#COFFEE PRESS TRAVEL MUG

[whosashan]

Silent treatment

How I think the LaDS men would react to being given the Silent treatment by you!

Xavier

Xavier is a patient man—truly, he is. He���s long grown accustomed to your peculiar ways, your little oddities. At times, he struggles to make sense of your antics, yet somehow, that only makes you all the more endearing to him.

The two of you sat across from each other on the couch in your apartment, the dim glow of the television flickering across your faces. The faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air from a candle burning on the coffee table, mixing with the remnants of popcorn and the intoxicating scent of your lover. A movie played—a familiar pastime for the both of you whenever time allowed with your busy schedules. You stole a glance at him, watching the way he sipped on the drink you had made earlier, fingers loosely curled around the mug, his gaze fixed on the screen. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the ceramic told you he was completely absorbed.

It was only when he finally noticed your unwavering stare that he turned to meet your gaze. And for a brief moment, he could have sworn that if looks could kill, he’d already be dead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Concern laced his voice, reflected in the blue of his eyes. Ironically, the sight of his worry only seemed to frustrate you further.

Since the moment he arrived, he had barely paid you any attention, too caught up in the film to acknowledge you properly. It was frustrating—how could he? He should be paying attention to you, not some cliché movie about time travel. The urge to turn it off crossed your mind, but you decided not to do that. You didn’t want him to notice how irritated you were.

Instead of answering, you merely turned your gaze back to the screen, feigning indifference. Even then, you could feel his eyes lingering on you, his confusion palpable.

The couch dipped slightly as he shifted closer, his warmth seeping into your skin. The space between you shrank, yet you remained still, stubborn in your silence.

"Baby..." His voice was soft, coaxing, and it took every ounce of restraint not to let your resolve crumble right then and there. His touch, his tone—it all made your heart ache in the most infuriating way. But pride held you firm, so you continued to ignore him.

And then, without warning, you felt him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, breathing you in as if he could commit your scent to memory. A shiver ran through you, your body tensing for a split second before surrendering to his warmth. He placed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw.

"Talk to me." His voice had taken on a firmer edge now, more insistent, though still laced with quiet desperation.

When silence was his only answer, he did something unexpected. A sharp sting bloomed against your neck. He had bitten you.

"Xavier!" you gasped, jolting in surprise.

"So you do hear me," he murmured, exhaling softly, almost as if in relief.

You turned to face him at last, pouting. He was smiling—just barely—but there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his expression. He had won. He always did, you could never truly say no to him.

"Will you finally tell me what's on your mind, princess?" The pet name sent butterflies straight to your stomach, quickening your heartbeat.

A beat of silence passed before you relented, arms crossing in defiance. "You're not paying any attention to me. You’ve been glued to that movie this whole time—what's so fascinating about it, anyway?"

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek before pulling you into his embrace, his arms winding securely around you.

"Then I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you," he murmured. "Starting now."

Zayne

"Darling."

Zayne's voice drifted through the quiet apartment, low and slightly hoarse—a telltale sign that he hadn’t been awake for long. It was a rare morning where neither of you had to rush off to work, a quiet reprieve from the usual chaos.

And yet, you remained silent.

Utter disbelief rooted you in place. The audacity. The betrayal. The pastries you had been looking forward to all night, the ones you had carefully chosen to enjoy with your morning coffee, were gone—devoured by none other than your sweet-toothed lover.

Under normal circumstances, it might have been a minor grievance, something to brush off with a sigh and a shake of your head. But after the past few days of relentless stress at work, this was simply the final straw.

You wouldn’t take it out on him, of course. He hadn’t known. It wasn’t his fault.

So instead, you ignored him. Well, at least until you calmed your nerves down.

Rather than making coffee, you opted for tea, hoping it might ease your irritation. You moved through the kitchen quietly, the warm mug cradled in your hands, its steam curling up toward your face.

And then—familiar hands.

Zayne’s arms wrapped around your waist, his touch effortlessly grounding, the press of his lips against the top of your head unbearably tender. He always had a way of melting through your defenses before you even realized it was happening.

His voice, smooth and deliberate, broke the silence. "Is something troubling you?" He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

Still, you said nothing.

He shifted slightly, gently turning you to face him. His dark hair was still tousled from sleep, and his eyes, half-lidded and heavy with lingering drowsiness, studied you with quiet curiosity. And for a moment, you faltered. He looked devastatingly good like this—soft and unguarded in the early morning light.

But then, the memory of your missing pastries resurfaced.

"Did I do something to upset you?" His tone remained even, but there was an unmistakable thread of concern woven beneath his usual stoicism. He reached for your free hand, the one not cradling your tea, and brought it to his cheek. His lips brushed over your wrist, something he has done countless times before, his touch effortlessly affectionate, yet it made your heart flutter, gaze softening.

You sighed. This man was going to be the death of you.

"You ate my pastries." Your voice was flat, your brows pulling together in a small frown.

A beat of silence. Then, understanding dawned in his expression.

"Ah," he murmured. "I see."

His grip on your hand didn’t loosen as he met your gaze, unshaken as ever. "I sincerely apologize, love. Allow me to make it up to you—come out with me, and I’ll buy you as many pastries as your heart desires."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Are you attempting to bribe me, Dr. Zayne?"

A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his lips, the closest thing to amusement you would get from him this early in the morning.

"Is it working?"

*Is it?*

Rafayel

It was the third time this month that Rafayel had summoned you to his studio under the guise of an "emergency."

And, just like the last two times, there was no real emergency—just another one of his elaborate attempts to steal your attention.

Normally, his antics would have made you smile, maybe even laugh. You’d always found his dramatic nature endearing, his endless need for your presence almost charming. But work had been relentless lately, stretching you thin. The days blurred together in a mess of exhaustion, your mind too preoccupied with tasks and responsibilities to indulge him as easily as before.

The first time, you found it amusing. The second, you let it slide. After all, how could you deny your lover a bit of attention? But now, standing in the middle of his paint-streaked studio, his so-called "emergency" nothing more than an empty excuse, you could feel frustration simmering beneath your skin.

"Y/N!" Rafayel’s voice carried through the room, laced with exaggerated despair as he reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could step out the door.

You paused but said nothing.

His grip tightened just slightly, his expression shifting into something almost comically wounded. "Are you actually mad at me?" He blinked at you, as if the very idea was beyond comprehension. It was clear he hadn't considered that disrupting your work might genuinely frustrate you.

You turned to face him, your expression firm. The moment his gaze met yours, he pouted—a soft, almost theatrical downturn of his lips that tugged at your heart despite your irritation.

Damn him.

You sighed, tearing your eyes away and attempting to leave again, but Rafayel wasn’t having it. His hold on your wrist remained firm, his grip gentle but insistent.

"Wait—I'm sorry!" His voice pitched slightly in alarm, his usual playful demeanor faltering as he scrambled to fix the situation. "I didn’t mean to make you mad. I just…" He hesitated, shoulders slumping slightly. "I just wanted to see you."

There was something so utterly boyish about the way he said it—so completely unguarded. You could hear the pout in his voice even without looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, some of your frustration ebbing away.

"Rafayel…" you murmured, your voice softer now. Turning back to him, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his paint-smudged fingers ghosting over your own.

"I'm not mad that you want to spend time with me," you reassured him gently. "But you can’t keep making up emergencies when you know I’m working. It’s not fair, love."

His brows knit together, guilt flickering across his features.

You huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll take a day off soon, and when I do, I’ll be all yours. No interruptions, I promise."

The transformation was instant. His entire face lit up, joy replacing every trace of guilt as he all but tackled you into his embrace, arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

"You swear it?" His voice was muffled against your shoulder.

"I swear."

Rafayel pulled back just enough to grin at you, that familiar spark of mischief returning to his gaze. "Good. Because I already have about ten different date ideas, and I expect full participation."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Of course you do."

And just like that, your frustration melted away.

Sylus

You sat in Sylus' kitchen, at the grand kitchen island, indulging in whatever you felt like having at that moment, though the food did little to ease the frustration simmering beneath your skin.

Mephisto had been following you again.

The mechanical crow had a way of appearing when you least expected it, its glowing eyes tracking your every move like an ever-present specter. It unsettled you, always lingering just at the edge of your vision, a silent observer in the shadows. You even found him in your apartament once, still wondering how he got there.

You had spoken to Sylus about it more times than you could count, but the man seemed utterly unbothered, amused even, by your grievances.

“Are you planning to ignore me all day, sweet girl?” His deep, velvety voice broke through the silence, laced with the usual undertones of amusement. “I’ve already told you—Mephisto has simply taken an extreme liking to you.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, and instead busied yourself with your meal. When that wasn’t enough of a distraction, you reached for your phone, scrolling aimlessly through the screen in an attempt to block out his presence.

But Sylus was nothing if not persistent.

You could feel his gaze on you—heavy, assessing, waiting. The subtle heat of his presence grew nearer, the faint scent of his cologne—dark spice and expensive leather—curling around you.

Then, effortlessly, he plucked the phone from your hands.

Your head snapped up, a scowl already settling on your face as you turned to glare at him. He, of course, remained entirely unruffled. A slow smirk curled his lips, and before you could snatch your device back, he tucked it into his pocket.

“You’ll get it back once you decide to talk to me.” He settled onto the stool beside you, elbow resting against the marble, his posture entirely relaxed as he watched your reaction with open amusement.

You huffed, turning away without a word. If he thought this was going to be enough to pull a response from you, he was sorely mistaken.

But you had underestimated Sylus.

The moment you stepped away, you felt his hand catch your waist, firm yet effortless, and in one fluid motion, he pulled you back against him. Your breath hitched as you collided with his chest, the warmth of his body pressing into yours, the scent of him dizzying.

He sighed against your ear, low and indulgent. “You’re being difficult.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“I do not wish to be followed and monitored by your mechanical crow. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much.”

Sylus hummed, his fingers still resting against your waist as he turned you to face him. His expression remained unreadable, though there was something in his dark gaze—something knowing, something teasing.

“I know you are,” he said smoothly. “Alright, I’ll tell him to tone it down.”

Your brows furrowed, your skepticism evident, but you knew this was the best concession you would get from him.

“You’re terrible,” you muttered, though there was no real venom behind it.

He chuckled, his arms slipping around you fully, pulling you against him in a slow, deliberate embrace.

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”

Caleb

The apartment was warm, bathed in the soft glow of dimmed lights, the scent of home-cooked food still lingering in the air. Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes, a quiet backdrop to the clinking of dishes as Caleb moved around the kitchen, tidying up after dinner.

You sat at the dinner table, absently poking at the meal he had made you, though your appetite had long faded. Something gnawed at you, a strange ache settling in your chest that you couldn’t quite shake.

Caleb, of course, noticed immediately.

"You’re looking at that food like it personally offended you," he quipped, glancing over his shoulder. "What’s wrong, pipsqueak?"

You didn’t answer.

Your frown deepened as you idly pushed your fork against the plate, the silence between you stretching just a little too long.

The sound of running water cut off. Moments later, he was at your side, kneeling beside your chair, bringing himself to your eye level. His presence was steady, familiar—the scent of his cologne mixed with something undeniably Caleb.

Then—poke.

His finger prodded your cheek, once, twice, thrice, in an attempt to get a reaction out of you. Anything. He hated seeing you like this, all quiet and brooding.

"Guess you’re not that talkative now, huh?" His voice was teasing, but his eyes—warm and intent—searched your face for answers. The boyish grin he wore, the same one that had always made your heart falter just a little, did nothing to ease your mood.

You sighed, your gaze drifting—away from him, away from his teasing expression—to his neck. Bare.

The necklace. His necklace. Your necklace. The one you had given him, the one he always wore.

It wasn’t there.

He caught the flicker of emotion that crossed your face, and just like that, he understood. Of course, he did. He had known you for too long, had memorized every little shift in your expression, every mannerism that gave you away.

“I took it off while I was at work,” he admitted, watching you carefully. “Left it in my uniform and forgot to bring it with me.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

"But it’s safe," he reassured, reaching up to tousle your hair with a careless grin. “I’ll make sure to bring it next time, okay? Don’t pout on me now.”

You winced. “Caleb! I just washed my hair!”

And just like that, the tension was gone, washed away as you swatted at him in protest. His grin widened as he swiftly dodged your hands, the shift in your mood exactly what he had been aiming for.

The next thing you knew, you were chasing him through the apartment, the air filled with your laughter as he weaved through the furniture, just out of reach.

"Alright, alright, truce!" He lifted his hands in surrender, though the smirk on his lips told you he had no intention of actually stopping.

For now, the necklace was forgotten. For now, there was only this—the warmth, the laughter, the easy way he pulled you back in, just like he always did.

[pseudowho]

Yuuji's hand hovered over the receiver, paralysed. His universe zeroed in on the little plastic bubble around him, and the payphone, with the chatter, ringing, beeping and bustling of the Police Station behind him. The cuffs chafed on his wrist. He thought and thought, reaching for the receiver again, before freezing.

The police officer behind Yuuji tapped his foot. "Get on with it, kid." Yuuji shrunk in on himself, smaller than ever.

"Uhh...I'm really sorry. I don't think I'm ready for my first call yet. Can I have a bit longer?"

A huff from the officer. Yuuji's wrists clanked as he was grabbed by the upper arm, a heavy clang as he was pressed back into the cell, locked in. There was a drunk on the perpendicular bench. Some big guy with a kill you stare, the other side.

Yuuji tried not to cry as he hunched down towards his knees.

He had never felt so orphaned, as he did in this moment.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento hummed to himself, outwardly upbeat, and happy to be so in the absence of observers. He grabbed his travel mug from the desk; his paperwork was completed. He was advised he wouldn't be needed for the rest of the day, so why don't you just head off early? We'll just call you if we need you.

Words like syrup. Kento's metaphorical sweet shop. He lapped it up. He dropped you a text; home soon. I'll make dinner.

Making himself a fresh coffee, Kento felt his pocket buzzing. His humming stopped at the Unknown Number on screen, eyebrows pinching together. He answered, stirring his coffee.

"Nanami Kento speaking."

Initial silence. An awkward rustle. Kento waited.

"...Nanamin. I'm sorry, I...I didn't know who else to call. I'm in trouble." Kento turned his back on his coffee, pacing in front of his desk, a prickle of fear up his spine.

"Itadori-kun. Where are you?"

"I'm...I'm downtown. I was arrested. I was only trying to help--"

"I'll be right there. Don't say anything. You're safe. I'll be straight there."

Kento put the phone down, concern clipping his movements. He looked down at his phone, thinking. He tapped out two more text messages, grabbed his travel mug, and headed out to his car in long, purposeful strides.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the time Kento arrived, guided into the station by a receptionist, he scowled to see Yuuji being interrogated at a desk by an officer.

"I swear, I was just checkin' the place out, just--just bein' stupid, I didn't mean--"

"--didn't think the "No Entry" signs were for you, huh? What was the plan, go in and wreck the place? Damn kids--"

"Excuse me for interrupting. I don't believe you're supposed to be interviewing minors without a chaperone."

The police officer stopped, bristling as he looked up at Kento, looming down over him. Kento silenced Yuuji with a heavy hand on the shoulder. A travel mug of hot coffee was gently pressed into Yuuji's hands.

"Don't answer him, Yuuji. We're waiting for your lawyer."

Yuuji looked so small and tired, folded over on himself, that Kento felt a prickle of cold rage frost through him at Yuuji's treatment.

Kento's eyes flicked across the desk. He noted paperwork, with Yuuji's name. He noticed the 'Next of Kin' section...empty. Kento's stomach clenched, and his grip on Yuuji's shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. The police officer shivered under a chilly gaze.

"Nanamin...I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you have nothing to be sorry for. This man, however--" the officer's blood ran cold when Kento's eyes swung to him again, "--should know better than to bully a child."

A rustle and a clatter sounded behind Kento and Yuuji. Yuuji heard a deep voice, apologising for knocking something off a desk, before another hand landed on his other shoulder. Yuuji gaped up.

"...Higuruma?" Hiromi glanced down, coal-soft eyes belying a little smile. The police officer sputtered into his coffee, looking frantically between the two men, now.

"Higuruma? Shit. I don't get paid enough for this."

"I assume you're charging my client with something." Hiromi sat, crossing his legs, hands clasped on his lap.

"He broke into an abandoned hospital--"

"Was it locked?"

"...ahhh..."

"Did he cause any damage?" Total silence. Hiromi cleared his throat.

"Did my client come with you willingly?" The police officer's face twisted, bitter and snide.

Hiromi blinked once, slowly. "I see. So, simple trespass really? With a minor, first offence? A caution at most, really, isn't it."

Yuuji looked over to Kento, who was busy scribbling something on Yuuji's paperwork, while Hiromi ground the police officer into the dirt on the other side of him.

"I assume you felt something inside the hospital. You weren't investigating just for fun?" A stern gaze through tinted lens.

"No, I...I think there's a Curse in there. Didn't get to it before I ran into the cops."

A hum. "Ah. I'll get Ijichi onto it." Yuuji nodded, his eyes prickling with tears. Kento's hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him, a flood of warmth down through his body.

"How long were you here for? Before you decided to call me."

"Uh...four or five hours." A pregnant pause from Kento. A sigh, Kento's voice softening.

