#Currently we are assembling furniture...

[blackwaxidol]

Kuchizuke by BUCK-TICK.

[hsnlv]

soft beginnings | s.jy

pairing: dad-to-be!jake x mom-to-be!reader

synopsis: you and jake are getting ready for your baby, but jake’s full of doubts about fatherhood. with plenty of laughter, love, and tiny socks, you learn that even the smallest moments can mean the world.

warnings: fluff!, jake has self-doubt but it’s adorable dont worry >< reader is pregnant if that is not clear (i love pregnant tropes actually because it’s cute hehe)

wc: 1.1k

a/n: ive been writing a lot lately since im currently on semester break but enjoy ^^ here’s my masterlist!

jake sat on the nursery floor, holding a pair of impossibly small socks between his fingers like they were some kind of alien artifact. his brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a pout that you would’ve called adorable if he wasn’t so deadly serious.

“okay, babe,” he said finally, holding the socks up for emphasis. “these cannot be for a human. i don’t care what you say.”

you couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing from your spot on the rocking chair, where you were sorting through a mountain of baby clothes. “jake, they’re for a newborn. they’re supposed to be that tiny.”

he squinted at the socks like they might reveal their secrets if he stared long enough. “nope. sorry. these are for a hamster. or maybe a very small rabbit.”

“are you calling our baby a rabbit?” you teased, grinning as you leaned back in the chair.

“i’m just saying,” he continued, waving the socks around like he was making a grand point. “what if their feet don’t fit? what if their toes are too big? i don’t even know what baby feet look like!”

you laughed so hard that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m serious!” he insisted, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him. “what if i try to put these on and they just… fall off? or what if i lose one? it’s not like i can run to the store and ask for replacement jellybean-sized socks!”

that did it—you dissolved into giggles, your belly shaking as you leaned forward. “jake, you’re going to be fine,” you said, wiping your eyes. “i promise, putting socks on a baby isn’t as hard as you think.”

he flopped dramatically onto his back, groaning. “i’m not ready for this.”

“you are,” you said, crawling over to him and sitting on your knees by his side. you rested your chin on his chest, tilting your head to look up at him. “you’re going to be the best dad ever.”

he gazed down at you, his expression softening, but you could still see the hint of doubt in his eyes. “you really think so?”

“i know so,” you said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “you’ve got the dad jokes down already. the rest is just practice.”

he groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah, but what about the important stuff? like… like making bottles. or changing diapers! do you know how many straps and tabs those things have? it’s like trying to assemble IKEA furniture!”

you snorted, pressing your forehead to his chest as you laughed. “it’s not that bad.”

“it is that bad,” he said, sitting up suddenly. his hands flailed a bit as he tried to explain. “and what if i don’t wake up when the baby cries? or—or what if i hold them wrong? what if i drop them? oh my god, what if i don’t know how to swaddle? they’re gonna hate me.”

“jake.” you placed your hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “take a deep breath.”

he inhaled shakily, his wide eyes locking onto yours.

“you’re not going to drop the baby,” you said firmly. “or hold them wrong. and even if you mess up the first swaddle, or it takes you a few tries to get the diaper right, it’s okay. you’ll figure it out.”

he didn’t look entirely convinced, so you leaned closer, your voice softer now. “do you remember when we first got peanut?”

he blinked, his brows furrowing. “our dog?”

“yeah. you were so nervous about training him. you kept googling everything, and you were convinced he was going to hate you because you couldn’t get him to sit on command.”

jake huffed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “okay, yeah, but peanut was a little menace at first.”

“he was,” you agreed, grinning. “but you didn’t give up. you were so patient and sweet with him, and now he listens to you better than he listens to me.”

jake let out a soft laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit.

“it’s going to be the same with the baby,” you said, brushing your thumbs gently over his cheekbones. “you’re going to love them so much that none of the little mistakes will matter. and they’re definitely not going to hate you for struggling with a diaper or two.”

“you sure about that?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“absolutely,” you said, smiling.

he sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “what would i do without you?”

“probably drown in a pile of tiny socks,” you teased, laughing softly.

“you’re not wrong,” he muttered, but he was smiling again.

you both sat there for a moment, the quiet hum of the nursery filling the air. then jake pulled back slightly, his hand drifting to your belly.

