tim. You all just… left"

And that's when Tim realizes the worst part isnt' Clark's presence.

It's how easy it was for him to slip into the cracks they made.

"He was there" Bruce says, almost apologetically "When no one else was"

Tim whispers "You didn't even notice it was happening"

"Tim" Bruce closes his eyes "of course I noticed"

But he was too lonely, too tired, too empty to resist it.

So when Clark began offering small comforts: warm meals, touches that lingered, soft reassurances, Bruce didn't fight it.

He clung to it.

Tim stands there, heart pounding. He wants to scream, at Clark, at himself. But mostly at the space between them, where something that used to be there seems almost completely gone.

"I didn't mean to disappear" Tim says, his voice sounds smaller than he expected.

"I know" Bruce says "But still, you did"

Tim turns slowly, and then walks out.

Bruce doesn't stop him.

And when Clark finds him hours later (still sitting there in the dark, still using the suit) he doesn't ask what happened.

He kneels, unbuckles Bruce's gloves and pushes the cowl back gently.

"You don't have to carry their silence dear" Clark whispers "i'm right here, I see you, and I'll always do"

And Bruce tired, abandoned, and half aware it isn't right, lets his head fall forward.

And he leans into the lie anyway, because, even if it was wrong, it was warm.

(And here it is, I should be sleeping, but hey, I needed to write this in the moment the inspiration came to my brain, and I'll have to warn you that the end of this au is close! I really hope you all like the way that I want to finish this 😿)

[euseokz]

☁️ !? . . ★ riize eunseok . ◌⃘ꔫ﹒we hug now — no one comes close to you, and i don’t think anyone will .

☆◞ cws : dacryphilia . unprotected sex . creampie . # ✩★ . . wc : 1.6k+ . ! ⌕﹒genre : angst + smut ✶. inspired by ‘we hug now’ by sydney rose

highschool sweetheart! eunseok who hasn’t left your mind since the day you broke up.

you were supposed to be each other’s forever. everyone expected that at least, that you’d be that one couple that stood together through it all, never breaking apart, never leaving one another.

unfortunately, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

at the first chance — college in another city being just that — eunseok left. he apologized, said he wanted to stay with you but that he couldn’t pass on such a great opportunity, so he left. left without you, leaving you behind almost as if it was nothing. he got everything he wanted, you supposed, you being the one left behind, stuck on someone who most likely didn’t think of you anymore.

eunseok moved on, but you couldn’t push yourself to, too hung up on the idea of him, on the oh so certain knowledge that no one would ever compare to him. maybe it was all a lie, maybe there were better options out there — but why would you go looking for them? you wanted eunseok, not someone else. it didn’t matter if they resembled him in any way, if they were a better choice than to stay put waiting for someone who wouldn’t come back, you simply couldn’t move on. it was like your world had ended and you were stuck in that moment even after all the years that had passed, stuck waiting and waiting for the boy you loved to turn around and tell you he’d obviously never leave you, that he couldn’t possibly do that. it wasn’t how things turned out, but maybe if you stood still enough time would go back and revert all the damage your heart had endured, right?

wrong. because even when, unexpectedly, you found yourself in eunseok’s arms again, it still hurt the same.

at that moment, it all seemed like it had gone by too fast. one second you were out alone, the next eunseok was before you, looking at you as if he had just struck gold — or maybe that was just your mind playing games with you, his gaze probably as monotone as ever. you remember you talked briefly, something about how he was working now, his job in the next town over so he had come back, living with his family temporarily before finding a place of his own. you remember telling him you were happy for him, even if in all truthfulness you didn’t mean it. you didn’t wish eunseok any harm, but also couldn’t find it in yourself to celebrate his personal achievements after the amount of pain he inflicted on you. it was good he had found his path, but did that have to cost everything you ever cared about? maybe you were being dramatic, most likely selfish too, but it was just how you felt, unable to forget that your first and only love left you without a second thought, without missing a beat, simply saying sorry and seemingly forgetting all you ever had.