"You can always call me, Yuuji." Kento stood, straightening his cuffs. "You'll come home with me for dinner. You're hungry." Yuuji's belly rumbled in response. Kento's lips almost quirked at Yuuji's sunny grin, reminded of another boy he once knew.

In due time, Yuuji was released with a caution. Hiromi clapped him on the shoulder with a lopsided smile, giving Yuuji's jaw a pat, before leaving for home. Yuuji stood, glancing at his paperwork on the desk.

In the previously empty "Next of Kin" section, in neat block capitals, with a phone number and address, was listed: NANAMI KENTO.

[propertyofwicked]

YOU OWE ME - LN

warnings: none, just fluff (inspired by that one CL stream). this is so short pls forgive me

(also, anyone else seen the pics of lando in aus? FERAL for that man.)

“tier 1 sub - max can you tell lando to get off his computer and let me in the flat please im freezing” max reads out, bursting into laughter, “youre in trouble mate.”

max hears a travelling shout of swearing, getting quieter as lando’s headset is thrown to the desk and his entire body hurtling towards the front door.

“shit shit shit shit,” lando shouts, his fingers struggling with the keys left on the inside of the door. finally he manages to unlock the door and pull it open to see his girlfriend, rosy cheeked and a less than impressed expression.

“lando, how many times have i said to take the keys out of the door if you lock it and im not home - especially if youre not going to answer your phone.”

“im sorry baby, im sorry i know - i forgot,” he mumbles, his hands taking yours and bringing them to his face. he flinches slightly at the sheer coldness of your fingers, “do you want a drink? hot chocolate? tea? coffee? it’ll warm you up”

“i’d love a cup of tea,” you smile sadly, shrugging your horribly thin jacket off. honestly, with the typical english winter, your jacket was almost useless in combatting the cold winds anyways. you move to follow lando into the kitchen, watching him fill the kettle and move to grab a mug from the cupboard.

“come here,” you say, opening your arms slightly for lando to move into. he moves to you instantly.

“you’re not angry at me?”

“no, i am. youre just warm” you say, looking up to smile at him. his hands fall to your waist, gripping your hips and hoisting you up to sit on the counter, but he doesn’t move back into your embrace. instead, his arms move to take his hoodie off himself, and pull it over your head.

“better?”

“slightly,” you're still smiling at him as you adjust the hoodie - lando can tell you're not angry at him, just slightly irritated.

“the heating’s on, my office is warm - you wanna go sit in there whilst i finish your tea, angel?” he asks, his hand stroking your cheek, “max is on call if you wanna talk to him for a bit? he’s streaming but you already know that,” he grins, his tongue sticking into the side of his cheek.

“i think max’s chat deserve to know how bad of a boyfriend you are,” you joke, hoisting yourself off the counter, ready to march on in and complain to the stream. lando’s hand catches your arm, spinning you back into his chest. his hand comes back to your cheek, and tilts your head back.

“im sorry baby, you know i am,” he frowns slightly - you reassure him that he is forgiven by pressing a small kiss to his lips. once again you go to move, but he pulls you back in, kissing you again - repeatedly pecking kisses all over your face and eventually your lips. his tongue swipes your bottom lip, begging for more. you pull your head back slightly, desperate to go and rat him out to max but his teeth nip down on your bottom lip again to prolong the connection.

“i don’t think so, lan,” you giggle, smiling up at him again. lando groans and swears you almost skip your way to his office, excited to tell max as he prepares for a night of grovelling.

“max. you’ll never believe this man,” you sigh, after popping lando’s headset on your own head.

“y/n! how are you?”

“freezing, max. and £10 poorer now i’ve had to sub to your twitch to be let into my own flat.”

“oh yeah, thanks for the sub,” max laughs out, looking at the chat, “it’s ok, chat reckon you should invoice lando for the inconvenience.”

“i think i might have to you know, although he’s making me a cup of tea right now and i might be able to pout my way into a takeaway tonight.”

“y/n that man is so whipped i don’t think you need to pout your way into him doing anything for you,” he responds, his emphasis on anything making you grin slightly.

minutes later, lando comes into the room, using his foot to kick the door open in front of him, his hands full with your mug and your lip balm. hang on, lip balm?

“here you go baby,” he says, placing the mug down on the coaster on his desk, “i put honey in it for your throat, and i brought your lip balm ‘cos your lips are dry,” he grins as he hands you the lip balm.

“my lips wouldn’t be dry if you’d answered the phone the first time i rang you,” you say, the eye roll evident in your voice, even to max who couldn’t see your face.

“hang on, y/n, how does he know your lips are dry?” max interrupts, his laugh travelling through the headset.

“because max, when two people love each other very muc-”

“ew stop it,” lando interjects, as he sets up a second set of headphones to join in the chat.

“he’s trying to regain my love with physical affection.”

“i can tell from your tone that it’s not working.”

“well, after that ‘ew’ i think i may have to revoke all physical affection.”

“you wouldn’t,” lando gasps, his hands dramatically clutching his chest.

“order dominoes and ill reconsider. you owe me.”

“yeah lando, and send her £10 to cover the cost of the twitch sub,” max shouts, siding with you, “chat also think you should, as a courtesy.”

you don’t say anything, but turn to look at him, puppy dog eyes and a pout to complete the look.

“fine! fine,” he laughs again, holding his hands up in surrender, “i was going to offer anyways.”

“sure you were,” you and max manage to say simultaneously.

-

an hour later, your food had arrived and your saying goodbye to max and his chat, as lando goes to the door. however, by the time you shuffle into the living room, lando has began setting up netflix, sat next to a mound of blankets he’d brought in from your bedroom.

“hey you, come ‘ere,” he says, leaning his back against the arm of the sofa and tapping the space between his legs. once you were settled, your back resting on his chest, he leans to grab the pizza box on the coffee table in front of you - it went down quickly.

“funny how hungry you get when you’re left shivering in the freezing cold for hours," you think out loud.

“it wasn’t hours and i didn’t do it on purpose y/n,” lando whines, scoffing slightly at the time embellishment, absentmindedly playing with your fingers as he did.

“i know baby, i’m sorry. you’re forgiven,” you start to feel bad for him. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before manoeuvring you both further down the sofa until he’s laying completely flat, and you roll over so that your head can lay on his chest. the two of you lay in silence for a few moments, the tv still playing quietly in the background, and you feel his chest moving with every breath.

lando's hands wander underneath his your hoodie, and begin to trace small shapes on your skin, making you shiver slightly. then, a thought hits you.

“someone needs to make a compilation of F1 drivers accidentally locking their girlfriends out because they’re streaming,” he laughs as you say it, your whole body shaking from the shuddering of his laughing, "it seems to happen more than you'd think."

“hey! i wasn’t streaming - max was, i was just there. AND! i paid you back, charles never paid his girlfriend back for the sub.”

“oh, aren’t you generous.”

[mischievousmoony]

𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

⟢ poly!marauders x reader ⊹ 1.5k ⟢ your boys all have their own way of kissing you goodbye in the morning (ft. how each of the boys take their coffee)  ⟢ warnings/tags: reader wears makeup, fluff

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Monday mornings are the worst. The adjustment from carefree weekends to the beginning of a long work week is never easy, but at least you have your boyfriends to ease the blow. 

You’ve always been an early riser. Not because you are particularly a morning person, but because you need ample time to adjust from your deep sleep state to full alertness. 

Although, you’re never the first to rise; that’s always James. As soon as the sun is up, it seems that so is he. Sometimes, he even beats the sun to it. 

He does have the earliest start time out of all of you— him being a professional rugby player who’s due at practice as early as seven in the morning— but even if he didn't, you’re sure he would be up anyway. His morning regimen is even longer than yours, but aside from that, he is a true morning person. 

He's good at keeping quiet, though. At least until the rest of the house is awake. You don’t even hear him pad into the kitchen as you’re stuck in a trance-like state, watching your drip coffee maker slowly fill the glass jug with the steamy, black beverage. It’s been five minutes and the steady drip of coffee is hypnotizing to your sleepy mind. 

It’s only when James’ arms snake around your waist that you notice his presence; and you’re not startled at all as James nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck. You’ve come to expect him around this time, it being nearly time for him to leave for the day. 

“G’morning, love,” he murmurs into your skin, pressing a tender kiss there. 

Your hands slip away from the granite countertop where they were waiting and come to rest over his hands that join over your stomach. 

“Good morning, Jamie,” you whisper softly, letting your eyes flutter closed as you feel his warmth behind you. 

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes while you let the coffee machine finish its task. James has always been the touchiest of all the boys, and it almost seems like he can’t start his day properly without a lasting embrace before he leaves. 

When the coffee machine fizzles to a stop, James begins to ease away from you with a sigh, kissing your cheek on his departure. 

“Smells good,” James comments, rummaging through the cabinets to retrieve his travel mug and a porcelain one for you. 

You watch fondly as he pours your coffee first and fixes it the way you like it. He slides the mug down the counter and you gingerly take it into your hands. It’s still too hot to drink but the warm porcelain is always a treat for your skin. 

James prepares his own cup next, complete with milk and plenty of sugar. He has always liked the sweeter things in life, although he doesn’t always indulge himself. But his coffee is the one thing he’ll never skimp sugar on. 

With his coffee in one hand, he takes you by your waist in his other, pulling you a step closer to him. 

“I better go,” he says, a small pout displayed on his lips at the thought of leaving you. 

You nod understandingly and tilt your head up, giving him the access he needs to press his lips to yours. His goodbye kisses are always tender and lingering, him taking his time to savor the moment.

When he does finally pull away, he gives your waist a warning squeeze before the feeling of his lips on yours becomes a memory. Before he completely withdraws, he brushes your noses together, mumbling, “Miss you already.” 

“See you soon,” you reassure him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, eyes twinkling with warmth as he makes his departure. 

A content sigh leaves your lips as you pull a mug that matches your own from the cabinet. After filling it to the brim with black coffee, you take it and yours to the table. 

You take a sip of your coffee as you settle into your chair, humming happily and thinking of James fondly for making you the perfect cup. 

It’s only a few minutes later when Remus joins you, settling into the seat next to you. 

“Good morning, darling.”

“Morning, Rem,” you say, smiling happily as you watch him take his seat.

Remus returns your smile, taking the mug from the table with gratitude as he thanks you before taking a long sip of the dark beverage. 

Remus always likes to spend a little time with you in the morning before he leaves for work, which sparked this tradition of enjoying your coffee together. Sometimes you have a conversation, but Mondays mornings are usually spent in a comfortable silence. Still, Remus makes his presence known with a hand on your thigh under the table, tracing circles into your skin with his thumb. 

When you and Remus finish your coffees, you take the mugs to be rinsed in the sink. At the same time, Sirius bounds into the kitchen with purpose— always the last to rise even though he has to be the second out the door. 

“Good morning, my loves,” he says, his voice ringing out with the exuberance of midday, despite the early hour.

You and Remus greet him as he beelines for the coffee pot. His own travel mug is swiftly retrieved and he doesn’t waste any time before pouring the last of the coffee into his cup. 

Every morning, Sirius always tries a sip of the coffee the way Remus likes it as if one day his perspective will be changed. But it always ends with him wrinkling his nose and curbing the bitterness with more milk than there was originally coffee in his cup. 

He takes another sip and hums, “Much better.” 

Remus chuckles at Sirius’ antics, never understanding why he doesn’t just make the coffee he likes in the first place. His laughter draws Sirius’ attention, and you watch as he approaches Remus with haste. 

Sirius rounds the table to settle behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he bends down and begins leaving sloppy kisses to his neck and jawline. 

“Something funny?” he asks between kisses. 

"No," Remus denies, turning his head to catch one of Sirius' kisses with his lips. "Course not," he adds, his words slightly mumbled before Sirius moves a hand to the back of his head, deepening the kiss.

You lean against the sink, watching the interaction between your boyfriends adoringly. Sirius' eyes flutter open, feeling your eyes on them. He smirks into the kiss with Remus as your eyes meet, savoring the moment for a little longer before he breaks it.

After he ruffles Remus' hair in parting, he saunters over to your with a hungry look in his eyes. His hands come down on your sides firmly when he reaches you, pulling you in until you're standing hip to hip. Sirius is touchy too, but in a different way than James.

"Thanks for brewing the coffee, beautiful," he says coolly, a certain level of charm always present in his voice as if he's still trying to impress you after all this time.

He expresses his gratitude by capturing your lips in an intimate kiss. His hands slide around your body, settling on your lower back for leverage as he pushes you impossibly closer. Sirius' mouth moves against yours hungrily, his hands roaming your body still, traveling lower.

You're breathless when he pulls away. "It's seven in the morning," you comment, winded.

Sirius smirks and presses a final peck to your puffy lips.

“A bit past, actually. Which means I’m late,” he says, feigning concern as he glances at the clock over the stove.

He pats your backside before slinking away, retrieving his coffee and wasting no time to make his exit.

“I love you both!” he calls as he makes his way out of the kitchen, and you and Remus shout your affections back in response as he disappears from view.

The remaining two of you slip back into your own morning routines, finishing getting ready for the work day.

Remus leaves before you too, but first he settles against the edge your vanity to watch you put the finishing touches on your makeup.

When you put your tube of mascara down, Remus gently takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth. He presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll see you tonight, dove,” he remarks, bending down to kiss the top of your head. He places your hand in your lap to opt for cradling the side of your head, stroking your hair fondly.

“Bye,” you whisper, looking up at him with equal affection.

His face hovers near yours. “I love you,” he says in between pressing kisses to each of your cheeks.

“I love you too.”

With that Remus presses a final peck to your lips and leaves for work.

You’re not too far behind him, locking up the house a mere ten minutes later.

When you arrive at work, beaming and energized, one of your coworkers makes their usual comments.

“You’re awfully cheery. You do know today’s Monday?”

But how could you not be, with the ghost of your boyfriends’ recent affections lingering on your lips.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[goldenstring6123]

Sylus: Naked and feisty

Warning: 16+, Suggestive content, almost nudity, female!mc

Author's notes: I wrote this 6 days ago and i just wanted to share even if it's not in the posting calendar lol.

"Why are you only in your underwear?" Sylus stops in his tracks the moment you set your foot out of the guest bedroom, towel around your neck and a comb in your hand.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing," The brush in your hand combed through your wet, freshly washed hair, leaving a few droplets onto the polished cement floor.

A sigh escaped his lips and an evident frown on his face. "This is my house, you brat, I can do whatever I want." thick and veiny hands traveled to the ribbon of his robe, un-doing the knot that held his cover in place. Swiftly, he threw the robe towards your way and pointed at it: "Put that on."

"It's night time," She tilted her head with a smirk, "I like to sleep naked." You lied to him and he, for sure, was not buying into it. A quick gruff escaped his lips and he made his way to the kitchen, ignoring your attempts at getting on his nerves.

"Do what you want, but just so you know," he tilted the moka pot into his small mug, opening a cabinet and getting a jar. "There's eyes all over my house, not mine, of course. Your images would be in the black market by tomorrow morning. You wouldn't want that *do you?"

"Hundreds of men lusted after seeing you at the auction, even with the mask on, they would be fools if they don't notice you right away." He sipped on his coffee, eyes on the woman that sat on his black couch, smirking at him in her lacy, maroon underwear.

It was a feast for his eyes

The n109 zone is a cold and chilly island, much less inside the home of the onichynus' leader. The hairs on your body was practically standing from the cold air, yet you remain determined to walk around in your bare clothing. Why were you doing this in the first place? There was only one reason:

You wanted him to loose his composure.

Petty and childish? Most definitely, but Sylus' irritable yet in one way or another: tolerant.

*towards you at least.

It was pure curiosity and presumably something that you can use when the time calls for it - A tool against him, his weakness.

"It's not as if this is the first time someone has seen me in this state," You chimed, almost worried that you sounded over confident to the point of faking it — No one has seen you naked before, not even your doctor, Zayne.

"tch—" Sylus clicked his tongue at the thought. God knows what he was imagining to have a scowl on his face.

Swift, and calm, almost tempting like a fox, you make your way to the towering curtains that blocked the full length window. A slither of silver peeked through the awning, hitting the floor.

"Let them see what they want to see, yeah? My body's not that different from any body else," Your fingers tugged on the black out curtains, pulling it to reveal the view of the dark, decrepit city, and a bunch of ravens and crows flying about the night sky.

Certainly there was no one in sight, yet you feel a gaze - more than one, and the strongest one coming from from that behind you.

You turn your heel and came face to face with his bare chest. A hand pressed you back against the glass with slight force, a knee squeezed in between yours. His fingers under your chin tilted you up to look at him and his eyes - filled with uncoceivable emotions, bore holes into your own eyes.

"If you like to parade your body around so much, Should i carve out a statue to your liking and display it in the middle of Linkon city? Or would you like me to commission that damned lemurian to paint you naked, You decide." there was a lace of venom in his voice, irritation colder than the breeze. "But between you and me,"

Behind you you hear the crows gawk in their flight.

He pulls himself closer to your neck, "i'll kill anyone who lays his eyes on your bare body."

Before your could retort, a spine chilling sting traveled from your neck, a pinch in your neck caused by his teeth nibbling, sucking until you pushed him away.

Sylus smirked at the sight of the hickey before turning his attention to the bird on the branch. Seeing a crow jerk its head in curiosity, he let out a chuckle.

"I don't share, Little brat." Sylus whispered to you, his voice deeper than anything you have heard someone speak. "and if you want to walk around naked," Without warning, he slung you onto his shoulder like a sack of cement and pulled on the curtains to a close.