“hey, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and warm. “just so you know, your mom’s the best person in the world. so if i mess up, she’s gonna make sure you’re taken care of. and if you could, uh… maybe go easy on me with the diapers, that’d be great.”

you laughed, swatting at his shoulder. “stop making deals with the baby!”

“what? i’m just saying!” he said, grinning.

he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your belly, murmuring something too quiet for you to hear. when he sat up again, his eyes were brighter, his usual spark returning.

“okay,” he said, grabbing the tiny socks and holding them up like a trophy. “we’re definitely framing these.”

“i knew you’d come around,” you said, smiling as you kissed his cheek.

the rest of the afternoon was spent folding onesies and arranging books on the shelves, with jake tossing out ridiculous questions every five minutes.

“what if the baby doesn’t like my cooking?”

“jake, they’re not going to eat anything you cook for at least a year.”

“what if they cry every time i pick them up?”

“then you’ll hold them until they stop crying.”

“what if they call me ‘dude’ instead of ‘dad’?”

“then they’re definitely your kid.”

by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the nursery was mostly finished. the crib stood in the corner, draped with a soft, pastel blanket, and the bookshelf was packed with stories you couldn’t wait to read aloud.

you stood in the doorway with jake, his arm around your shoulders as you both took in the space.

“it’s perfect,” you murmured, leaning into his side.

“almost perfect,” he said, resting a hand on your belly. “just missing one thing.”

you smiled, your hand covering his. “they’ll be here soon enough.”

he pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice filled with quiet awe. “soon enough,” he echoed.

and in that moment, surrounded by love and laughter and the promise of something even sweeter, you knew your little family was already complete in all the ways that mattered.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[omgkatherine01]

Could you do Sergei x reader where he just builds her furniture (I just spent way too long building a dress or and I love the universe where someone sexy did it for me

Crafted with Love

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x Fem!reader

Note: short

Masterlist (requests are currently open for now)

The key turned in the lock with a satisfying click as I pushed open the door to my apartment, grocery bags hanging heavy from my tired arms. The sound of power tools whirring to a stop greeted me, followed by a familiar accented voice.

"Ah, моя любовь, you are back earlier than I expected."

I rounded the corner to find Sergei standing shirtless in what had once been the disaster zone of my bedroom, now transformed by his skilled hands. Sweat glistened on his broad shoulders and tattooed chest as he set down a cordless drill. Behind him stood my new closet, its doors perfectly aligned and shelving meticulously installed.

"Sergei, it looks amazing," I breathed, setting down the groceries on my bed.

He smiled, that rare, genuine smile that still made my heart flutter, even after six months together. "Is nothing. Russian craftsmanship." He ran his hand along the smooth wood finish. "Real wood, real construction. Will last lifetime."

I approached the closet, running my fingers over the intricate details he'd added – little carved flourishes at the corners that hadn't been in the original design. Leave it to Sergei to elevate even the most mundane furniture assembly into something extraordinary.

"You didn't have to do this," I said, though we both knew I'd been dreading tackling this project for weeks.

"Nonsense." He stepped behind me, his strong arms encircling my waist as he rested his chin atop my head. "Man must provide for woman he loves. Even if providing means building fortress for your many shoes."

I laughed, leaning back against his chest. "I don't have that many shoes."

"Дa, you do." His lips brushed against my ear. "But is okay. I build bigger closet next time."

"Next time?" I turned in his arms to face him, noticing the smudge of sawdust across his cheek. I reached up to brush it away. "What other furniture are you planning to build me?"

His eyes, intense as always, softened at the edges. "Whatever you need. Bed frame, bookshelves, table for dinner." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "Maybe crib someday."

My breath caught in my throat at the implication, but before I could respond, he gestured toward the closet.

"You try. Open doors, check drawers. Tell me if anything needs fixing."

I slid the closet doors open, marveling at how smoothly they glided along the track. Inside, he'd installed everything perfectly—the hanging rod at just the right height, shelves spaced exactly how I would have wanted them, and even small LED lights that illuminated when the doors opened.

"Sergei, I absolutely love it," I whispered, turning back to him. My heart swelled with appreciation for this man who could hunt the most dangerous game but spent his Sunday building me furniture.