you were weak tho, far too weak, especially when it came to the man stood in front of you, so when eunseok asked if you could catch up you replied with a small “yes”, even if with every story he told you as you sat on your living room’s couch, your heart seemed to tighten a bit, each tale leaving a new, fresh wound on you. he truly had moved on, you thought to yourself, so full of new stories to tell and experiences to share it made you feel jealous, because compared to him you were somehow still your small 18 year old self, hurt by how your boyfriend had just come up to your parents house and broke up with you, too shocked to cry but also not strong enough to stop the knot in your throat from making numb tears roll down your face. eunseok shattered you that night, and somehow, even after so long, you still hadn’t put all the pieces back together.

and it showed, because at the first chance, you fell back onto eunseok’s arms without thinking if that wouldn’t just make everything worse.

his lips felt warm against yours, as soft and comforting as you remembered, the way eunseok cupped your cheeks with his hands while you shared such a sweet kiss far too gentle coming from the person who broke you. maybe he didn’t realize it, realize just how much harm he had caused, and maybe that was okay, you tried to convince yourself, because if he was as willing to fix everything as he had just said he was, all of it might just have been worth it — every tear, every ache, every single thing that sent you down a spiralling hole of blaming yourself for something you hadn’t caused.

either way, none of it mattered in that moment, not when eunseok was kissing you so passionately, like he did truly miss you, miss the two of you, pulling you in like his grip on your body was just an extension of how much he had felt your absence in his life in the last few years. maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t, what mattered was that for once you didn’t care, only focusing on how his body felt glued to yours, how familiar his touch felt.

eunseok took you to your bedroom, navigating your small apartment as if it was his own — or perhaps yours to share — laying you on your cushioned mattress cautiously, eyes flickering through your body for a second as you laid there for him, before getting on top of you, knees bent on either side of your own as he leaned down for another kiss, a small peck, so short and yet so full of desire.

that oh so familiar knot in your throat started to tighten, just as eunseok’s lips drifted elsewhere, now pressing against your cheek, going lower, down the side of your neck and then right over when you felt the tension of bubbling tears build — a gentle kiss all it took for one to drip down the side of your face. eunseok didn’t notice it at first, but once he saw the single salty droplet leave a watery trail through your skin, his brows furrowed ever so slightly, a stroke of worry glazing through his expression before it went back to how it was before — soft, gentle, and yet so full of lust.

“it’s okay angel, i’m here now” he whispered, his thumb wiping away the lonely tear before more came pouring down slowly, as if they were taking their time. “i’m here now” eunseok repeated, his tone even gentler this time “i won’t leave again” and he seemed to mean it, and you allowed yourself to believe he did, because why wouldn’t he? why would the boy who once loved you so much go through all of this just to hurt you again? it wouldn’t make sense, would it? so you allowed it, allowed eunseok to undress both of you, each article of clothing that came off accompanied by a swift kiss that swept away a single tear. nothing was rushed, everything coming in it’s own time, the pace languid and yet, it couldn’t be more perfect.

you allowed eunseok to lead, letting him push you further up the bed so your head rested on your pillows, their plush material eventually sucking up any stray tear that eunseok’s lips didn’t catch.

the first time he pushed into you after so long felt heavenly. he fit inside you perfectly, your walls hugging his girth as if you two were pieces of a puzzle meant to be put together. “god…” eunseok muttered under his breath after bottoming out inside you, eyes closing for a moment before focusing on yours again, his brows furrowing ever so slightly once more at the tears slowly streaming down your face. “i missed you so much… so, so much” he whispered, his hands once more moving to cup your cheeks, his thumbs washing away the small droplets, his cock twitching inside you at the sight of them.

eunseok started moving his hips, pulling them away then pushing them against yours, each stroke at the perfect speed to not be too rapid and still hit that sweet spot inside you just hard enough to feel good. he kissed your face, your neck — any part of you he could reach, cleaning your tears with sweet pecks, grunting at how tight your cunt felt around his cock, how your walls trembled around him in pleasure, sucking him in so well, the salty flavor against his lips only adding to it. you moaned softly, almost shyly, your nails digging into eunseok’s naked shoulders, your eyes closed as you focused solely on every sensation flowing through your body, afraid of not taking it in enough, afraid this once would truly be the last time.