"You can do so in my bedroom."

[alinathinkstoomuch]

A White Lie Amongst Chocolate Cake

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader summary: you and jack throw hotch a surprise birthday party but you had to tell a white lie in the process warnings: ummm none i don't think?? i love nanny!reader she's the best and i'm trying to refrain from smutting it up with the two of them... at least for now (i'm trying to give you guys genres!!) slight angst at the end because pining word count: 4.1k (someone tell me to shut up) ✧ masterlist

You had been Jack’s nanny for almost a year now, and it was easily the best job you’d ever had. Jack was a sweetheart – most of the time – your hours were manageable, there wasn’t a strict dress code, and most importantly your boss, Mr Hotchner, was… nice.

Or at least as nice as a brooding, workaholic federal agent could be.

But over the months, you’d learned a few things – small details that could soften the edges of his demeanour. The way his lips curled ever so slightly when Jack made him laugh, the rare moments when exhaustion gave way to something gentler, something almost warm. He wasn’t always broody. You just had to know where to look.

And lately, you had been looking a little too much.

At first, it was curiosity. Aaron Hotchner was layers upon layers of complexities and quirks you wanted to know. He was intimidating at first, especially on your first day – standing there in a crisp suit, a gun holstered at his hip, his expression unreadable. It had sent a chill down your spine, a silent reminder of the world he lived in.

But you adapted.

Because when the suit came off – not that you ever saw that happening, but you liked to think of it metaphorically – he was simply a father. A man who pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s crown after tucking him in, whose shoulders sagged just slightly when he stepped through the front door at the end of the day. Sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, he’d stand still for a moment, letting out a breath like he was unravelling at the seams.

Maybe it was the night he came home late, tie askew, exhaustion settling into the lines of his face. Jack had already been asleep, so instead of offering your usual quick goodbye, you hesitated. Then, before you could overthink it, you asked if he wanted some tea.

He had looked at you for a beat – just long enough for you to wonder if you’d overstepped –before nodding.

So you made it, sliding the warm mug into his hands, and the two of you sat in the kitchen, the only sound being the quiet hum of the fridge and the rhythmic ticking of the clock. He didn’t say much, and neither did you, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Maybe that was when it changed.

Or maybe it was the morning he called, voice rough with sleep, muttering an apology because he was stuck at work again. He hadn’t needed to say sorry – it wasn’t like you expected him to be home on time, not in his line of work – but something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened at your response, made your chest tighten in a way it shouldn’t have.

One thing you had also learnt about your boss was that he was a deeply selfless man. So selfless, in fact, that if Jack hadn’t mentioned his upcoming birthday in passing, you would have missed it entirely.

It didn’t surprise you. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who enjoyed being the centre of attention, who would welcome a big celebration in his honour. He barely tolerated it when you so much as packed his lunch or handed him a coffee before he left for work – grumbling in that low, exasperate way that somehow never quite reached his eyes. And you didn’t even want to think about the reaction you’d gotten the one time you picked up his dry cleaning.

But still, you wanted to do something. Something that was small but thoughtful and Jack did too.

So, on the morning of his birthday, when he rushed out the door like he always did, barely pausing long enough to grab the travel mug of coffee you had set out for him, you got to work. You had a few precious hours before Jack got home from school, just enough time to pull everything together.

First, you picked up the decorations – nothing excessive, just enough to make the space feel inviting. A quiet ‘Hey, we haven’t forgotten about you’, rather than a ‘Brace yourself, you’re about to spend two hours making polite conversation with people you barely know’.

Then came the ingredients for the cake, carefully chosen after Jack’s very serious deliberation over what his dad would like best. Chocolate, obviously, but not too sweet because, as Jack had pointed out, “Dad drinks his coffee black, so he probably doesn’t like too much sugar.” You hadn’t argued with his logic.

And finally, the last stop – the pottery studio.

It had started as a light-hearted hobby, something to do on a slow afternoon. Jack had been fascinated by the idea, insisting you take him to a class the moment you mentioned it. And when you did, he had thrown himself into it with the kind of enthusiasm only a child could muster, carefully painting a mug for his dad – deep blue with a slightly wobbly ‘NO. 1 DAD’ scrawled across it. You had made a plate to match.

Because for all the times Hotch refused to let anyone take care of him, maybe this time, he wouldn’t have a choice.

The day passed faster than you expected, a blur of preparation and carefully chosen details. Before you knew it, you were picking Jack up from school, and within minutes, the two of you were elbow-deep in flour and frosting, making an absolute mess in the kitchen.

Jack was having the time of his life. He had insisted on cracking the eggs himself, which resulted in you fishing out stray bits of shell from the batter while he laughed. The flour? Everywhere. The icing? Somehow on his cheek, in his hair, and suspiciously on the kitchen cabinet despite him never going near it.

Jack peeked up at you, grinning. “Do you think Dad’s gonna like it?”

You glanced at the cake which was a little lopsided, a bit rough around the edges, but made with nothing but love. Maybe a little too much of it from you.

“I think he’s going to love it,” you said, smiling as you smoothed the frosting over the top. “And besides, once we stick the candles in, they’ll hide all the… character it has.”

Jack giggled. “You mean the wonky bits?”

“Exactly.” You tapped a bit of frosting onto his nose, earning a squeal of protest before he ran off, undoubtedly to make a mess somewhere else.

As far as you knew, there wasn’t a case today. That meant Hotch was stuck with paperwork, and once that was done, he’d be home. On a good day, that usually meant just after six.

But as the clock edged closer to seven, Jack’s excitement had started to fade, replaced by a quiet sort of disappointment. He looked up at you with big, sad doe eyes, the kind that made your heart twist, and you found yourself hoping that nothing had come up. Hotch always let you know if he’d be late. Always.

Maybe it was just one of those days. Too much paperwork, a last-minute meeting, heavier-than-usual traffic. Or maybe – and this was the thought that unsettled you the most –he had figured it out.

He was a profiler, after all. He noticed everything. And maybe, just maybe, he’d pieced together what you and Jack had been up to and decided to quietly sidestep the attention, no matter how small the fuss was meant to be. Because that was the kind of man he was. Someone who deflected, who sidestepped gratitude and celebration as if they were luxuries he didn’t have the time or the right to indulge in.

You sighed and pulled out your phone, deciding to send him a quick text.

Hey, will you be home soon?

The reply came faster than you expected.

Not for a while. Do you need to leave?

You frowned, glancing at Jack, who was absently toying with the hem of his shirt, disappointment clear in the slump of his shoulders. Okay, you thought, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Your fingers flew across the screen before you could second-guess yourself.

I do actually. I have a date at eight.

You barely had time to put your phone down before the read receipt popped up. Three little dots appeared – then disappeared. Then appeared again.

And then nothing.

You stared at the screen, waiting for a response that didn’t come.

Jack, still fidgeting with his shirt, looked up at you. His gaze flicked to your phone, then back to your face. “Uh oh,” he muttered.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

Jack pressed his lips together, clearly debating something before finally deciding to say it. “Dad’s gonna be mad now.”

“Mad?” That wasn’t the reaction you’d expected. Mildly irritated, maybe. Or just indifferent. It wasn’t like you actually had a date – this was just a little push to get him home. “Why would he be mad?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Because you’re going on a date.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, not entirely sure how to respond to that. Before you could press for more, your phone buzzed in your hand.

I’ll be home soon.

You stared at the screen for a second too long, your pulse suddenly a little unsteady.

Jack grinned. “Told you.”

You shook your head, still trying to process what had just happened, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Jack was already tugging on your hand, his excitement reigniting now that he knew his dad was on his way.

“We have to hide!” he whispered dramatically, as if Hotch wouldn’t immediately notice the streamers hanging in the kitchen or the faint scent of chocolate in the air.

The second you heard his car pull into the driveway, your pulse kicked up a notch. You reached for the box of matches, fingers moving too quickly to get the candles lit. The first match slipped between your fingers. The second sparked, but in your hurry, the flame kissed the tip of your finger. You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your hand before finally managing to light them all in time.

Jack giggled beside you, bouncing on his feet, eyes locked on the front door.

You had placed the cake at the centre of the dining table, right beneath the Happy Birthday banner you'd taped up with more hope than confidence, silently praying it wouldn't rip off a chunk of ceiling paint when it came down.

Jack pressed himself flat against the wall, his whole body vibrating with excitement, while you eased the French doors slightly closed, just enough to keep the kitchen hidden from view.

You stole a final glance at the space before stepping back. The decorations were simple, the only real light coming from the candles flickering atop the cake. It wasn't extravagant, but it didn't need to be. It was personal.

Maybe too personal.

A strange feeling curled in your chest, something you didn't have time to analyse before the sound of a key turning in the lock sent a jolt of adrenaline through you.

You barely managed to slip into place beside Jack before the front door swung open, followed by the soft thud of Hotch setting his briefcase down.

He called your name first. Then Jack's.

His footsteps moved toward the kitchen, each one drawing him closer. You could hear his mind working, could almost picture the slight furrow in his brow, the way his head would tilt just slightly as he tried to piece together the silence around him.

It was almost funny – how methodical he was, how effortlessly he slipped into that profiler mindset even in his own home.

Is this what it felt like when he walked into a crime scene? That careful assessment, the quiet tension of waiting for something to reveal itself?

Great, you thought, comparing his surprise birthday party to a crime scene. Solid choice.

You barely had time to scold yourself for it before Jack tugged at your arm.

“Now?”

You nodded squeezing his hand. And just as Hotch stepped into the kitchen, you both jumped out.

“Surprise!”

Hotch stopped short in the doorway, his entire body tensing for a second before his eyes swept over the room. The flickering candlelight, the banner still (miraculously) hanging in place, the two of you standing there. Jack grinning wildly, you trying to gauge his reaction.

His brows lifted slightly, the only outward sign of his surprise, but his face remained unreadable, like his brain hadn't quite caught up yet.

Jack didn't seem to notice. He bounced on his heels, eyes shining. "Did we get you?"

Hotch blinked, exhaling a quiet breath, and something in his expression softened just enough for you to catch it. "Yeah," he admitted. “You got me."

Jack beamed, grabbing his dad's wrist, dragging him further inside. "We made cake!" he announced, gesturing toward the dining table as if presenting an award. "And we got you presents! And you almost ruined the surprise because you were late.”

You bit back a smile, casting a glance at Hotch to see how he'd take that last part.

His lips twitched as he glanced down at Jack. "I had a lot of paperwork, buddy," he said, like that was a perfectly reasonable excuse for nearly missing his own birthday.

“Come on!” Jack tugged at his dad’s hand with both of his own. “You need to make a wish and blow the candles out!”

He let himself be pulled forward, and you instinctively stepped aside, giving them space as he reached the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, Jack wasting no time as he climbed into his lap, settling in like he belonged there because of course he did.

He glanced up, his eyes landing on you. “This was you?”

You shrugged, a small gracing your lips. "Mostly Jack. I was just the assistant. Ran a few errands, made sure things got done."

Jack beamed, your name tumbling eagerly from his lips as he told his dad just how much you had helped. Hotch didn't respond right away. Instead, his gaze settled on you, his expression giving nothing away, eyes studying you in a way that made your pulse stutter.

You weren't sure if he was annoyed that you'd dragged him away from work or still caught off guard by the whole thing. Maybe a bit of both.

Then after a moment, he looked down at Jack, his hands instinctively settling around him. "Alright, buddy," he murmured, voice softer now. "Are you going to help me with the wish?"

Jack nodded immediately – so eagerly that his eyes were already shut before Hotch had even finished speaking. You couldn’t help but laugh fondly at the sight in front of you.

As soon as the candles were out, Jack clapped his hands together, scrambling off Hotch’s lap. “Presents now!”

You flicked the lights back on just as Jack dumped the two wrapped pieces of pottery into his dad's hands, his excitement making up for the lack of ceremony.

Your fingers found the chain of your necklace, twisting it absently as doubt crept in. Was the plate too much? Not enough? Would a gift card have been better – something impersonal, something safer? Should you have just let him stay at work instead of pulling him home with a lie?

Too late now.

Hotch's hands were already working the paper free from Jack's mug, struggling against the layers of tape. You held your breath as you watched.

When the paper finally gave way, the mug tumbled into his hands. His fingers instinctively curled around it, tracing the uneven ridges and the slightly wobbly letters across the front. Jack launched into an explanation, rattling off how he had painted it himself, why he chose that shade of blue, how the letters had smudged a little but he had tried to fix them.

Hotch listened quietly, his thumb grazing over the lettering as he turned the mug in his hands, absorbing every word.

Then came your gift.

You felt your fingers find the chain of your necklace again as Hotch unwrapped the plate. It matched the mug, but where Jack's strokes were bold and eager, yours were softer, more intentional. Looking at it now, the patterns swirled together in a way you hadn't even planned. Something delicate woven into each brushstroke.

Jack grinned. “Now you have a set! You can drink coffee and eat cake at the same time!”

Hotch chuckled as he turned the plate in his hands, his thumb brushing along the rim like he was taking in the details. He looked at Jack first. Then at you. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

"Of course," you said softly, letting the necklace drop from your fingers.

Without another word, you turned your attention to cutting the cake, dividing it onto plates for the three of you. Jack, despite his excitement, barely made it through his slice before exhaustion started to settle in. His yawns grew more frequent, his movements slower, until Hotch finally stood to get him ready for bed.

You busied yourself with dishes, rinsing off the remnants of cake and wiped down the counters. It wasn’t until you dried your hands a little too roughly on the tea towel that you felt a sharp sting across your fingertips.

You frowned, glancing down to see the red and irritated skin. Before you could think twice, you lifted your hand, instinctively pressing your fingertips to your lips to soothe the ache.

"You're still here?"

The sound of Hotch's voice startled you. You turned quickly, pulling your hand away as he stepped into the kitchen. Hotch didn't say anything at first. His gaze flickered between your face and your hand.

He took another step forward and you stilled.

"I saw that," he murmured, nodding toward your closed fist.

"It's nothing," you started but before you could finish he reached out, catching your wrist gently.

His thumb brushed over your fingertips, taking no notice of the fact that they were in your mouth just seconds earlier. "Burned yourself?"

You swallowed, resisting the urge to pull away – not because you wanted to, but because standing this close to him, with his fingers wrapped around yours was making it very hard to think straight.

"From the matches, but it’s fine. It’ll go in a few days.”

He didn’t look convinced.

He let go of your wrist and turned toward the cabinet, retrieving a small first aid kit before setting it down on the counter. The sound of the latch clicking open felt louder than it should have in the quiet kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tried but he ignored you, pulling out a small tube of burn cream like it was second nature.

He nodded toward your hand again. “Let me see.”

You exhaled but didn’t argue as you extended your hand, letting him take it.

He twisted the cap off, squeezing a small amount onto his fingertips before gently pressing them against yours. The cool relief of the cream barely registered beneath the warmth of his touch, the slow, careful way he smoothed it over your skin.

He was taking his time.

Too much time.

"I thought you had a date." His voice was quiet, almost casual, but when he glanced up at you from beneath his lashes, something in your stomach tightened.

You bit down on your lip, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, of the way his fingers still rested lightly against yours. "There was no date," you admitted.

His eyes didn't leave yours. "No?”

You shook your head.

He hummed in acknowledgment, the sound thoughtful. His line of sight travelled back to your fingers, his touch still slow, even though the cream had already absorbed.

He didn't have to keep doing this. But he did anyway.

His thumb brushed over your skin one last time, light and barely there, before he finally pulled away. He reached for the tea towel, the same one you had used earlier, rubbing his hands over the fabric. Then, casually, too casually –

"Do you do that often?"

Your brows furrowed. "Do what?"

He glanced up, eyes catching yours. "Lie to get what you want."

Your stomach tightened, heat creeping up your neck like a slow tide, rising before you could push it back.

"I-I don't –" The words tumbled out too fast, tripping over themselves. You caught them, swallowed them down, and took a breath in. “I'm sorry if I overstepped. I don't make a habit of lying, but it didn't seem like you were going to be back in time.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just folded the towel in his hands, smoothing out the fabric like it might help him piece together whatever he was thinking.

“Are you angry with me?” you asked, not bearing the thought of disappointing him.

His eyes met yours again before he shook his head. “No.” Then softer, “It would take a lot for me to be angry with you.”

Something inside you eased, a gulp of air finally slipping free. A knot coming undone, a tight grip loosening just enough to feel the space it left behind.

“I understand why you did it,” he continued. “I know how much today meant to Jack.”

You pressed your back lightly against the edge of the sink, needing something solid beneath you. “Good,” you murmured, though the word felt thin. But then, Jack’s voice surfaced in your mind, that innocent certainty, the way he had said it like it was fact.

Dad’s gonna be mad now.

Before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out, unfiltered and reckless. “But would you be mad if I did go on a date?”

Why the hell had you asked that?

Embarrassment prickled under your skin.

Letting an eight-year-old get in your head? Really?

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know why I said that. I –” You cleared your throat, pushing your hair out of your face. “I think I should go.”

You turned, heading for the door, willing the moment to dissolve behind you. Except you didn’t get very far because there was a man in your way. And when you moved to slip past him, his fingers brushed against your dress before catching it, giving it a gentle tug, enough to stop you in your tracks.