I reached up, cupping his stubbled jaw, and pressed my lips to his. It was meant to be a simple thank you, but Sergei had other ideas. His strong hands gripped my waist as he deepened the kiss, pulling me against his bare chest, the taste of him mingling with the scent of sawdust and sandalwood.

When we finally broke apart, his pupils were dilated, making his eyes appear even darker than usual.

"Is just closet," he murmured against my lips. "Wait until you see what I do with kitchen cabinets."

I laughed, running my fingers through his hair. "You know, most guys just bring flowers."

"Flowers die," he said simply, trailing kisses down my neck. "My craftsmanship remains."

"Mmm, speaking of remaining," I said, feeling his hands slip under my shirt, "don't you have to finish installing those drawer pulls?"

Sergei growled playfully against my skin. "Drawer pulls can wait. Have more pressing matters to attend to."

Before I could respond, he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me toward the bed we'd need to clear of grocery bags.

"What about the groceries?" I protested weakly, not really caring about the fate of my frozen peas.

"Will not spoil in next hour," he promised, his accent thickening as it always did when he was focused on something important. "Maybe two hours."

As he lowered me onto the mattress, pushing aside the shopping bags, I couldn't help but smile. Who would have thought that furniture assembly could be such an effective form of foreplay?

[writing-with-sophia]

Write a weak hero

Okay, first, what is weak? According to Oxford Dictionary, weak is lacking the power to perform physically demanding tasks; lacking physical strength and energy, or liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.

That means, a weak hero is a character who isn't physically strong, mentally strong or even both.

So, how can we create a weak hero but do not make readers hate him/her? You will know after this post!

First, developing an effectively background

Unlike typical heroes who may have been born with incredible powers or had a dramatic origin story, the weak hero should come from a mundane background. They can be an ordinary person with nothing outstanding, a failure, etc. and suddenly have to shoulder the responsibility of "a hero" even though they don't want it.

Focus on their mundaneness and weakness. Describe the awkward situation where they are forced to become heroes. Why were they chosen to be heroes, when there are others who are more talented and powerful? What were the circumstances under which this happened? Make it as clear as possible.

Don't forget to describe their thoughts, feelings, and reactions. In their backstory, highlight times when the weak hero tried to be heroic or take on challenges, only to fall flat on their face. Was there a specific incident that shattered their self-esteem? Do they come from a family or environment that was overly critical? These past embarrassments and disappointments can inform their current self-doubts.

Use flashbacks strategically. Intersperse key backstory moments throughout the narrative to gradually reveal the hero's history and motivations, rather than dumping it all at once. This will help the reader better understand the character's journey and the reasons behind their reluctance to embrace the role of a hero.

Second, emphasizing their weakness

Focus on their mundane, everyday struggles. Rather than epic battles, the weak hero's conflicts should revolve around things like asking neighbors for help or failing to complete simple tasks.

You can also contrast them with stronger, more capable heroes. Have the weak hero regularly get overshadowed or overlooked by the more impressive feats of other characters.

The weak hero's ineptitude and frustrations can be a great source of comedy. So don't be afraid to poke fun at their failings :).

Third, slowly build towards small victories

If you want your weak hero to be liked by the readers, never let them be weak all the time. Drop subtle hints in the backstory that suggest the hero has untapped potential or unique talents that could one day be leveraged in unexpected ways, even if they don't realize it themselves.

Focus on the why. What made them become strong, or strive to become stronger? Is it a long-term motivation or a temporary one? Are they doing it for themselves or others? What will they do to overcome their weaknesses? Over time, the weak hero can learn to leverage their "useless" powers in clever ways and gain a little more confidence, even if they never become a heavy hitter.

And, remember to highlight their determination. Despite their shortcomings, the weak hero should possess an underlying stubbornness and refusal to give up. Showcase moments in their past where they persevered even when success seemed impossible.

Fourth, crafting challenges

When crafting challenges for a weak hero, you need to focus on obstacles that play to their specific limitations and insecurities. Here are some types of challenges a weak hero might face:

Outmatched in combat

The weak hero tries to take on a powerful villain, only to be easily overpowered by the villain's superior strength, speed, or abilities.

They get into a fight they can't win and have to rely on their wits or dumb luck to escape unscathed.