maybe it should be, maybe you should just move on and take this as your chance of getting the closure you had desperately seeked for years — but how could you? how could you when eunseok was on top of you, touching and kissing you as if you were the most precious and delicate thing ever, fucking you like he used to, each stroke full of love. this wouldn’t give you any closure, it would only make you miss eunseok more, maybe even resent him more, so as he delivered his last strokes, his seed filling you up perfectly, you held onto him tightly, whispering a small “please don’t leave again”. it probably made you look ridiculous, begging your ex to come back to you, but you didn’t care, only focused on the hug you shared with the boy who left you all too soon.

[retellingthehobbit]

you've got me missing my old bagginshield days badly lmaooo. Bilbo's always been very queer to me and I didn't even know about that passage from unfinished tales- but I've always been very drawn to his gentle hobbit gender and eternal bachelor status. might go delve into some old AO3 classics now...

Thank you, thank you, one of my key goals here is to inspire Bagginshield Nostalgia. Bilbo really invented being “the eccentric gay uncle” just as Frodo invented being “the tragic doomed gay waif.” (Also speaking of the classics, someone else is doing a webcomic adaptation of Sansukh over at @sansukhcomic .)

This could probably be its own post, but part of the reason I’m drawn to making fanwork for The Hobbit (over lord of the rings) is because there’s always an intentional feeling that something is missing from the hobbit, and there’s a part of the story we’re not being told. Not just in the usual sense of “people go to fanfic for the things that they can’t get in canon,” but also in the incomplete way that The Hobbit (the original book) is integrated into Lord of the Rings.

When I was a kid, the part of the Hobbit I read the most often (outside of the riddles game) was the scene where Bilbo spares Gollum’s life. This scene was not actually in the original edition of The Hobbit—in the original version published in the 30s, Gollum was a nice guy who just gifted Bilbo the ring. Tolkien later retconned this to something that’d fit more with LOTR—- with the in-universe justification that “Bilbo is an unreliable narrator who lied about how he got the Ring.” The scene that had grabbed me so much was one that Tolkien wrote when he revisited The Hobbit, and was now retelling the story through the lens of the stories that came after.

And while we are told that Bilbo is truthful about everything else, there’s also a moment in FOTR where Frodo notes that “Bilbo always jokes about serious things,” which casts the upbeat tone of The Hobbit into a different light.

Rather than completely rewrite the hobbit to fit into LOTR’s tone— something Tolkien partially did before realizing it was not a good idea— he allowed it to continue feeling “off.” He sowed doubt about the story, the feeling that we might not have seen the “true” version of it.

This is something I’ve also really loved about the opening of the film version of the Fellowship of the Ring— the first forty minutes of the extended cut focus so much on Bilbo, but are rewriting him through the lens of LOTR rather than his character in The Hobbit. They really lean into the idea that he shared an idealized sanitized child-friendly story of his adventures with Frodo, while repeatedly concealing a darker truth— and it works really well!

And The Hobbit/Bagginshield fandom was the first place where I saw people really digging into that idea? And while I have mixed feelings about the hobbit films, they also started to touch this idea…. And obviously I really enjoy their more serious portrayal of Thorin, and the dynamic/character foil relationship he has with Bilbo. (If only they had more screentime XP.) but the fandom really keyed into that dynamic, and explored all the possibilities/depth of it in a way the films never fully did.

Not only they are a Quality Ship(tm), they could also have this really deep connection to the source material as well? It’s not really the hobbit or lord of the rings, but this special thing that exists in conversation with it. And I think there’s especially something interesting/relevant about a tragic queer love story getting “censored” into a lighthearted children’s adventure. Obviously I don’t necessarily think my own fanfic webcomic can convey that perfectly, but it is an idea I really find interesting.