“Please,” you mumbled, looking down at the way his fingers curled into the fabric like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. “This is already awkward enough. Let’s not do this.”

But he still didn’t let go.

“I would only get angry if you went on a date with someone who didn’t treat you right.”

Oh.

That wasn’t the answer you expected. Was it even an answer at all?

Your thoughts stumbled over each other, grasping for clarity where none existed. What was he saying? That he cared? That he didn’t? That it only mattered under certain circumstances?

The warmth of his fingers, still curled into the fabric of your dress, was distracting. So was the fact that he hadn’t let go.

“Don’t look so confused,” he said, his voice quieter now, like he was trying to smooth over something he’d just disrupted. “You take care of Jack. You take care of me – even though that part isn’t in your job description.”

His fingers twitched before he finally released his grasp, the flowy fabric slipping free “It’s only fair that someone does the same for you.”

A perfectly articulated response that was respectful and considerate.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You didn’t just want someone taking care of you.

You wanted him.

You wanted someone who noticed the little things. The way you always set Jack’s favourite cup at the table before breakfast. The way you double-checked that the porch light was on before locking up for the night. The way you carried his damn suit jacket upstairs when he left it draped over a chair because you knew he’d be too tired to do it himself.

You wanted someone who wouldn’t just say you deserve that, but be that.

And maybe that was unfair and highly selfish. Because Aaron Hotchner had spent his whole life taking care of people – his team, his son, his family before all of it had been ripped apart. He wasn’t yours to lean on, to ask for more than what he was already giving.

But God did you wish he was.

That it was his jacket you could pull over your shoulders when you were cold.

That it was his voice checking in, making sure you’d gotten home safe.

That it was his hand on the small of your back, guiding you through a crowded room, keeping you close.

You wished it was him.

And the worst part?

For a split second, when his fingers had curled into your dress, when his voice had dropped into something almost too soft to hear –

You thought maybe he wished it too.

[h0neylevi]

“Shit shit shit shit shit—“

The sound of your hurried footsteps follow the string of curses as they travel like an echo down the hall, but Levi doesn’t so much as look up from the kitchen sink.

He had tried to get you up earlier, tempting you with the promise of freshly brewed coffee and a hot breakfast, but you insisted on five more minutes. Then inevitably, five more turned into ten which turned into fifteen, and now you’re rushing to get ready and out the door on time for work.

Now he’s had to improvise–turning your breakfast into something portable you can eat on the drive. It’s a skill he’s had to perfect over the years of living with you. To say that time management wasn’t your strong suit would be an understatement. So, Levi moves on to packing your lunch, listening with a small grin at the sound of the tap of your toothbrush against the bathroom sink, followed by clothes hangers being slid back and forth in the closet as you rush to find something suitable to wear to work.

“Have you seen my black turtleneck?”

“In the dryer.”

He schools his expression into something more mild when you finally round the corner a few minutes later, knowing that you’re already stressed about being late. Smiling at you in an I told you so kind of way would only sour your mood further.

“I slept right through my alarm,” you say.

All five of them, plus his gentle prodding to get you out of bed. He doubts you were even conscious enough to remember him trying.

Your eyes flit to the coffee pot to find a travel mug already filled and waiting for you, right next to a neatly assembled wrap that you can only guess is your breakfast. Your expression visibly softens at the sweet gesture.

“Your lunch is packed too,” Levi says, motioning to the insulated lunch bag sitting on the opposite counter.

Even though you’re pressed for time, you step forward to embrace him.

“Thank you, Levi,” you say into his shirt. “You’re a lifesaver.”

His arms wrap easily around you, but there’s lighthearted reproach in his words when he says, “You say that like I don’t have to do this every other day.”

“Well, if you hadn’t kept me up so late last night, I wouldn’t be rushing.”

He shoves you away then, not forceful enough to indicate you’ve said anything to upset him, but you can tell that the mention of the night before has provoked him by the subtle shade of pink that spreads across his cheeks.

He clicks his tongue. “Pervert.”

You lean back a little, still lightly clinging to his waist with a grin. “You’re weren’t saying that last night when my lips were wrapped around your—“

Levi’s palm claps over your mouth before you can finish your sentence, but it does very little to muffle the sound of your laughter that follows.

He leans into you a little, his other hand anchored to your waist to keep you close. “You’re going to be late.”

Deciding he’s endured enough for one morning, you pull away and go to gather your breakfast. “Yeah, yeah.”

You carry it into the next room and Levi quietly follows, your lunch bag in one hand and travel mug in the other.

“I’ll stop by the store tonight,” you say as you gather your coat by the door. “I saw this really good recipe last night that I’d like to try for dinner.”

Levi simply nods. Dinners are usually your preferred meal to cook, so he’s not surprised you already have something planned. “Sure.”

When you get your coat on, he hands you your things, then finishes off with a quick kiss.

After years spent co-existing together in your apartment—sharing everything from body wash to toothpaste and clothes—you would think that having his lips on yours wouldn’t still elicit such a strong feeling, but it does. It’s a wild and frenzied sensation, forming in the pit of your stomach before it swoops like a flurry up into your ribcage.

You linger by the door, starting to regret not getting up earlier so you could see him a little longer. “Thank you for getting my things ready.”

Levi nods again. “You’re welcome.”

When he leans against the doorframe, you take the moment to press another kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

A mixture of minty toothpaste and the familiar scent of your perfume swirls in the few inches between your bodies, and Levi has to take considerable effort to not lean in again.

“You’re going to be late,” he reminds you for what feels like the nth time.

But despite that, your feet stay planted in the doorway. “Say it back and I’ll go.”

“I love you too.” He rolls his eyes, but relents just the slightest bit and kisses you again. “Now, go.”

[undercoveravenger]

Part of the Pack

Pairing: poly hybrid!141 x Male!reader

Part 1: Click here

-----

After that moment on deployment when you woke up cuddled up with your teammates, your relationship with the 141 has changed and you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

Before, Soap had always joined you at mealtimes and Gaz’d drop in every now and again, but now the entire team clusters around you each day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Price has even joined Soap in loading up your tray with a frankly unreasonable amount of food at every meal and they both watch you expectantly as you try to make even a dent in the portion.

There’s also the gifts. Shiny things, mostly, left in your office or outside your door for you to find. You’ve come into possession of a number of rings and necklaces, and even a nice gold watch with an intricately inscribed face.

There’s other gifts too though, things that appear on your nightstand or set gently onto the pillow beside yours, travel mugs with coffee or tea or cocoa made exactly to your liking, granola bars, a high quality switchblade, even a tiny wood carving of a panther. Even with the light sleeping habits from years of service, you’d never been able to catch whoever was leaving things in your room for you.

To say the changes have thrown you off is an understatement, but it’s nothing compared to this moment. To this dingy bar with its too-dim lights and overplayed music with the 141 crowded into the booth around you, high on a successful mission and tipsy from the celebratory drinks, when Ghost tugs his mask up enough to expose his mouth and leans over to kiss you like it’s as second-nature as breathing.

You’re frozen, trapped in place by your surprise in the wake of his attention, and you can feel the low, satisfied pur that rumbles through him like thunder at the feeling of your lips on his. 

“No fair,” Soap whines as Ghost pulls away from you, clutching at you from your other side, “I had dibs on kissin’ ‘im first!”

And if that doesn’t have your reeling mind screeching to a halt. First?

You ignore Soap’s pouting for the moment as you examine your teammates with a new curiosity. Gaz’s eyes are dark where they flick between you and Ghost, hungry in a way you’d never seen him before. His wings tremble slightly behind him, like there’s electricity spiking through each individual feather. 

Price looks, well, not quite proud, but satisfied, like something he’s been waiting for has just clicked perfectly into place.

Soap takes hold of your jaw then, uses it to guide you back to face him and kisses you like he’s been dying to do it. His fingers slip back to twist into your hair and pull you closer, tongue pressing brief and teasing against your lip, and you have the distinct feeling he’d be on your lap right now if the booth wasn’t so tight.

“Wha-” you manage to gasp out when he pulls back to nose along your throat, tail thumping violently against the worn vinyl seat. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?” There’s a fond chuckle from Price, and you catch the way his hand slips from Gaz’s shoulder down between his wings and the full body shudder it wrenches out of Gaz. “We’ve been courtin’ ya for goin’ on two months now.”

Wait, no - that couldn’t be - except it kind of had been, hadn’t it?

Price’s signals would’ve been the hardest to pick up on - his hand lingering just a few seconds too long after a pat on the shoulder, the way he’d corner you before an op to double check your gear, the weight of his eyes on you in the shooting range - what you’d thought had been judgement apparently admiration. The way he’d slip you the dessert from his MRE when the rest of the boys weren’t looking. 

And the more that you think about it, the more signs you can remember. The shiny gifts from Gaz, the way he’d damn near beam whenever he saw you wearing that watch - the way he’d been asking you to help him preen his wings, the way his pupils would blow wide when you’d say yes and the cute little huffs that’d come when you actually handled his feathers.

The little things Ghost had left you in your room (you’re not sure how you hadn’t realized it was Ghost before between the little panther carving and the stealth with which the gifts were delivered) and the way he’d let himself fall asleep against your shoulder on the flight home. Ghost doesn’t trust easy, and with good reason, but the way he’s been behaving around you…

And Soap - God, even if you hadn’t been able to see the signs from anyone else, you’re not how you hadn’t noticed his. That you hadn’t noticed the way those pointed wolf ears prick forward and his tail wags double time whenever he sees you, or how he’s so prone to draping himself against you with an arm over your shoulder or around your waist, especially after one of those long nights at the gym - the way he’d tuck his head into your neck after a workout, like he was trying to memorize the smell of you. The way he was always making sure you’d eaten or inviting himself into your room for a cuddle. You’d always assumed it was a wolf-hybrid thing if not just a Soap thing, but now that you’re thinking about it you’ve never seen him like that with anyone else except the rest of the 141.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling rather foolish for not reading deeper into your teammates’ actions. Your eyes dart between the four of them again. “Really? All of you?”

“Think we’ll be too much to handle?” Gaz Kyle prompts, challenge burning bright in his clever golden eyes.

You huff a laugh and know he knows you too well, that he knows you can’t turn down a challenge, especially one with such a tempting reward. You down the rest of your drink and clamber out of the booth over Johnny. 

“I’ll get the tab and we’ll get outta here?” you call back over your shoulder as you head for the bar. 

You can’t fight back the grin that forms at the excited chorus of agreement behind you. Sure, you hadn’t seen it coming when they made room for you in their little family, but you’d be a fool to let something as incredible as them slip away from you.

[safination]

The Only Temptation

|Masterlist| Pairings: Alastor x Reader Tags/ Warnings; f!Reader, Demon! Alastor. Heats! Ruts! Alastor and Ruts! dual POV, Handjob, dirty talking, phone handjob, TLDR: Alastor's rut is being drawn out by a doe who is definitely not you, but weirdly enough or not so weirdly enough, he only seems to craves you. AN: Hello! I haven't posted in a while, but pshhh we'll just ignore that. Since I'm turning the big 22, this fic will also be 2/2. This is just 1/2 (Truthfully, I just ran out of time and decided to cut this into 2 parts.) Also, will you look at that! My first smut! Handjobs should count as smut right? And here I thought my religious ass would never make one of these. Oh, well. It goes without saying but I'm going to say it anyway: MINORS DNI

There’s a doe in the Hazbin Hotel.

You bumped into her as you were making your way to Alastor’s radio tower. There would be more of these types of interactions if you actively lived in the hotel like you want, but Alastor refuses to allow you to stay for too long with the excuse of it being safer to hide you away at home while he stays here.

There are ears on the top of this doe’s head. It reminds you of Alastor. They’re a bit cute – more than, ‘a bit cute’ if you were being honest. Downright adorable if you were really being honest. Spots trails over her shoulders and continue into her clothes.

What an itty-bitty doe. So ready to be devoured! (Part of you wonders if Alastor would appreciate the taste of a doe’s flesh. A surprise gift, maybe?)

You’ve never seen a doe in Hell before, but she’s not really important to you right now. So, you throw her to the back of your mind and make your way to Alastor’s radio tower.

All of Alastor’s senses are heightened because of that damn doe. It’s quite a predicament as rut season nears, and the pheromones being released place him in quite the difficult spot.

It gets worse when his ears catch upon a slight knock and . . . and the scent of you.

Alastor can’t describe what prickles his nose, but it’s the scent of morning coffee shared through one mug. He takes a deeper whiff and it becomes the scent of soft music playing through the radio as you dance around the room.

It seems that doe has unlocked something in him. The scent of you has never tasted like that until now. It brings out a hunger for you that goes deeper than normal.

The smell intensifies when the door clicks open, and that hunger strikes even deeper. It travels through the air, settling itself in his stomach. Alastor pierces the tips of his claws into his skin before he could fully lose himself.

It becomes worse . . . better? . . . when you remove your coat, hanging it on the rack. The scent becomes so strong that he’s enchanted for more than a second. Actually, it’s so heavenly to his senses that blood pools between his legs and settles into his thighs.

Alastor inches closer to the desk, hiding the way his cock has pitched a tent from just the scent of you. He pretends to busy himself with the buttons on the panel, even when the broadcast ended five-minutes ago.

You swat his hand away, and sit on the table. There’s deliberate care in the way you prop yourself, careful not to hit any of the knobs.

A small smile. “Hi.”

“Hi . . .” Alastor lays his head on your thighs, shighing into their plumpness as he swipes his thumb on your skin. Everything about you sends high frequency pitches into his skin. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Well, my dearest,” you begin, massaging the base of his antlers, “the purpose of a surprise if for it to be unsuspecting.”

The witty response to your statement dies in his throat. A groan of relief replaces it as you continue to massage his antlers. That annoying itch lessens when you press on the base just a little firmer.

That fact that it feels good to have his antlers scratched can only mean one thing . . .

“You’re nearing your rut,” you say, plain and simple, as if his unnoticed erection already isn’t an indicator. “Hmmm, it seems I picked a good time to drop by.”

Alastor leans his cheek a little bit deeper into your thighs. “It’s still too early.”

“Does it have to do something with that little doe I spotted earlier?”

Alastor isn’t getting used to your scent.

Usually, strong scents should fade into the background after some time. Usually. Alastor is constantly and painfully aware of the scent of heaven on your skin.

Everything about you is driving him up the wall. So much so, the Alastor stays limp in your hold, afraid that shifting will cause his already sensitive erection to brush against you.

“What a silly thought,” he says, even as his cock throbs uncomfortably in his pants. Alastor’s never been this hard before. That heavenly scent means he’ll have to send you away soon if his rut is hitting a little early.

How has he never noticed how good you smell?

“There’s no reason you have to go through this alone.” You pull on the ends of his hair. “Maybe there’s a reason why it takes you a month to calm down. Wouldn’t getting your satisfaction speed things along?”

“That’s out of the question.”

“You won’t know if we don’t try,” you say, frowning a little. “We can at least try, dearest. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Alastor allows himself to dream about it. It would be nice to have you to himself for a month, if his erection is an indicator. Your very presence is already causing a wet patch of pre-cum to spread. He’s so painfully hard that he can feel the beat of blood going through his veins.

Alastor would take you, hiding you at home. It’s purposely far from the prying eyes of the bustling city. There he would spend the next month burying himself into you. The hunger that gnaws on his belly will be satiated with the taste of the combined fluids dripping down your cunt.

No, that wouldn’t do. That would just be a waste of perfectly good cum. It needs to stay inside you if he’s going to defy a Sinner’s biology. Alastor would need to take every drop, and make sure it’s not wasted. He would fill you up until a large bulge would—

What is he thinking about?

Giving in to his instincts would do you more harm than good. You weren’t a doe, and that means your body isn’t meant to handle his rut.

“It’s not safe for you to be at the hotel at the moment.” Alastor is playing a dangerous game – one where Heaven has set its hat into the ring.

There’s a reason why he’s hidden the house from prying eyes. It’s much safer . . . or at least that’s the reason he’s giving you.

A small frown. “Then we can hide away at home.”

“I don’t appreciate having to repeat myself.” Alastor nuzzles into your thigh. “We have the same argument every season.”

“I see,” you say, and that’s a proper frown on your lips now. “I won’t be seeing you for some time then.”

“Now, now. Don’t frown, cher.” Alastor pushes your lips up into a bright smile. “You look absolutely ravishing in one of these.”

There’s a small smile that grows on your face.

You tilt his chin, and press a kiss on the edge of his smile. Alastor crosses his legs, digging his claws into them to try and regain any semblance of control.

“I think I would almost miss you, my dearest,” you tell him, showing off that cheeky, little smile. “It’s bound to get incredibly dull around here. It always does when you’re not around.”

Alastor barks out a laugh, pulling your face into his hold to stare into you. Just a little longer. That’s all he needs. “Flirting? That’s certainly a new tactic,” he says, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I think I would miss you as well, cher.”

Alastor pulls off his bowtie in one swift motion, throwing it off somewhere irrelevant. It’s been hours, yet he’s still so painfully hard. It forced him to hide away in his room the moment you left. Changing into looser clothing helps, but every brush of his cock sends tingles up his spine.

His shadow crawls up the wall with a scowl. The thing zooms around, seemingly in a mood as foul as his. It disappears under the cracks of the door, and Alastor doesn’t have enough blood circulating through his brain to question where it went.