Inability to complete basic tasks

The weak hero struggles with simple everyday activities like opening a jar, fixing a leaky faucet, or assembling furniture.

These mundane challenges become major roadblocks that highlight their incompetence.

Social humiliation

The weak hero tries to interact with others, only to say the wrong thing and embarrass themselves.

They may attempt to flirt, negotiate, or simply make small talk, but end up flustered and socially awkward.

Lack of confidence

The weak hero doubts their abilities and has a hard time believing they can accomplish anything meaningful.

They may shrink away from opportunities to be heroic, worried they'll just mess things up.

Overbearing comparisons to stronger heroes

The weak hero is constantly overshadowed by the exploits of more powerful heroes, making them feel inadequate.

They may try to emulate the other heroes' successes, only to fail miserably.

Underestimation by villains

The villains dismiss the weak hero as harmless and ignore them, allowing the hero to stumble into accidentally foiling the villain's plans.

The villains may even make the mistake of toying with the weak hero, giving the hero a chance to catch them off guard.

The key is to create challenges that force the weak hero to rely on their limited abilities in creative ways. Gradually building their confidence through small wins can be a rewarding character arc.

Fifth, supportive relationships

The weak hero likely has friends, family members, or mentors who believe in them, even if the hero themselves does not. By including a support system of characters who see the weak hero's hidden potential, the narrative can strike a balance between the hero's self-doubt and the encouragement of those around them. These supporting characters can provide a counterpoint to the hero's negative self-perception, offering validation and pushing them to exceed their own expectations.

The interactions between the weak hero and their cheerleaders can also be a source of character development and emotional growth. As the hero gains confidence and finds ways to leverage their unique talents, the relationships with these supportive figures can evolve, deepening the overall narrative.

Supportive relationships can be of many types, but the most effective are:

A mentor figure who sees the hero's hidden strengths and pushes them to overcome their limitations.

A loyal friend who constantly encourages the hero and refuses to give up on them.

A capable sidekick or partner who can cover for the hero's weaknesses in battle.

A tech-savvy ally who develops gadgets or abilities to enhance the hero's limited powers.

A family member who provides unconditional love and acceptance, even when the hero doubts themselves.

A romantic interest who sees the hero's inner strength and brings out their best self.

A rival or adversary who recognizes the hero's true talents, forcing them to confront their own insecurities.

A renowned hero or role model who inspires the weak hero to strive for greatness, even if they don't believe they can achieve it.

It is not easy to create a weak hero. Crafting a compelling weak hero requires carefully balancing their flaws and insecurities with moments of growth and determination. You must find ways to make the character relatable and likable, despite their shortcomings, by highlighting their underlying potential and the support system that believes in them.

Hope you enjoy this. If you have any questions about writing, inbox me. I will answer as best as I can.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Chocolates vs Aliens Pt. 2

Symbrock x Pregnant!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, SMUT, PiV sex, unprotected sex, fluff, pregnancy, childbirth, anxiety, mentioned somnophilia (consented), lactation kink(?), oral sex (f! receiving)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Taglist: @yoink-a-doink @jayfall93 @being-worthy @theflamingraven

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Every day passed meant it was another day your baby girl grew, another kick, another day closer to being able to hold her in your arms and see her tiny face.

Of course, Eddie and Venom were excited, too. You guys moved fast, but everything came in stride, as if you were together for years. Despite the strange circumstances surrounding the three of you, you were content. Eddie and Venom treated the baby as if they fathered it, and you couldn't be happier. Even if you and Venom were in a constant battle for dominance when it came to chocolate. (Spoiler: you almost always won.)

You especially loved it when Venom cradled your belly. He did it at every available opportunity he could snag. Eddie meanwhile took care of a few more mundane things, splitting with Venom the duties of helping your changing body as your due date closed in on you.

Eddie would massage your feet and swollen ankles, while Venom's inky body would surround your midsection, taking the weight of the baby up off your hips, easing the strain on your back...

But your favorite day so far has to be today.

Because right now, you were currently watching Eddie and Venom snap at each other as they struggled to assemble the crib you ordered online.

No written directions were included, merely pictures of most of the crib already assembled; and the two already had to take it apart three times to start over.