Wow that was a text wall. TL:DR:

[sonicboomrevisited]

I always want to ask this, I know sketch is the original author, querty helps with the writing, and star inks the pages. Whenever I imagine you three working on a page, its not just like a production line, but you each bounce off ideas towards each other to see which you all like. I really think you guys killed it in issue 2, and have some ideas how issue 3 will go, just wanting to send you three my support from over here.

p.s as an inspiring writer (writing my own sonic fanfic from a fanfic rn), I want to ask querty or sketch, do you have any tips on writing in general?

Hello, Kowitos!

Thank you for your kind words! It means a lot!!What you've imagined is pretty much how it works! I, MultiSketch, came up with the idea for SBR. I sat down and wrote the scripts, occasionally asking @mama-qwerty for input or advice on how things should flow. I am a very nervous writer, so it really helps to have a partner I can bounce dialogue and plot off of! Star has also helped generate ideas for future arcs!

Once the scripting is settled, I start pencilling and inking pages, showing Qwerty and @star-stages my progress for any ideas or input they may have (it's how we ended up with our Fake Sonic stealing Sonic's scarf in Issue 2!) and so Star can already start thinking about the colors. After I finish inking, I send the pages to Star for coloring. She always comes to me to check things for accuracy to the script or may even point out mistakes in the lineart which I always appreciate. Once she's done, I letter, show Star and Qwerty for finally checks and kind words before they go out to you guys!

The best tip I can give you for writing, Kowitos, is to not let yourself do so in a vacuum. Some writers work well locked in a dark room all by themselves, but my best stories have always been written through collaboration. There is something to be said about too many cooks in the kitchen, but having someone by your side to push aside any nerves you may have makes the journey easier.

Also, for the love of all, OUTLINE. You don't have to stick to the plan, but every good drawing starts with a simple sketch. Stories are the same. Give yourself something for reference. It'll help you keep your thoughts in order.

Most importantly, remember to write for yourself and certainly no one else. Unless that someone else is your friends. Then do your best to make them smile.

[rustedleopard]

I feel like if Chujin was still alive during the events of Undertale Yellow, his and Clover's relationship would be incredibly rocky. Pacifist!Clover could bring him around to tolerating them (after all, they have that sort of effect on everyone), but it would be more in a "this human is the only 'good' human" manner than a "maybe I should reevaluate my opinions on humans overall because you can't judge an entire group based off (very biased) stories and one bad experience." Even then, that opinion would be subject to change should Clover ever get frustrated or behave "too aggressively" or act in any manner that isn't perfectly docile. If Clover ends up attacking a monster then it's "humans are just as horrible as they were in the war stories, I should've known better" regardless of the circumstances that could've pushed Clover to fight. Suffocating expectations and endless demands for patience when he wouldn't ask the same of a fellow monster.

And heaven forbid he ever meet Clover on a No Mercy Run...

[sysig]

Font of Inspiration (Patreon)

[roguemonsterfucker]

don't mind me i'm just watching some monsterfucker movies for 'research' purposes

[pixelatedraindrops]

RainCode Possible Planned SickFic MasterList:

It is unknown when I will start writing these nor if I will write them all, but I will try to get some of them done at some point this year! The order also doesn’t matter. This is just a planned list! Nothing here is final aside of the last fic on the list!

(SOME DO CONTAIN HEAVY SPOILERS SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK ⛔️ !)