Maybe, the blood would be passing through his brain if it wasn’t pooling in his throbbing erection. It’s been throbbing all day long.

Damn that does.

Alastor should kill her; end the madness she’s bringing. If the hormones from her heat stop, then his rut won’t start for another few days, or maybe even a week if he’s lucky.

The delay of his rut means the delay of his departure. Alastor can keep you by his side for a moment longer. Just a little longer until the inevitable.

You can be by his side. You can stay with him. You can . . . you . . . you!

The scent of you invades his nose. It hits harder the more he inhales. But you shouldn’t be here. Alastor sent you away. He made sure you exited those hotel doors, and he kept his eyes on the horizon until he could no longer see you and then a little longer after that.

His shadow slithers back into the room, something in its hands. Alastor lifts his head from the pool of pillows and . . . and it’s your coat.

The scent of you lingers on it.

“Get that thing away from me,” he hisses even as his cock twitches against his underwear. “Go burn it in the fireplace.”

The shadow slithers closer, dropping the coat Alastor just demanded to be burnt. It’s never defied one of his orders before.

His shadow pushes it closer to his face, and all anger fizzles at his throat when the smell of you breaches his nose. It drives him crazy, but it brings some sort or soothing effect as well.

Did you forget it here?

Or did you leave this for him?

Alastor buries his face into it, even when he knows he should return the thing. Alastor isn’t a dense Sinner. He’s well aware of what will happen if he allows something like this to stay . . . but what if you really did leave it for him?

The cloth of his pajama chafes against his skin. It’s too warm, and the scent of your coat is a splash of gasoline in an already burning sea of flames.

The image of holding you plagues his mind. Despite the burning in his skin, Alastor wouldn’t care as long as it came from you. Burning would feel heavenly as long as it was you who held the other end of that matchstick.

The echo of your laughter bounces in his mind, and blood shoots straight down, fueling his erection even more. The cloth from his underwear brushes against it, and a tiny groan escapes him as it goes over the sensitive head.

Alastor’s had enough. It’s adding fuel to his already foul mood. He shreds his clothes off, tearing it with his claws. He lies in a pool of scrapped fabric, his dick springing forth.

The shadow scoots your coat just a little bit closer. Alastor inhales the scent, burying himself into it. It’s a fuel to an already burning flame, but it’s coming from you. So, how bad can it really be?

He shifts his legs, and the way his cock rubs against the silk sheets tears coaxes a moan from his throat. It’s debauchery. It’s sinful . . . but it feels too good. Wet patches of pre-cum stains his sheets.

Alastor trails his palms lower, running them through his stomach until he’s fisted his cock. He pumps his shaft through his fist, trying to find relief.

It’s not . . . It’s not working?

He searches his mind, trying to remember how your fingers would work him into his release.

How tight would you squeeze him?

Where would you start? Alastor should remember that much, considering it was your hand pumping his cock.

Right . . . The head.

Alastor rubs his sensitive head, swirling it around like you do, and fuck! It’s just a shitload of nothing.

His fingers are too rough. You know how to build him into cumming, but you’re not here right now. Haphazardly fisting his cock isn’t going to bring him anywhere.

The temptation to give up is there, but he’s been erect all day. Alastor needs to end this tonight.

Alastor massages the tip once more, but with more purpose, just like you do. A moan releases into the air. If he shuts off all senses, he can pretend that it’s your hand that’s—

His shadow holds up a ringing, landline phone.

Alastor looks at it, then at the hand still fisted around his cock, and the back at his shadow.

The shadow looks back at him.

Alastor squeezes himself, ignoring the shadow as he tries to build that same mood. “Throw it away.”

His shadow has a look on its face, and pushes the thing closer. Alastor’s about to destroy it himself when he realizes there’s only one Sinner who has the number to this landline – You.

Alastor grabs the receiver, ignoring the fact that he’s very naked, lying on a bed that’s stained with his pre-cum, and a very erect dick.

“Alastor!” The sound of your voice stuns him a little, even when he knew it would be you on the other end. “Alastor?” you call out. “Hello?”

It takes him more than a second to take the blood that’s throbbing his erection, and force it up his brain. “And what have I done to displease you, dearest,” he says, “that you would force me to use this blasted phone?”

“That’s what you say every single time you pick up the phone.” You chuckle a little. A small chuckle – that’s all it took to shoot the blood back down. “Yet, not once have you missed my call.”

“This is my punishment, not yours.”

“I’m calling to let you know I made it home with no problem,” you tell him. “And . . . I think I left my coat there.”

“Ah . . . yes.” Alastor swirls the head of his cock. Maybe hearing your voice would be the push he needed. “I’m looking at it right now.”

“Are you alright, dearest?” you say. “You don’t sound too good.”

“Just . . . a little tired.” His breath goes through the receiver, even as his claws dig through the pillow. It’s doing nothing for him – nothing at all. “There’s no need to concern that ridiculous head of yours.”

It’s silent at the other end of the receiver. Alastor can hear the gears turning in your head. You always were a bit too perceptive about him. “Did you run into your new little, doe friend?���

“That thing is not my friend,” Alastor hisses, still trying to pump his shaft.

“My apologies then,” you say, snickering. “I forget that you do not allow yourself the pleasure of friendship, but I’m starting to think that it’s not you who turns away from it.”

“Hilarious.” Alastor’s eyes twitch. Coincidentally, so does his dick. “Well, as lovely as this has been, I’m in the middle of something important. I’ll have one of the ink puppets drop off –”

“I think I left something important in my left pocket,” you say, and despite being miles apart, Alastor can hear your smile. “Could you check it for me, and make sure it’s still there?”

Alastor dips his fingers into your left pocket, finding what seems to be a small card. He flips it over, and this definitely is not a card. It’s a small, polaroid photo. It’s you in that picture. You’re wearing—

Actually, what you’re wearing doesn’t really matter. Alastor will take a look at it later. It’s probably something red. What catches his attention is the fact that your ass is pointed to the air. There are a myriad of bite marks and hickeys around your thighs, leading a path up to your glistening cunt.

“Do you like it?”

Alastor blinks at it for a second . . . and then, another second . . . and its laughter that echoes around his room despite how the picture rushes blood down his already throbbing cock. The need for relief grows stronger.

“Did you take this for me?” Alastor wheezes, eyes bulging in different directions. Tears fall from his eyes as he laughs. “How ridiculous of you, dearest! You’re propped up like a stretching cat.”

“That’s not quite the reaction I was hoping for,” you say, chuckling. “However, I am glad that you’re enjoying it, one way or another.”

Alastor shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, and glances at his painfully throbbing erection. “I’m in quite the predicament because of you.”

“Oh!” You sound a bit too delighted. “So, you’re—”

“As a rock.” Alastor pokes his dick, hoping it would do something.

“How amusing!” Your laughter rings into the receiver. Alastor revels in it, enjoying the sound. “You’re eerily responsive tonight. Shall I send you more?”

Alastor rolls his eyes at you. “Take responsibility for what you’ve caused.”

“Al, I already did my portion,” you say. “I can’t exactly do the next part for you, unless you drag yourself home.”

“And what do you expect me to do with this?”

Alastor swears he can hear the way your eyes roll at him. “I think you know what to do.”

“Don’t mock me.” Alastor flicks the head of his cock. “It’s not working. So, take responsibility for your actions.”

It’s silent for a little bit, but his ears pick up the way you lick your lips. “Why don’t you take a moment to get comfortable.”

Alastor takes a moment he doesn’t need. Talking to you always brings him comfort. “That’s been taken care of.”

“My naughty buck . . . I start with the tip,” you tell him. “I use a little bit of that pre-cum to lubricate you. Swirl it around before pumping it down.”

Alastor does as he’s told, massaging the sensitive tip as he lubricates himself. The sound of your breathing . . . the lingering scent from your coat . . . it coaxes a small moan from him. Alastor makes sure you can hear him through the receiver.

“I trail my fingers up the back, tracing that little line,” you tell him, and there’s definitely a smile on your face. “Can you do that for me, my sweet Al?”

Alastor gasps into the air, using the tips of his sharp claw to trace a path from the base to the head. It’s exactly how you do it. He can almost believe that it’s your hand that’s touching him.

“What’s next?” He breathes through the receiver, closing his eyes to revel in the feeling of everything. “What’s next, cher? Tell me what to do.”

“Make a ring with your finger, and wrap it around the base,” you tell him, voice a bit low. “Tighter, Alastor. Make it tighter than you think you need it to be.”

Alastor will never have the ability to deny you. So, there’s really nothing really else but to make a ring with his finger. The constant pressure feels so heavenly sinful. His hips buck up as he squeezes even tighter. Alastor takes his other hand, and pumps the length of his shaft in slow motions, making sure he feels every ounce of his building pleasure.

“Are you thinking about me right now?” you say. “Am I running around in that head of yours, pressing kisses before I take you into my mouth? Or am I on your hips, bouncing along to the beat of your drum?

“You never stopped.” Alastor thinks he moans your name, but the way he buries his face into your coat overloads his senses. The fire in his stomach burns faster, rising to the way you stroke his flames. “Cher . . . cher.”

“I’m right here, Alastor,” you say, and there’s a playful tint in the way you say his name. “Faster, dear. Lose yourself into me.”

Alastor jerks his hips, driving his cock into his hand faster and faster and faster.

The sound of your breathing pulls him along as he ruts into his hand, chasing sinfully sweet release. Alastor glances back at the photo of you, ass so high it’s practically worshiping him.

As he drives his hips up, Alastor notices something glistening around your folds.

A loud moan rips itself out of him. That’s his seed painting your cunt, slowly dripping out of you.

Finally, finally, his pleasure builds to its peak, and topples him over. Ropes of cum shoot out of his cock, pooling around his stomach. Alastor keeps pumping, dragging out all it’s worth as he spurts all over the bed, watching his seed drop to your coat.

Alastor doesn’t stop humping his fist, even as cum on your coat changes the smell on it. He keeps going until he’s still holding his still erect cock, driving it faster up his own sticky seed.

There’s a second where his mind clears for a fraction. Alastor takes a look around at the mess he’s making, and to the mess that he will make.

 No . . . no.

It’s all wrong.

Why is he cumming on his fist? This . . . this should be inside you.

If you happen to read this, I wanna thank all my friends in this fandom. The friendship I found in all of you makes me happier than I can ever express. I dedicate this handjob to : @nyx-umbrakinesis @redfoxwritesstuff @redvexillum @whatswrongwithblue @inuhalfdemon @crackrodent . I hope each and every one of you knows that you have all pushed me to become a better writer, and pushed me out of my own comfort zone. Each and every one of your works inspire me to become better and push myself to my limits. If it wasn’t for everyone at VoxTek, I would have dropped Alastor a long time ago. There’s a tweet I found that says we should be writing not for an audience but for ourselves and our five friends who are crazy enough to read what we write. I write for me and for you.

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Girl Next Door

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Simon is a simple man who doesn't ask for much. Just a bit of peace to come home to. When suddenly you pop in to interrupt his tranquility. Maybe he doesn't completely hate it...

A/N: This is fluff if you squint. Slow burn?? This will probably just be part one if y'all dig the concept. Let me know what you think.

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Simon loves sitting on his balcony in the evening. He loved it before his new neighbor moved in. He wasn't the type to be overly concerned about the actions of other tenants. If someone was too loud, he'd just turn up the television. Banging from upstairs, he'd play some music. Smoking pot outside, that's fine he smokes cigarettes. And he was never one to meddle in others personal lives. He sought sanctuary in his alone time. 

While unlocking his front door one day he couldn't ignore the soft grunting coming from down the hallway behind him. He turns to see someone coming out of the stairwell with a box so big he can only make out a pair of hands on the sides and little legs coming out the bottom. He watched as you waddled all the way to the door right next to his own. You drop the box with a huff, leaning forward on the cardboard to catch your breath. 

"Hi neighbor," you greet between pants. You're wearing some baggy clothes and a beat up baseball cap, wide eyes staring up at him from under its brim. Just a hint of sweat speckling your temples. "Sorry for the noise, I promise I'm not a normally noisy person." you smile. 

"Hope not," he grunts and enters his own residence. Closing the door firmly without a second look. 

𝜗𝜚

The next day while he's drinking his morning coffee and going through his emails he is disturbed by a politely quiet knock on the door. When he looks through the peephole he sees you again. This time with your hair down, wearing a sundress. Looking a lot more put together. You're holding a tray in your hands. He opens the door but does not release the door chain, leaving only a crack in the door to reveal himself.

"Can I help you," he grumbles in a flat tone.

"Hey neighbor!" You don't let the small allowance of space dampen your spirit or at least you don't show it. "I made some cookies. I'd like to think it's good luck to christen a new place by making something sweet in it. The recipe ended up making way more than I planned for so I figured it would be the neighborly thing to do to offer you some." You give your brightest smile hoping to win him over. 

"I don't like sweets," he states.

"Oh, really? I thought everyone liked sweets..." Your shoulders slump the smallest bit as you pause for a moment in thought. "Well, I've got a baked ziti in the oven. It should be ready in about thirty minutes. I could pop by and drop off some when it's done, if you'd like?"

"Yeah, no thanks." He doesn't allow you to respond when he closes the door in your face. Simon is a distrustful man by nature and he won't let a sweet girl with a tray of goodies change that. They did smell really good though. He can't help himself when he looks through his peephole to watch you leave. You let out a defeated sigh and shuffle back to your apartment next door. 

𝜗𝜚

A few days later he runs into you again. He steps into the elevator, presses the button for the lobby, when he hears a familiar voice calling. 

"Wait, hold the elevator please!" You shout down the hallway. You jog towards the lift, trying to get your purse on your shoulder with one hand while balancing your phone, keys, and a travel mug in the other. Your jacket is only half on and the straps on your shoes are undone. Simon groans under his breath but, out of a second of sympathy, he holds his arm out to block the doors from closing. 

"Thank you," you say breathlessly and duck underneath his outstretched arm. "I'm a running little behind this morning." 

"No problem." His eyes remain forward, watching the doors slide shut as the two of you start descending. You finish putting on your jacket and run your fingers to settle your frazzled hair. 

"Can you hold this for a second?" 

"Uh.." He doesn't get a chance to answer when you're thrusting your warm cup into his hands. He watches as you shove your phone and keys into your purse then bend down to finish buckling the straps on your shoes. Unbothered when your skirt rides up your leg exposing your upper thigh. 

You stand back up, straightening your blouse. "Thanks again" You take the cup back allowing him to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Hey, I'm sorry if I came off as strong the other day."

"It's fine"

"I'm not the best with first impressions." He doesn't respond so you continue. "I didn't mean to intrude either. I'm sure you're a very busy man. Me too, I'm pretty busy with work and stuff. I write for the paper. Well, I am writing the cooking column right now but I'm hoping to get bumped up soon. Maybe something like crime would be cool. What about you? What do you do for work?"

The elevator's ding signals you've arrived at the lobby. As the doors open Simon turns to his head slowly to look at you and nods towards the open doors. 

"Ladies first" 

He wasn't fooled by your clumsy persona, he could feel an ulterior motive in you. He watched as you sauntered off. You are much more professional now, as you pull out a pair of sunglasses and slide them on. He watched the way your hips swayed in your tight skirt. You looked over your shoulder and smiled sweetly at him. Simon waits until you're pushing open the glass paneled double doors before he heads out of the lift himself. 

As you make it onto the city sidewalk, a man runs right into you, causing your coffee to spill down the front of your shirt. You gasp as the hot liquid splashes onto your freshly ironed blouse and down your chest. The man hardly pauses before redirecting around you looking irritated. You spin back around with a huff and shove back into the lobby, pacing to the elevator. 

"Hold the door, please" you groan, marching back while Simon blocks the doors again, containing his laugh into a tight smirk.

𝜗𝜚

Whenever you caught a glimpse of Simon you were quick to skip over and start a conversation. Which was quite a bit. It seemed he was always running into you. The elevator, the apartment gym, while taking out trash, in the parking garage, as he unlocks his door. Most of the conversation being one sided. He was starting to learn more about your life, all the information against his will, of course. 

You were a recipe columnist, also a great cook. You liked dogs but really wanted a cat. You were a single child. You moved here to get a fresh start after a bad relationship. You don't have many friends, that one is pretty obvious.

Then one night, while Simon is trying to enjoy a smoke outside on his balcony he's disturbed by loud shouting in your apartment. Not in your usual bubbly tone, no you sounded angry. He couldn't understand the words you were saying through the glass of your patio door. Then a deep voice is shouting back at you. After a few minutes of listening to the back and forth, your front door slams and then there is stillness. The moment is interrupted when you storm onto your own balcony, slamming the glass door shut behind you.

You brace yourself on the railing edge. He watches your shoulders heave with a few heavy breaths then start to shutter. Your head falls weakly into your hands and you begin to cry. Cry hard at that, sobbing that shakes your whole body. You cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet but your pathetic whimpers still slip though. 

For a moment Simon actually feels bad for you. In fact he feels angry, angry at whoever could have made you feel that way. Sure, you could be annoying at times. Okay annoying all the time but he has never heard you say a harsh word about anyone before. He can't fathom what you could have possibly done to deserve such harshness. You are a sweet girl. He considers saying something to comfort you in some way but after another minute of watching you cry meekly into your hands he thinks maybe not. It would be better to let you be alone. His own patio door is still open, perhaps and can slip back inside with you noticing...

Then he drops his lighter. 