Shattered Resolve (A Home Is Where The Heart Is Alternate Ending)-

What if Yuma got worse instead of better? And it shakes Yakou’s resolve to go through with the sacrifice/murder plan that he had in mind?

type: oneshot

Kanai Ward’s Not So Comforting Food-

Yuma gets food poisoning after eating a meat bun. Though his mind forgot, his body KNOWS something is VERY wrong with the food.

type: oneshot

A Sick Day for the NDA-

Sequel fic to Under the Weather; where everyone else in the agency catches Yuma’s cold. And a now healthier Yuma has to care for them all by himself.

type: unknown

I Can Always Rely On You (KokoWendy)-

During an investigation between the Detective and Informant, Yuma gets sick and Kurumi returns him to safety to care for him. But after Yuma gets better, Kurumi catches what Yuma had, and it’s worse. Yuma repays the favor by caring for her. And he finds out he cares a lot more for her than he thought.

type: two-parter/chapter

The Chilled Trainee-

Yuma gets put into an icy fridge for a while by peacekeepers until the NDA comes to his rescue. But by the time they return to base, he starts to suffer from hypothermia. The agency does what they can to keep him warm.

type: unknown

Truth Behind the Mask Under an Unfortunate Circumstance-

AU where Yuma finds out the truth to Makoto’s identity (and everything about Kanai Ward) sooner due to the masked individual collapsing on him from exhaustion, and his mask comes off.

type: oneshot

A Heartwarming Reunion (MakoYuma)- DONE

Postgame Fic where Makoto becomes almost dangerously ill due to overworking with no rest while already being sick. And a more serious Ex.Number One Yuma struggles to try and take care of him. He uses his memories of when the NDA cared for him before to help guide him. Finale Fic to the Sickfics of the Heart Saga.

type: multi-chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: For the fics I have that include ship names, it will be very platonic/tame as I’m not really into romance as a genre. But it will likely still be sweet enough for shippers to enjoy c:

But yeah this is a list for me to possibly attempt whenever!

Figured I’d at least have these written down.

Lmk which ones interest you or have your attention if you want to c:

(and who knows I may get even more ideas later in the year… xD)

[pencap]

.

[darabeatha]

/ I've noticed that at this point I'm not even writing on any blog anymore, I just come and yell about some blorbo and leave. Rinse and repeat my lieges

[tvxcue]

when people act like colin would just accept someone he's dating being mean to penelope it's just like. that's not true. he decided to eternally have beef with cressida bc she was mean to penelope one time in his presence. he hears portia being mean to penelope and immediately tells her off so thoroughly it changes the course of the entire featherington family. and u want me to believe he would be chill with someone he's dating being mean to her? be so serious.

[naradreamt]

I go on tangents in the x freaks discord sometimes

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Oh man I really agree with your tags on that one post. The whole king of delusion thing is terrible to me bc like. Delusions aren’t some gotcha you can use against him? It’s a serious mental health issue? But I’d also like to add I hate when people mock him for smelling bad or having poor hygiene or w/e… :/ It’s not funny when people with mental illness can’t properly take care of their hygiene lol I thought we were all understanding of this?

EXACTLY. It's not like "wow look how wrong you are and how terrible you are for being delusional".

Also the hygiene thing pisses me off too. I know lots of his fans use it as a joke, even affectionately, but like... he was homeless. He was living in the slums. Most people around him probably smelled bad. I'm sure they and he cleaned up whenever they could, but buddy, the slums isn't a public showering area. They'd be lucky if they were able to bathe. It's not something they take for granted. Even the "smelly cape" jokes bother me.

I've met homeless people. I've lived in a shelter where I met people who prior to that shelter lived in tents. Showering and bathing isn't something they could just get up and do before being in the shelter. Those people are lucky if they can even go to the bathroom in a proper bathroom, let alone being able to bathe.

Then like you said, on top of that, he's mentally ill. He's not thinking about his next bath. He's talking to people who are dead, believing they are answering him back and responding to their answers to him. There's also the general idea that Lambert's last words were not actually what were told to us via Dimitri's flashback, but the words he remembers because of his illness. He is very likely remembering wrong, because that version of Lambert matches the version of him that Dimtiri talks to, but does not match the version of him in Rodrigue's flashback.

Even depression can cause a lack of proper hygiene, and that's also a mental illness. In his case he has full on episodes of either psychotic breaks or having conversations with people who aren't there, and when he's out of those states he's desperately trying to do what he's been told to do by those voices. He's trying to do it both for those people and because, as he expresses later into AM, he wants them to stop. Those voices harass him day in and out and ridicule him and it hurts him, so he becomes desperate to do what they tell him so they stop tormenting him (which is part why he's so hellbent on hurrying to finish his tasks in the first half of AM).

It's an absolute spiral of a situation, where he already has these delusions but now on top of them feels absolutely terrible and like someone who has been emotionally abused by loved ones for years and years. He loves them but is terrified of them because they always say awful things to him or try to say things about him that aren't true. The worst part is that these are delusions of people who loved him and were nothing like this, so it causes even more suffering for him.

I don't really understand why it's so funny to people to poke fun at characters with or for bad hygiene. Like, firstly it's... just not a funny thing/topic? And secondly I'm sure there are people uncomfortable with it because they have bad hygiene or lower than "socially acceptable" hygiene due to mental illness and feel they're being laughed at as well for their hygiene. That's definitely a stereotypical mindset and something society does to make fun of people less fortunate than them, be it physically, mentally or both (like not having access to bathing.

Rich people can bathe whenever they want and often in media look down on "stinky people" who are always the poor, generally living in the slums). It's a very unfortunate dominant mindset and almost always comes from people who are more well off and haven't experienced it for themselves to realize how awful it can be (and there are of course people who don't need to experience something to know how bad it is, and I wish there were just more people like that).

I just don't understand what's so funny about hygiene. If anything it just feels like people laughing at the concept of someone not being up to society's standards about health, and it's what literal kids do to make fun of each other. Like, if someone smells bad, I feel like we should be more concerned about the person and why that is... and that would be the case if society raised its people to think that way, but since society raised people to be the opposite (to make fun of smelly people), most people who haven't experienced it for themselves make fun of it.

Like... idk am I missing something lol, I just don't see the humor in someone smelling bad. Even without considering any implications behind it I still don't see the humor in it. Considering Dimitri's circumstances though it just feels very wrong to see people make fun of him for that. I know fans of his that do it are doing it harmlessly and most likely wouldn't make fun of real people for similar things, but it just doesn't sit right with me. There's just nothing amusing about poor hygiene.

Using it as fuel to hate on him though is just is a show of someone's true character and who they really are. :/ Anyone who makes fun of him for his hygiene and mental illness are the kind of people who look down on people with those problems and deserve to experience it for themselves to see just how awful that shit can be. It being fictional doesn't change the fact that it's a show on someone's true character to be able to make fun of someone suffering, and especially to the extent Dimitri does.

Like yes, Edelgard suffered, but she has her own way of moving past it. She's not suffering in the same way as Dimitri or handling it the same way and comes across as "strong" for that - another societal mindset from people who think it's "strong" to not show that you're suffering or have suffered. It's how she handles it, sure, and that's fine... but it's people's reactions to how differently they handle their trauma that's so obnoxious.

People can only be pushed so far, and people hate on Dimtiri for his violence despite that being part of his illness and trauma. Hating on people for being violent as a result of their feelings or past is an awful thing and I really think anyone who can hate on a good and well meaning/intentioned person (real or fictional) simply because they're violent toward bad things needs some serious introspection (like Dimitri having violent reactions to seeing innocents being slaughtered in front of him at Remire. It was an impulsive reaction that he would've hid if he could have, but he wasn't able to).

Like oh no, how dare someone be violent and aggressive toward murderers! How dare someone say off with their head when they've done terrible things! Not everyone is perfectly peaceful and puritan. Hell, Edelgard isn't either and chooses violence as her first and foremost answer to everything, and only considers "negotiations" (i.e. anything that will benefit her/the Empire and only her) if she's losing and only stands to gain from them.

Her first solution to everything is violence, and yet Dimitri is the one who gets shat on for... being violent. Because of his trauma and illness specifically, both in game and out. But since Edelgard has been able to moved past her trauma for the most part and has a different way of handling it that "looks better", he looks "bad" for not having gotten past his trauma yet. Good for her to be able to handle it the way she does, but why is it "bad for him" that he can't handle it "better"?