Your head turns sharply to the direction of the clattering plastic against the floor. You lock your watery eyes with Simon and he feels an unexpected pang in his heart. You swiftly wipe your eyes and brush your ruffled hair in place the best you can. Even in the dim lighting illuminating from the city below he can still see how flushed your cheeks have become. 

You draw in a shaky inhale before speaking. "How long have you been out here?"

"Not long," He sees your eyes flick down to the half smoked cigarette between his fingers, giving away his lie. "You want one?" He asks, unsure how to comfort you. 

"I don't smoke," then a pause. "Can I just have a bit of yours?" Your voice is so feeble it's almost a whisper. As you look at him with big round eyes and pouty lips, he can't deny your request. 

He passes the half burnt cigarette over the small stone wall separating your balconies. You're shaky fingers brush against his, careful not to drop it. You bring it to your lips to pull a slow drag. Your eyes flutter shut before you release the puff of smoke, carefully not to blow it in his direction. Simon watches the cloud drift out of your mouth, disappearing into the chilled night air. You lean on the wall connecting your balcony to Simon's. You stare down at the glowing red ember emitting a thin plume of smoke. 

"You alright?" It's him this time who breaks the silence.

"Yeah," you mumble, not lifting your gaze. 

"You sure?"

"No," you release a tired sigh. 

He waits a beat before speaking. "You told me you weren't gonna be a noisy neighbor."

A smile begins to creep onto your face. "I'm sorry, I broke my promise. How can I make it up to you?" When you look at him now, he sees a shimmer return back to your eyes. 

You pass the cigarette back over to him. It's basically down to the filter when he brings it to his own lips and takes a final drag, blowing the smoke between the two of you. It disperses around your features while you watch him. He stubs it out in an ashtray on his little patio table. The cool night dries his chapped mouth. He licks his lips and tastes an unfamiliar cherry flavoring. He looks down at the butt in his ashtray and observes the faintest red ring of lipgloss on the smushed filter. 

"You know, I could go for some baked ziti."

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Part II

Masterlist

Join the taglist here to be updated about new stories!

ﾒ𝟶

[lotties-ashwagandha]

THE NECESSITY OF BROOMSTICKS

rio vidal x reader, 938 words

you compromise on halloween decorations with your witch girlfriend. silly stupid halloween fluff w no depth just witches because WHERE are the fluff fics for agatha all along.

Rio looks at the sign with distaste. “What the fuck is witches’ brew?”

You look at the sign you’re hanging in the kitchen, Fresh Witches’ Brew, and smile. It’s decorative, you bought it while you were out today, one of the many Halloween decorations you found to put around the house. “It’s… you know. Potions. Spells. Cauldrons.”

She tilts her head. “No one uses cauldrons anymore.”

You roll your eyes, stepping back from the sign. It matches well with your home, it adds a playful touch you suspect you need in sharing a home with Death. Rio is obviously displeased, though, standing with her arms crossed as she glares up at your decor. She’s always hated the way witches are portrayed in the media this time of year — pointy hats and bubbling cauldrons and, as you love to point out, riding on brooms.

‘I rode on a broom once,’ she reminded you furiously the other day when you had brought home a new throw pillow with a stereotypical green witch with her pointy hat riding on a broom. ‘It was necessity.’

“I bought something else,” you tell her and reach for your bag of decor. She puts on an uninterested expression, but cranes her neck to look over into your bag. This time, you pull out new coffee mugs. Hocus Pocus, they read, in giant orange lettering. You hand Rio one of the mugs.

“Oh,” she looks down at the mug and then up at you — it’s on the tip of her tongue, a remark about how witches aren’t like Hocus Pocus movie witches, but instead she places it on the kitchen counter and with an obligatory smile she thanks you. She gravitates close to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and watching intently as you sort through the rest of your decor.

“I think I’ll go out today and get some decorations, too,” Rio announces and presses a quick kiss to your cheek — you expect to see a black lipstick stain when you next glance in the mirror. She stands up a little straighter, watching you with unwavering resolve. It sounds unnatural and dry when she says, “You’ve put me in the Halloween spirit.”

You nod, though you’re a bit hesitant. She hardly celebrates Halloween like you do — she’s more ancient than your commercialized celebrations, she views them as silly and meaningless compared to those of past centuries. It’s a night that was once viewed with much more reverence, a night that was respected with the severity it demands. Nonetheless, you’re curious as to what she will come up with to use for decorations — it’s hard to envision her trekking through the store for a scarecrow fit for the front porch.

•••

As you are putting up the last of your decorations, Rio comes in through the front door. She hauls something behind her, dragging it in through the door and propping it up on the couch: a life-sized plastic skeleton. Her gaze flits between you and it as she interprets your reaction, and you see the sense of achievement she holds.

“He was on sale,” Rio says, “so I got him some friends. They’re out on the patio sitting around that big cauldron you bought. I covered them in fake blood and drove one of my knives through one of their rib cages.”

Though inanimate, the look the skeleton on your couch wears on its bony face reflects Rio’s excitement. It’s charming, and you can only imagine the way the others she bought look sitting around your witches’ cauldron out on the patio. The vision has a smile pulling at you, and Rio’s pride in her purchases only seems to grow.

“I love him,” you nod to the skeleton on the couch. “Are you going to put him with the others?”

“No,” she digs around in a bag she brought in and pulls out a horror clown mask. “He gets to be a dead clown. You get your witch hats, I get my dead things.”

It’s a compromise you are willing to settle on for her. You know your days of traveling through the house at night for a glass of water have been ripped away until the skeleton is stored for next Halloween, but it’s a fair exchange if it means Rio will be more content in the face of your stereotyped witch decorations.

Rio slips the clown mask onto the skeleton and steps back to examine her work. She pulls out a dagger she keeps on her — you’ve told her that it is unnecessary to carry around knives constantly, but she never listens — and hands it to you. She nods to the skeleton. “Do the honors?”

“What, incriminate myself with clown murder?”

Rio nods enthusiastically. You approach the skeleton, and in a swift motion you drive the dagger into his chest.

“Beautiful,” Rio takes your hand when you come back to stand at her side. She pulls you close, and she leans in to kiss you before she stops and pulls away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, but Rio doesn’t respond, just disappears into the kitchen. “Rio?”

When she comes back, she holds your Witches’ Brew sign. She places it beside the skeleton and together you view the new addition to your seasonal decor.

“There,” Rio says. “Now it’s how it should be.”

A dead murderous clown selling witches’ brew on your couch — an addition to your household that you never would have suspected necessary, but one that makes your fall celebrations feel complete. Now Rio kisses you, peppering your face in more black lipstick stains, love outstanding the transience of autumn.

[cjlouwho]

Make It Ours

aka the one where Tommy asks Buck to move in

It started a little ridiculously. Buck didn't usually decorate his place for Halloween, but in his excitement over Bobby being back he'd gotten way too much for the firehouse and had a lot left over. So he took some paper bats home and hung them from his ceiling.

That should have been the end of it.

“We've got enough candy for a small army, I'm sure,” Buck said, resting his head on Tommy's chest, a hand softly rubbing over his pec.

“We don't really have any kids that come out to Harbor. A few of the kids whose parents are on shift will stop by, but that's about it.”

“Were you a Halloween fan growing up?” Buck asked, chills running up his spine as Tommy's fingers massaged his scalp.

“Oh yeah. We didn't really have the money to afford costumes, but I'd make stuff from old sheets or clothes that didn't fit me anymore. There was one year where-” Tommy stopped suddenly, and Buck looked up at him to see him staring out over the loft. “Are your bats animatronic?” he asked.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Tommy nodded his head in their direction. “They're moving.”

“Oh,” Buck glanced back briefly. “Probably the air coming on. Makes them swing sometimes.”

Tommy halfway settled back into the bed, but it didn't last very long, because soon enough one of those “decorations” started flying directly into the bedroom. Then there was another, and another.

“Evan, you have bats!” Tommy exclaimed.

“I- oh my God, I have bats!”

Ironically, Tommy did not love all things that flew. Buck had known this since they went to the zoo two months into their relationship and ventured into the butterfly exhibit. That's when he saw Tommy dripping with sweat, barely taking a breath and clutching Buck's hand until he asked what was wrong.

And now, watching a 6'2 man made mostly out of muscle race to put on a shirt and shorts, foregoing underwear completely, so he could duck out of the loft with a yelp was truly fascinating.

The fact that he only stopped briefly to give Buck a kiss and tell him to grab his things and meet him at his place was the icing on the cake.

That man was inside me twenty minutes ago, Buck thought, a baby bat swooping above him. He felt nothing but pride.

Within an hour, he was bringing a suitcase and work duffel into Tommy's place. Tommy, on his part, had emptied him two extra drawers to go along with the one he already had there. He'd made space for him in the bathroom as well, and cleared a section of the kitchen counter because, “I figured you'd bring some of your cooking stuff with you.”

He wasn't wrong.

It took a few weeks for the bat issue to be resolved, due to the fact that Buck's landlord was out of town and no one else seemed to know what to do.

Once the place had been cleared of the bats, it took extra time for Buck to be able to air out his place and clean the droppings that had been so graciously left behind.

It didn't help that he had a pretty busy schedule, taking extra shifts before he knew he'd have a bat problem.

Eventually, Buck ran out of reasons to keep himself at Tommy's place.

One morning, as he got ready for his 24 and Tommy got ready for his 48, he decided it was time. “I think my place is now free and clear of everything the bats left behind,” he said, pouring coffee into Tommy's travel mug, then swapping it out for his own. “I'll be able to pick up all my stuff after my shift and get out of your hair.”

“Hm," Tommy hummed. "You should just move in here." It was so nonchalant it sounded the same as when he ordered his usual from the taco bar down the street.

Buck froze mid pour. “I- I should what?”

“Move in with me,” he repeated with a shrug, “if you want.” He walked over to Buck and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Think about it, Babe. I gotta go. Love you.”

“Yeah, I- I... I love you too.”

Tommy grabbed his mug off the counter and headed out the door, leaving Buck feeling like a deer in headlights.

Part of him wanted to chase Tommy out the door and ask, “How dare you ask so casually?!” The other part was eternally grateful Tommy exited briskly and gave him time to think it over.

Because, wasn't it too soon? He'd only ever done this moving in together thing one other time, and that wasn't exactly for a good reason.

They'd only said I love you for the last couple months. The words still sounded new, still made his heart swell every time they came out of Tommy's mouth. Still blushed when he said it back.

And did Tommy actually mean it? He did have a dry sense of humor that was sometimes easy to miss. Maybe this was one of those times. It was just a joke and he was meant to brush it off with a laugh.

He wasn't sure how long he actually stood there with a half filled mug of coffee in front of him, but eventually his phone dinged and pulled him out of his thoughts.

Stop panicking. Yes, I meant it. Seriously, just think about it.

Buck rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile that rose on his face.

Hate you. Be safe.

He only had to wait a few seconds for a reply.

Love you too. You be safer.

*****

“I'm kind of freaking out,” Buck said as Maddie grabbed her lunch from the fridge.

“Why are you freaking out?”

“Tommy asked me to move in with him.”

She paused briefly, eyebrows going up as she stood at the counter. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. Wh- Why really? You think it's too soon, don't you? It's too soon. That's what I thought when he asked, well suggested is more like it. He suggested I move in, and then told me to think about it, and then he left for work and then I left for work. And he told me not to panic and that he actually meant it, but-”

“Buck, I didn't mean anything by my really,” she interrupted, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Honestly, I figured that was gonna happen once you stayed with him during the whole bat thing.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “I- I mean, you did?”

“You already spend more time at his place than your own. The bats were taken care of, what, almost a week ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And how many nights have you stayed at your place since then?”

“Well... Well, I had to work a couple of those days,” he tried to reason, “and then it made more sense to go to his place because we wanted to see each other but we were both tired from work.”

“You don't have to explain yourself, Buck,” she assured him. “I'm only saying it's not actually all that surprising.”

When Buck didn't look any more relieved than when he'd come into the call center, Maddie continued, “Have you made a pro/con list?”

He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and laid it on the countertop for Maddie to take. “Of course I did.”

She picked it up and read it over. “Great butt is number three? Did not need to know that.”

“It- It's a very detailed list,” he replied seriously.

“I can see that,” she agreed. “Although I can't help but notice there are no actual cons on this list.” She slid the paper back to him.

“That's why I'm freaking out.”

“Is this a bi crisis?” Josh asked, walking into the break room. “Because, if so, I feel like I should be involved. Also, I've been listening and I have something to say. May I?”

Buck nodded his head, resting his hands on the countertop. “Please. I- I could use all the help I can get.”

“Great. First of all, why are you trying to talk yourself out of it?”

“Because... Because, seven months ago I didn't even know I was bi, and then there was Tommy. And it's been great. He's funny, and kind, and he listens, and he's so hot-"

"Okay," Maddie waved for him to move on.

"Even when we argued, you know, we stuck around and worked it out. It's the healthiest relationship I've ever been in. It's the happiest relationship I've ever been in.”

“God, this sounds awful,” Josh deadpanned.

“Yeah, listen, Buck, if you don't want him I'll take him,” Maddie added with a smile. “I don't think Howie would mind.”

Buck grinned. “I'm just saying, it all seems so fast. I keep trying to think of reasons to say no, or wait a few more months, but I- I can't.”

“Okay, maybe you can't think of a reason to say no, because there's no good reason to say no,” Josh replied. “How's it been staying with him while the bats took over your place?”

“It's... It's been great. I thought there would be a big adjustment, but there really wasn't. He hasn't seemed bothered by my stuff being there, and it's been nice having someone to, ya know, come home to,” he added, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Have you had any of the big conversations yet?” Maddie asked. “You know, kids, marriage, stuff like that?”

“Mhm. We agree on everything.”

Josh glanced at Maddie before replying. “I really don't see the problem here, Buck.”

“You don't think it's too soon?”

“I think,” Josh sighed. “I think life is really short, which you probably know better than anybody. And if Tommy makes you as happy as it sounds like he does, then you're the only one stopping you from that happiness.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a deep breath. “Sometimes, I still feel like a fraud,” he admitted. “Like it all came too easy. You know, I- I've heard how rough it was for Tommy to come out and all the crap he went through for years. I figure out I like guys and get a boyfriend in the same day, six months later he's asking me to move in and I can picture my entire life with him.”

“I think that's your brain messing with you,” Josh said. “Because to me, it sounds like you've had thirty-three years of searching for something that feels real, and good, and settled. And you've found it with Tommy.”

Maddie nodded. “I agree. He's good to you, Evan. Everyone can see you two love each other. I can honestly say I've never seen you happier or more sure of yourself. You don't need to doubt that. You need to let yourself have a win.”

A smile started to grow on Buck's face. He was pretty sure he'd already made up his mind, but there was still one thing that worried him. “What if it doesn't work out?”

“Then you do the opposite of what you're about to do,” Josh answered simply, “and you move back out.”

*****

Tommy already knew Buck was at his place before he got inside. The giant Jeep in his driveway was always a dead giveaway.

Half of him expected Buck's things to be neatly packed up by the door, ready to move back into his loft until his lease was officially up.

The other half expected him to be sitting on the couch with a downcast look on his face that said I'm not ready to move in with you without having to actually say it.

What he didn't expect was the door to swing back on him due to it slamming into boxes.

Once he managed to hold the door open and scoot inside, he looked around at well over twenty boxes that were littered around the entryway of his place, leading into the living room.

“Evan?” he called out, a smile already on his face.

“Here!” he exclaimed, exiting Tommy's bedroom and hurrying down the hall. “Here, I'm here! So-” Buck paused briefly to give Tommy a peck on the lips, then continued through the maze of boxes as he headed for the kitchen, Tommy following behind. “This isn't everything, obviously, but I don't actually think I'll be bringing all that much from my place. The bats pooped on a lot. Like, a whole lot. Plus, I like your furniture. The kitchen will have to have some new appliances, but I already ordered what the bats, you know, pooped on. You need to let me know what appliances have a family history for you- if that's a thing- before I throw them out. Some of this stuff is, well, it's terrible. Why don't you sharpen your knives, Tommy? Mind blowing. I know the boxes are kinda a mess, but I didn't want to unpack without you because that feels like me just taking over, ya know, and I don't wanna-”

Buck was stopped by Tommy grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him in close. He wrapped his arms around Buck's waist, and Buck's arms rested over Tommy's shoulders.

“I'm guessing this is a yes to moving in?” Tommy asked, nose scrunching up in a smile.

Buck let out a deep breath, grinning back. “Yes. It- It's a yes.”

“You didn't freak out too much?”

“I didn't freak out at all,” Buck protested weakly.

“Evan.”

“Okay, I freaked out a little,” he replied, ducking his head, “but not for the reasons you think.”

Tommy tilted Buck's chin so their eyes met. “What reasons?”

“I... The fact there wasn't a reason to say no. I- I freaked because it felt like it should feel too soon, but it didn't. It doesn't. It feels right.”

That's when Tommy leaned in for a kiss far less chaste than the one Buck had given him when he opened the door.

“Do we have to start unpacking tonight?” Tommy asked when they parted, resting their foreheads against one another.

Buck shook his head. He brought his hands to the nape of Tommy's neck and drew him in again, his tongue parting Tommy's lips. Clumsily, they began making their way toward their bedroom without letting one another go.

“Maybe we could work on christening the place then?” Tommy suggested, his nose brushing up against Buck's cheek. “For good luck or whatever.”

“Mmm,” Buck moaned, grabbing at the hem of Tommy's shirt and pulling it over his head quickly, tossing it on top of a box. “You have the best ideas, roomie.”

Tommy snorted at that, his head tossing back in laughter. “God, I love you.”

Somehow, they managed to make it to the bedroom, and Buck gently pushed Tommy down before crawling over him, leaning down to whisper against his lips, “I love you too.”

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader’s first valentine’s day

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

valentine's special, suggested here :) warning: suggestive ending

Y/n awoke with a groan, her legs stretching out beneath her as she took in a deep inhale of the crisp morning air, surprised to be greeted with the strong scent of bacon. She glanced to her side, expecting to see Drew sprawled out on his side of the bed, only to see it empty. Down the hallway, the low sounds of 90s rock echoed over the sizzling of bacon as it cooked on the stovetop. With a furrow of her brow, y/n swung her legs out of bed before padding across the floor until she made it into the kitchen.

At the stove, Drew stood, his bare and muscled back to her as he swayed side to side with the music. He wore a pair of gym shorts low on his hips, his torso covered by one of y/n’s old aprons. Just to the side of him, a vase of roses in varying shades of pink and red adorned the kitchen table. Hearing the soft sound of y/n’s footsteps, Drew turned around.

“Good morning.” He hummed as y/n stepped over to him, greeting him with a smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. He grinned against her before the two of them pulled apart, y/n’s arm finding its way around Drew’s back. Her fingernails traced lightly against the tanned skin of his back as he turned his attention to the sizzling skillet in front of him.

“What��s all this for, hm?” Y/n asked, looking across the island at the spread of various breakfast foods. Fluffy eggs and perfectly toasted toast sat next to a bowl of sliced fruit and a box of y/n’s favorite pastries from the bakery downtown.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, my love.” Drew laughed, putting a hand on his hip as he carefully transferred the bacon to a plate. “I figured it's the least I could do for you for putting up with me these last few months.”

“It’s actually crazy how perfect you are, did you know that?” Y/n said, planting a kiss on Drew’s cheek. She turned to the kitchen cabinets, digging through them until she found her and Drew’s favorite mugs.

“Ah, ah.” Drew chided, stopping y/n as she went to start the coffee pot. He went to the refrigerator, pulling out a large of y/n’s order from Claire’s. Y/n squealed, taking it from him and setting it on the counter before grabbing his face in her hands. She littered kisses along his grinning and blushed face.

“Perfect, Starkey, per-fect!” Y/n said, stepping away from Drew as he snaked an arm around her waist. “Did you not get anything for yourself?”

“I already drank it.” Drew laughed, shifting his hand under the back of the old t-shirt of his y/n owned. “How do you think I got up so early to do all this?”

Y/n felt goosebumps travel up her back from Drew’s warm touch against the small of her back. Y/n leaned her head against Drew’s shoulder, watching as he painstakingly crafted her a plate, taking care in each helping of eggs and dollop of whipped cream.

“I’ll be right back,” y/n said, leaning up onto her tiptoes to whisper in Drew’s ear, “I’m gonna go get your gift.”

“You got me a gift?!” Drew asked, his tone incredulous as he watched y/n giddily run away towards their guest bedroom. Once she made it in, y/n flung the doors to the closet open, digging through the pockets of an old coat for the spot she’d hidden Drew’s gift in. Once her hand’s felt the crinkle of wrapping paper, she grinned, pulling the elegantly wrapped present out and heading back to the kitchen.

Drew sat their two plates at the dining table, slipping the apron off over his head as y/n approached. She giggled as Drew’s eyes widened at his gift, clearly very much surprised as one of y/n’s hands reached up to rest along the nape of his neck. She scratched his head lightly, examining the light blush in his cheeks as he looked back down at her.

“Here you go,” Y/n whispered, handing the wrapped box to him. Drew took it, laughing slightly as he quickly pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing the box on the kitchen table.

“This is a bit ironic.” Drew said, digging into his pocket to procure an almost identical box wrapped in the same pink and red gift wrapping. Y/n laughed as she took it, placing it down on the kitchen table before rising up to press a kiss to Drew’s jaw.

“You should open yours first.” Y/n said, raising her brows at Drew.

“Ok, ok, fine.” Drew chuckled. “But let’s eat first.”

Drew moved to pull y/n’s chair out for her. She sat down, examining the beautiful bouquet of roses and impressive spread of food sat out in front of her. Drew took his seat opposite her, watching as she admired the table between them.

“Thank you, Drew. Really, this is… thank you.” Y/n stammered, smiling widely. Drew laughed, reaching across the table to take her hand.

“You deserve it baby.” Drew said, squeezing y/n’s hand gently before the two of them dug into their breakfast. Y/n savored each bite, praising Drew for his impressive cooking skills. Once they finished, Drew cleared the table before returning to sit across from y/n once more.

“Now it’s time for you to open this.” Y/n said, pushing the box towards Drew. Drew sat up straighter, clearing his throat before he examined the small box in his large hands. He worked intently as he unwrapped it, revealing a rectangular, velvet box. His eyes flicked up to meet y/n’s excited gaze before returning back to the box in front of him. Drew opened it slowly, revealing the glittering, gold necklace inside. He lifted it from the box, admiring the details of the dainty, gold chain and two glittering stone pendants, one for Drew’s birth month and one for y/n’s.

“Shit, baby…” Drew whispered as he looked intently at the way the chain and stones caught the light. “I love it, baby, wow. Thank you…”

Drew grinned before he offered the necklace out to y/n to put on him. He turned his toned back to her, allowing for her to drape the chain around his neck before securing it in place. Her fingers brushed along the sensitive skin of the nape of his neck, teasing him before sinking back into her seat. Drew turned around, flexing his chest as he showed off his new bling with a cheesy grin that brought a giggle out of y/n’s mouth.

“You should open yours,” Drew said, gesturing to the wrapped gift in front of y/n as he scratched the back of his neck. “We, uh… sort of had similar ideas.”

“What?!” Y/n laughed as she opened the gift, revealing a similar velvet box to the one she had gotten Drew. She opened it revealing a golden necklace. However, where Drew’s was a fine, golden chain with small pendants, hers was an intricately designed locket with swirling embellishments. Her fingers gently opened the locket, revealing an engraving spelling out “I Love You” in Drew’s familiar handwriting.

Y/n laughed lightly as she admired it, both because of the sentiment of the gift as well as the way their minds thought so similarly. Both were necklaces, different in details, sure, but genuine and thoughtful in a way that took their tastes into account almost effortlessly

“I love it, Drew,” Y/n grinned up at Drew, who stood from his seat opposite her to press a kiss to the top of y/n’s head before pulling her to her feet to wrap her in his warm embrace. Her face rested against the warmth of his bare skin, taking in his soft scent as he held her close. After a moment, she raised up to her tip toes so her lips brushed gently against Drew’s ear.

“I’ve got one more gift for you tonight.” Y/n whispered, a teasing grin spreading across her lips.

“Hmm, am I allowed a hint?” Drew asked with a quirk of his brow.

“Well, it’s for after dinner tonight.” Y/n said, her fingertips tracing along Drew’s chest as she spoke.

“Getting to see you in that dress, I mean… what more of a gift could I ask for?” Drew said lowly. “Could I at least get a hint?”

Y/n’s grin widened as she pressed a kiss to Drew’s cheek before her lips returned to his ear.

“No, sorry.” Y/n whispered. “I guess you’ll just have to take off my dress and find out.”

[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

part ii here.

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[w1w2]

could you write super shy and quiet reader meeting the twice members as minas girlfriend?

Shy Hearts and Warm Smiles

Myoui Mina x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 4,5k

Synopsis: Mina invites her shy and reserved girlfriend, Y/N, to meet the members of Twice at a cozy dinner hosted by Jeongyeon.

Notes: Here you go Anon🫶🏻 Happy New Year!

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The soft hum of the city filtered through the half open window of Mina’s cozy apartment, mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves from the park below. Golden sunlight spilled across the room in lazy streaks, catching on the small trinkets Mina had collected from her travels, tiny glass figurines on the windowsill, a framed polaroid of the ocean, and a delicate ceramic vase holding fresh daisies.

The air was warm and inviting, carrying the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint sweetness of vanilla candles Mina loved to light in the mornings. The quiet atmosphere felt like a world of its own, tucked away from the bustle outside.

Y/N sat cross legged on the couch, her fingers curled around a warm ceramic mug that seemed to heat her from the inside out. Her favorite sweater, oversized and soft, slipped slightly off one shoulder, exposing a delicate curve of skin. Her gaze lingered on the window, where sunlight glinted off distant rooftops, her thoughts a quiet swirl of reflection. She was always like this in the mornings, calm, introspective, and content in the silence.

From the kitchen, the faint clink of dishes signaled Mina’s presence. Her movements were deliberate, almost rhythmic, as if choreographed to match the serene mood of the morning. When she appeared in the doorway, carrying a small plate of toast and fruit, Y/N’s lips curled into a faint smile, her heart softening at the sight. Mina had that effect on her, a quiet gravity that pulled her into the moment.

Mina set the plate down on the coffee table with a soft clatter, then slid onto the couch beside Y/N. She tucked her legs neatly beneath her, her movements as graceful as a ballet, and leaned slightly toward Y/N. The sunlight illuminated her delicate features, her luminous skin, her expressive doe eyes, and the curve of her gentle smile.

“Good morning,” Mina murmured, her voice a blend of softness and warmth. She reached out to brush a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering for a moment in a small, affectionate gesture.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper, though it carried a sweetness that made Mina’s smile grow. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching Mina’s as if sensing there was something more to this morning than toast and coffee.

Mina leaned forward just a bit, resting her hands lightly on the couch cushions. “Jeongyeon’s hosting a dinner tonight,” she began, her tone gentle but tinged with anticipation. “At her new house. Everyone’s going to be there. I thought it’d be a nice chance for you to meet the others.”

The words settled in the air between them, and Y/N froze. Her fingers tightened around her mug, as if anchoring herself. Her eyes widened slightly, betraying the nervous flutter in her chest. “Oh… I don’t know,” she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible. “Meeting everyone at once… It sounds… overwhelming.”

Mina immediately noticed the tension in Y/N’s shoulders, the way her lips pressed into a thin line. Without hesitation, she reached out, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s knee. Her touch was light, reassuring, yet firm enough to draw Y/N’s attention.

“I know it’s a lot,” Mina said softly, her gaze steady and calm. Her tone held no pressure, only an invitation wrapped in understanding. “But I want them to meet you. They’ve been so curious about you, and… I want you to be part of this part of my life.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a light pink under Mina’s gaze, her heart skipping at the sincerity in her words. Mina’s presence was like a balm, soothing the anxious thoughts that had already begun to spiral. “I’m just… not good at this kind of thing,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling slightly as she met Mina’s eyes.

Mina’s smile softened, her expression shifting into something playful and sweet. She leaned in, her nose brushing Y/N’s in a gentle eskimo kiss that sent a ripple of warmth through Y/N’s chest. “You don’t have to do anything but be yourself,” Mina murmured. “And if it gets too much, just squeeze my hand. I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

Y/N stared at her for a moment, Mina’s words wrapping around her like a blanket. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she gave a small, almost shy nod. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice carrying a hint of newfound courage. “For you.”

Mina beamed, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as she tucked a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear once more. “That’s my girl,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple before settling back against the couch, her hand still resting lightly on Y/N’s knee.

In that moment, Y/N realized that as daunting as the evening seemed, Mina’s quiet strength and unwavering support made it all feel a little more possible.

As Y/N quietly sipped her coffee, her thoughts drifted to how it all began.

She’d met Mina during one of her rare ventures out with friends. It was a quiet café, one of Mina’s favorite haunts, and Y/N had been tucked into a corner, sketching absentmindedly in her notebook. She hadn’t noticed Mina watching her from across the room, captivated by the way Y/N’s shy smile lit up when her friends teased her gently.

It was Mina who approached her first, her calm confidence breaking through Y/N’s initial hesitation. Their conversation had started slow, both of them naturally reserved, but as the minutes stretched into hours, Y/N found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t with anyone else.

What started as quiet coffee dates turned into walks through parks, late night talks under city lights, and shared moments of unspoken understanding. Mina’s nurturing warmth drew Y/N out of her shell, while Y/N’s thoughtful presence grounded Mina, giving her a safe space to simply be.

Y/N smiled faintly at the memory, her heart swelling with affection. Mina had a way of making the world feel less daunting, her gentle strength a constant source of comfort.

And now, Mina wanted to share her world, her group, her family with Y/N.

The thought was intimidating, but as Mina nudged her playfully, offering her another piece of toast, Y/N realized she couldn’t say no.

The car pulled up to Jeongyeon’s new house, nestled in a quiet neighborhood that blended modern sophistication with homey charm. From the outside, the house stood proud with sleek, minimalist lines, a warm-toned wooden façade, and large windows that reflected the twilight sky. Fairy lights adorned the front porch, casting a soft, welcoming glow that contrasted with the crisp evening air.

As Mina parked, Y/N stared at the house, her nerves bubbling to the surface. Her fingers, already clasped in Mina’s hand, tightened slightly. Mina gave her a reassuring squeeze, her thumb brushing lightly over Y/N’s knuckles.

“It’s going to be fine,” Mina said softly, her calm tone steadying Y/N. “Just stay close to me. They’re going to love you.”

Y/N nodded, though her heart was racing. She followed Mina up the short path to the front door, the sound of laughter and chatter spilling out as Mina rang the doorbell.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Jeongyeon with an easygoing grin. Her casual outfit, a relaxed sweater and jeans, matched the laid-back vibe of the house. “Finally!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with warmth as she pulled Mina into a quick hug. Then her gaze shifted to Y/N.

“And this must be the famous Y/N,” Jeongyeon said with a teasing smirk, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Mina’s been talking nonstop about you.”

Y/N flushed, a shy smile creeping onto her face. “H-Hi,” she stammered softly, clinging to Mina’s hand as if it were a lifeline.

“Come in, come in,” Jeongyeon said, stepping aside to let them in. The interior of the house reflected Jeongyeon’s personality perfectly, cozy yet modern, with a mix of clean lines and inviting textures. Soft rugs and throw blankets softened the sleek furniture, and personal touches like framed photos and a guitar propped in the corner added warmth to the space.

As they stepped into the living room, the energy of the Twice members hit Y/N like a wave. The group was gathered around a large sectional couch, their laughter filling the space. The smell of home cooked food wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of Jeongyeon’s signature sandalwood candles.

“Yah, Mina! Finally, you’re here!” Nayeon called, her bright voice carrying over the group’s chatter. She stood and crossed the room quickly, her confident stride and radiant smile making Y/N instinctively shrink back a little.

“So, this is the girlfriend!” Nayeon said dramatically, hands on her hips as she looked Y/N up and down with an exaggerated, playful squint. Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Nayeon was already grinning. “Don’t look so nervous. I don’t bite. Mina’s taste is impeccable, obviously.”

Y/N blinked, unsure whether to laugh or retreat, but Mina’s soft chuckle beside her eased the tension.

“Nayeon, don’t scare her,” Jihyo said, appearing beside them with her signature warmth. She gave Nayeon a light swat on the shoulder before turning to Y/N. “Hi, I’m Jihyo,” she said, pulling Y/N into a gentle hug. Her embrace felt like a cocoon of reassurance, and Y/N couldn’t help but relax slightly. “We’ve all been looking forward to meeting you. Thank you for coming.”

Y/N managed a shy smile. “T-Thank you for having me,” she said softly.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Dahyun quipped, appearing with a sly grin. “She’s only been looking forward to meeting you because she needs someone else to babysit Nayeon for a change.”

“I heard that!” Nayeon called from the couch, pretending to glare.

Dahyun winked at Y/N. “See? You’re already fitting in.” She gestured grandly toward the couch. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone properly.”

As Mina led her further into the room, Y/N’s nerves began to settle. Dahyun’s silly commentary drew a soft giggle from her, and Jihyo’s steady presence felt like an anchor amidst the group’s playful chaos.

From the corner of her eye, Mina watched Y/N carefully. Her chest swelled with pride as Y/N’s shy smile began to peek through more often. This was only the beginning of the evening, but Mina was already certain, it was going to be a night to remember.

The dining table was set beautifully, a mix of casual and elegant that mirrored Jeongyeon’s personality. The centerpiece, a simple arrangement of fresh flowers, was flanked by a variety of dishes, from hearty Korean stews to colorful side dishes. The soft glow of overhead lights made the room feel cozy, though to Y/N, the lively energy felt a little overwhelming.

The members had gathered around the table, their chatter and laughter filling the space as they passed plates and shared jokes. Y/N sat beside Mina, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders slightly hunched as she tried to take everything in.

“Eat, eat!” Momo said enthusiastically, her chopsticks already diving into the nearest dish. “You’ve gotta try this. Jeongyeon’s mom made it, amazing as always.”

As the conversation ebbed and flowed around her, Y/N felt a pang of anxiety. The lively atmosphere, though warm, was far outside her comfort zone. She cast a glance at Mina, her quiet unease clear in her eyes.

Mina immediately noticed. Without saying a word, she placed her hand on Y/N’s knee under the table, her thumb brushing lightly in soothing circles. Y/N looked up at her, meeting Mina’s calm, steady gaze. Mina’s smile was soft, encouraging, and just like that, Y/N felt her heartbeat slow a little.

“Try this,” Momo said, leaning over to place an extra serving of japchae on Y/N’s plate. “It’s one of my favorites. Oh, and that one too!” She added a piece of fried chicken, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Thank you,” Y/N said shyly, her voice barely audible over the din. She took a tentative bite and smiled, the flavors comforting and familiar.

“See? Good food fixes everything,” Momo said with a grin.

Sana, sitting across from Y/N, leaned forward with a playful glint in her eyes. “By the way, I love your sweater,” she said, her voice dripping with sincerity. “It’s so cute, and it suits you perfectly! Mina has such good taste, obviously.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep pink as she murmured, “Thank you.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re adorable!” Sana gushed, clasping her hands dramatically. “Mina, how did you manage to find someone so precious?”

“She found me,” Mina replied simply, a proud smile tugging at her lips.

Jeongyeon, sensing Y/N’s growing discomfort at all the attention, jumped in with her usual wit. “Okay, Sana, let the poor girl breathe,” she teased. Then, turning to Y/N, she added with a smirk, “Don’t worry, they’re always like this. You’ll get used to it, or you’ll learn how to tune them out, like I do.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Y/N found herself smiling, even letting out a quiet laugh of her own. Jeongyeon winked at her. “See? You’re already a pro.”

Mina squeezed Y/N’s knee lightly, her smile growing as she watched Y/N relax bit by bit.

As the meal went on, the members took turns drawing Y/N into the conversation. Dahyun shared a funny story about a clumsy moment during rehearsal, complete with exaggerated gestures that had everyone in stitches. Chaeyoung asked Y/N about her hobbies, nodding along with genuine interest when Y/N mentioned her love for drawing.

“Mina didn’t tell us you were an artist!” Chaeyoung said with wide eyes. “You have to show me your sketches sometime. I bet they’re amazing.”

Mina, noticing the softening of Y/N’s expression, leaned in slightly. “Why don’t you tell them about the time you drew that mural for the community center?” she suggested gently, her tone encouraging.

Y/N hesitated, but the warm smiles around the table gave her a small boost of confidence. “It was… just a volunteer project,” she began softly. “They needed someone to paint a mural for the kids, so I—um, I designed something with animals and flowers. It took a while, but the kids seemed to like it.”

“That’s incredible!” Jihyo said, her eyes shining with admiration. “You’re so talented, and so modest about it.”

“Show off,” Jeongyeon teased with a grin, earning a playful nudge from Momo.

As the laughter bubbled up again, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. The warmth and acceptance of the group wrapped around her like a blanket, and though she still felt a bit shy, she began to see why Mina cherished them so much.

Mina watched it all unfold with quiet pride, her heart swelling at the sight of Y/N slowly opening up. She reached for Y/N’s hand under the table, giving it a small squeeze. Y/N looked at her, a shy smile blooming on her lips, and Mina’s heart melted.

By the end of the meal, the table was filled with empty plates, satisfied smiles, and a deeper sense of connection.

The group moved from the dining table to the living room, their energy still high as they settled into the plush couches and floor cushions. Jeongyeon, ever the host, returned with a stack of board games balanced in her arms.

“Alright, what’s the vibe? Competitive or chaotic?” she asked, setting the games down on the coffee table.

“Chaotic, obviously,” Nayeon said, grabbing a box of charades and waving it in the air. “Let’s get moving!”

“Fine, but I’m keeping score,” Jihyo declared, picking up a notepad and pen from the table.

The group quickly split into teams, with Y/N ending up on Mina’s side. She felt a flicker of anxiety but took a steadying breath as Mina leaned in close.

“Just have fun,” Mina whispered, her lips brushing lightly against Y/N’s ear.

As the game began, the room filled with laughter and cheers. Momo’s exaggerated pantomimes and Sana’s inability to stop giggling during her turn brought the kind of chaos only Twice could create.

When it was Y/N’s turn, she hesitated before standing. Mina gave her a reassuring nod, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. Taking a card from the stack, Y/N read it quickly and began miming.

“Uh… a tree?” Chaeyoung guessed, squinting in confusion.

“No, no!” Jihyo shouted. “A giraffe?”

Y/N clapped her hands and pointed at Jihyo, who erupted in a triumphant cheer. The room broke into applause as Y/N sat back down, her cheeks pink but her smile wide.

Mina beamed at her. “You’re doing great,” she whispered, placing a soft kiss on Y/N’s cheek.

As the game wound down, the lively buzz in the room began to soften, the group naturally splitting into smaller clusters of conversation. The sound of laughter lingered, now mixed with the occasional clinking of cups and the rustle of cushions as people shifted into more comfortable positions.

Y/N found herself still seated on the couch, her hands resting in her lap as she observed the group. Despite her initial nerves, she felt more at ease now, the warmth of Mina’s hand on her back grounding her even as Mina moved momentarily to help Jeongyeon clear a few plates.

Chaeyoung slid onto the couch beside Y/N, holding her phone and wearing a bright, curious expression. “So about the art..” she said, her tone brimming with enthusiasm as she tilted her phone toward Y/N. On the screen was a detailed digital sketch of a bird, its wings mid flight. The strokes were confident, but there was a rawness to the shading, as though Chaeyoung hadn’t quite decided how to finish it.

“I’ve been trying to figure out shading,” Chaeyoung continued, leaning closer. “It’s so hard to get it to look soft but not flat. Do you have any tips?”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, her natural shyness momentarily giving way to quiet excitement. She leaned in slightly, her gaze focused on the screen. “This is really good,” she said sincerely, her voice soft but earnest. “The details are amazing. For the shading…” She paused, her brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe… try using softer strokes around the edges? Blend them a little more so the shadows look gradual. It makes it feel more three-dimensional.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widened, her face lighting up. “Oh! That makes so much sense!” she exclaimed, quickly jotting down notes on her phone. “I knew asking you was the right move. You’ve gotta show me your work sometime. I bet it’s incredible.”

A shy smile spread across Y/N’s face, a small flicker of confidence sparking at Chaeyoung’s genuine interest. “I-I’d love to,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of warmth.

Nearby, Tzuyu appeared, her graceful movements as effortless as ever. She held a steaming mug of tea in each hand and offered one to Y/N with a small, serene smile.

“Here,” Tzuyu said, sitting down beside her. “I figured you might need something to help you relax after all this.”

Y/N accepted the mug with both hands, the warmth of the tea comforting against her skin. “Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze flickering to Tzuyu’s.

The tall girl settled beside her, cradling her own mug as she regarded Y/N with her usual quiet confidence. “You’re doing really well tonight,” Tzuyu said after a moment, her voice calm and candid.

Y/N blinked, surprised by the compliment. “Oh,” she said softly, her cheeks warming. “Thank you.”

Tzuyu’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re so kind and gentle, I can see why Mina likes you so much,” she said, leaning back slightly. “You make her smile a lot, you know. I’ve never seen her this happy.”

Y/N’s blush deepened as her gaze dropped to her mug. She traced the rim with her finger, her voice barely above a whisper. “She… she makes me happy too,” she admitted, her words heartfelt and sincere.

Tzuyu chuckled lightly, the sound low and warm. She reached out, patting Y/N’s shoulder with an almost sisterly affection. “Good. Just make sure you keep treating her well,” she said, her tone teasing now. “Or you’ll have eight of us to answer to.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound surprising even herself. It was light and unguarded, and it earned an approving nod from Tzuyu.

“I mean it,” Tzuyu added with a grin. “We’re protective of our Mina, but you seem pretty perfect for her.”

Y/N glanced up, meeting Tzuyu’s gaze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying a little more confidence now.

Tzuyu leaned back, sipping her tea as the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the earlier intensity giving way to a comfortable camaraderie.

As the evening wore on, the energy in the room began to mellow. Some of the members were sprawled comfortably across the couch, their laughter quieter now as they shared funny stories and inside jokes. Others lingered in the dining area, tidying up plates and cups amidst easy conversation. The soft hum of background music played from a speaker in the corner, blending seamlessly with the occasional bursts of laughter from across the room.

Mina, ever attentive, noticed Y/N shifting slightly in her seat, her eyes starting to wander as the group’s energy began to feel overwhelming again. With a gentle touch on her elbow, Mina leaned in close. “Let’s take a moment,” she whispered, her tone as soothing as a lullaby.

Y/N nodded, letting Mina guide her to a quieter corner of the living room, away from the bustling energy of the others. They found a spot near the large bay window, the faint glow of the city lights beyond casting soft patterns across the floor. Mina turned to face Y/N, her hands naturally reaching out to take Y/N’s in hers.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Mina said, her voice low and intimate, the sincerity in her tone wrapping around Y/N like a warm embrace.

Y/N looked down at their entwined fingers, her lips curving into a small, shy smile. Her voice was soft as she replied, “I was so nervous… but they’re all so nice. And you were right, this wasn’t so bad.”

Mina smiled, her gaze filled with pride and affection. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, her thumbs brushing lightly over the back of Y/N’s hands in a rhythmic, comforting motion.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering between Mina’s face and their joined hands. Finally, she took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. “Thank you,” she began, her voice trembling slightly but carrying a weight of sincerity. “Thank you for staying by my side tonight. For… everything.”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the words were meant for Mina and Mina alone. “I love you.”

Mina’s breath caught for a moment, her chest tightening in the best way as Y/N’s quiet declaration settled over her like a melody she never wanted to stop hearing. Her lips parted in a soft exhale, her heart swelling with emotion.

She reached up slowly, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek before cupping it gently. The warmth of Y/N’s skin against her palm felt grounding, intimate. Mina tilted her head slightly, her eyes locking onto Y/N’s as if memorizing every detail of this moment.

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice steady, filled with a depth of feeling that made Y/N’s breath hitch. Mina leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple, letting her lips linger there for a moment longer than usual. It was a silent promise, a gesture of everything she felt but didn’t need to say aloud.

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into Mina’s touch, a faint smile curving her lips. They stayed like that, their foreheads almost touching, the world around them fading into the background. The faint murmur of the group, the clinking of dishes, and the soft music became distant, like a backdrop to their own little universe.

Mina’s hand slipped down to Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her closer until Y/N rested her head against Mina’s. The quiet comfort of their presence filled the space between them, unspoken words of gratitude and love passing through every glance and touch.

For Y/N, this moment felt like an anchor, a reminder that, no matter how overwhelming the world might be, Mina would always be there, steady and unwavering.

And for Mina, seeing Y/N like this, relaxed, happy, and finally at ease, felt like the most precious gift of all.

The evening gradually reached its quiet finale, the earlier liveliness fading into a warm, serene atmosphere. Most of the Twice members had gathered in the living room again, some lounging on the couch while others sat cross-legged on the floor, holding cups of tea or nibbling on the last few snacks. The soft glow of the overhead lights cast a golden hue over the scene, making it feel like a moment frozen in time.

Mina sat beside Y/N on the couch, their hands loosely intertwined. Y/N had relaxed significantly, her shoulders no longer tense, her smile now coming easily. The warmth and kindness of Mina’s friends had finally melted the last of her apprehension, leaving behind only a quiet sense of belonging.

Jeongyeon, who had been scrolling through her phone, suddenly clapped her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, before we call it a night, I think it’s time to make things official.”

The group turned to her with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement. “What do you mean, official?” Nayeon asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jeongyeon smirked, pointing toward Y/N. “Y/N’s basically one of us now. Don’t you all agree?”

A chorus of agreement rose from the group, interspersed with cheers and clapping.

“Yes!” Jihyo said, her voice carrying its usual leader-like authority. She turned to Y/N, her expression softening. “We’re so happy Mina brought you tonight. You’re wonderful, and honestly, it already feels like you’re part of our family.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, the sincerity in Jihyo’s words making her chest tighten with emotion. She glanced around the room, taking in the warm smiles and nods of agreement from the others.

“Totally,” Sana chimed in, scooting closer from her spot on the floor. “You’re adorable, kind, and you make Mina so happy. That’s all we need to know.”

Dahyun grinned, leaning over to give Y/N’s knee a playful pat. “And hey, you survived your first Twice gathering. That alone deserves a round of applause.”

Laughter rippled through the group, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her cheeks flushing as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “I… I was so nervous about tonight, but you’ve all been so kind. It means so much to me.”

Mina, sitting beside her, squeezed her hand gently, her expression radiating pride.

“Well,” Nayeon said, standing up dramatically, “there’s only one thing left to do. Group photo!”

Groans and laughs erupted from the group as Nayeon grabbed her phone. “Come on, come on! Everyone squish in!”

The members shuffled around, some squeezing onto the couch while others crouched on the floor in front. Y/N found herself in the center, seated next to Mina, who kept a firm yet gentle grip on her hand.

“Okay, everyone, smile!” Nayeon called, holding the phone up.

As the group leaned in, laughter and playful shouts filled the air. Momo pretended to photobomb, Jihyo threw up a peace sign, and Sana hugged Dahyun from behind, making her burst into giggles. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the joy of the moment washing over her.

The shutter clicked, capturing the scene perfectly. Y/N with a radiant, shy smile, Mina holding her hand tightly, and the rest of the Twice members surrounding them with bright, happy expressions.

As Nayeon checked the photo, Jeongyeon grinned. “That’s one for the books,” she said.

Mina leaned close to Y/N, her voice a soft murmur in her ear. “See? They already adore you.”

Y/N turned to Mina, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Mina smiled, brushing a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. “You deserve it,” she replied, her voice filled with quiet conviction.

The photo, a perfect snapshot of a night filled with acceptance and love, became more than just a memory.

[theweewooshow]

Buck wakes up to his limbs being moved, to the mattress shifting with the weight change of Tommy getting out of bed.

He’s bleary-eyed as he lifts his head, a questioning sound leaving his throat before he’s even opened his mouth, trying to figure out why his sleep is being interrupted when he’s still so tired.

Tommy shushes him and leans down, kisses above his eyebrow—his birthmark, his favorite spot to kiss soft like this.

Buck looks up at him, his mouth trying to form the word stay.

Tommy kisses his forehead again and says, “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”

And Buck is tempted to sink back into the warm sheets and let sleep take him again because his body is sore and he’s bone-tired and weary after a tough shift yesterday, but then he hears the shower start up and remembers that Tommy switched shifts with someone from another shift so they could go to their kid’s dance recital today.

So he rolls over and sits up, stretching out his arms and his neck and his back, getting some of the kinks out before he drags himself out of bed with a groan.

He trudges downstairs to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He shakes the fog from his brain as he blinks at the machine, watching it sputter to life.

He pours himself a cup when it’s done and pours one for Tommy too, who he knows will be out of the bathroom soon.

He sips coffee from his mug, taking stock of what fruit they have left and what breakfast proteins they have in the fridge as he formulates a plan for breakfast.

He��s cutting up some bananas so he can make a Bananas Foster topping for pancakes when he hears Tommy coming down the stairs.

He smiles when Tommy slides up behind him, warm from the shower and smelling like Buck’s shampoo.

“Morning,” Tommy says, wrapping his arm around his waist, leaning his full weight against him, his chin tucked over Buck’s shoulder as he yawns into his neck.

“Good morning,” Buck says, turning his head to press a kiss to Tommy’s temple.

“Thought I told you to go back to sleep,” Tommy says, voice light and teasing as his hand travels across Buck’s chest to rest on his shoulder, effectively wrapping Buck up in him, making him feel held and warm and too many emotions for this early in the morning.

“You know I don't always like following orders,” Buck says, smirking as he returns to cutting up the bananas in front of him.

“Yeah, when you’re being a brat,” Tommy says, a fond sort of exasperation creeping into his voice. He nuzzles into Buck’s neck, his nose pressed against the bolt of his jaw.

“I didn't want you to have to eat breakfast alone,” Buck admits after a second, utterly incapable of being insincere when Tommy has him in his arms like this, when he keeps him close and just doesn't let go.

It’s one of his favorite things about being with Tommy, how when they’re alone together, Tommy always wants him pressed right up against him, no matter what they’re doing—whether it’s watching TV or cooking or doing laundry, he just always wants Buck close to him.

It was a surprising thing to learn about Tommy—how clingy he actually is. He seemed more aloof when they first met, but once he let Buck in, the shift was pretty quick. And Buck is absolutely not going to complain about that, not when he gets to have this whenever he wants.

He leans back into Tommy’s embrace when he finishes prepping the bananas, letting the warmth of Tommy’s body seep into him, letting his hands drift along Tommy’s arms around him, his fingers tracing up and down his skin.

“You’re sweet,” Tommy whispers, his lips pressing soft, deliberate kisses to Buck’s neck.

Buck would normally be more than content to stay here, wrapped up as he is—to turn his head and brush his nose against Tommy’s before their lips touch, to bring his hand up and curl his fingers into Tommy’s hair to keep him where he wants him, to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, to kiss him until his mouth is sore and red and the air around them is warmed through with the heat of their kisses—but they’re on a tight schedule this morning with only another hour or so before Tommy has to leave.

So even as he basks in the quiet comfort of this moment, he asks, “You gonna let me make you breakfast?”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, his mouth pressing firmer to the junction of his neck and shoulder. “In a minute,” he murmurs.

Buck hums in response, closing his eyes. He’s got no place to be but right here.

—

also posted on ao3!