"No, that part goes to that part and that one goes there!" Eddie snapped as the symbiote held a screwdriver and a piece of the railing in a long inky tendril.

Venom growled deeply, "WE ARE NEVER BUYING ANYTHING FROM IKEA EVER AGAIN!"

"No the fuck we are not." Eddie huffed. "We're better off buying furniture at a goddamn yard sale!"

You giggled from where you rocked on your reclining chair, your belly heavy and rounded out; effectively making you look like you swallowed a melon whole.

Eddie and Venom snap their heads to pout at you.

"What're you laughing at?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, we'd like to see you try to put something like this together!" Venom snorted.

"Nah, I already have my hands full putting together something waaaay more intricate." You snort back, looking through the cozy baby clothes you'd bought yesterday.

New Years was approaching, and you knew full well you would be due around then, and your poor tiny baby would be absolutely freezing! So you took the preemptive and bought little newborn winter clothes for your girl, including a cute little fluffy teddy onesie with a hood that had cute little ears on it.

"Oh, yeah?" Venom asked, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

"Yep." You pat your tummy, and the skin shifts as a tiny foot kicks from within.

"...Okay yeah fair point." Eddie chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeahhh, mommy wins again!" You grin, patting your belly once more, earning yet another eager kick as you imagine it to be a high-five.

"What, are you keeping score now?" Eddie sighs, pointing the screwdriver at you.

"Damn right I am." You grin. "Mommy points for the win!"

"And how many points do we have?" Venom inquired, tilting his head.

"Not enough to beat meeeee~"

Both of them snorted and shook their heads, before turning back to the task of assembling the frustrating crib that would soon, very soon, cradle your newborn daughter.

If Eddie or Venom ever put her down, that is.

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Christmas came and went in what felt like the blink of an eye. Your little celebration was small, and you even invited Mrs Chen over to join in on your festivities.

Which mostly consisted of pizza, a sandwich board, and chicken wings, plus a few homemade goodies that Ms Chen brought with her. Not the best meal idea, but it was a party, and damn those wings were good.

You and Venom even gifted Sonny and Cher a nice little seed treat you baked for them as a Christmas present for being "such good birdies".

Baking for chickens, now that was a first. But hearing their happy little clucks as Venom petted them and talked baby to them was absolutely adorable and worth the trouble. As were the large eggs afterwards!

Your mood swings had petered out about two or three months ago (you weren't sure, but Eddie insisted when you didn't break into tears watching a documentary about penguins) and unfortunately, well...

There are other symptoms of a pregnancy that you really thought you could stave off. You tried, you really did, but Venom having such heightened senses and being able to pick up on your scent and hormones? Oh, yeah. You were screwed.

Literally. In several different ways. You'd only had sex once or twice in a previous relationship, and with how disappointing that was, you definitely preferred to handle your urges yourself.

Where your ex-partner previously failed, Venom and Eddie were overachievers.

Taking great care with your belly and baby, they did whatever they could to ensure you were comfortable before making you so strung out your brain could barely form a coherent thought. Between Venom's tongue and Eddie's hands, you were a whimpering, trembling mess when the two would take you to bed.

Venom was especially ravenous in his sexual appetite. After learning more about sex and the pleasure it brought since bonding with Eddie... Where his host was a meal, you were a full-course desert that he would lose himself in.

Some nights, when he would climb through your window, he would immediately seek you out, drawn in by the lingering adrenaline from the hunt and the smell of you.

When you weren't moving about your apartment, Venom could find you in bed, sleeping fitfully. That was when he would crawl up under the blankets and find his way between your legs, not letting up until you woke up a panting mess.

Yeah, definitely the best way to be woken up, in your opinion. There were worse ways. Waaaay worse. Especially because your pregnancy-libido certainly wasn't complaining, the rush of endorphins afterwards would help outweigh the growing anxiety as the days passed.

Every day meant you were closer to your due date. Every day meant you were closer to experiencing possibly the worst pain you will ever feel in your life.

And there was the chance something could go wrong, that your baby could get stuck, or the umbilical cord could wrap around her, or she could be in a breech position...

You feel Eddie's hands gently encircle you, lazily draped over your shoulders as you sat in the shower chair, the warm water pattering over you two. It was New Year's Eve, and you two decided a calm, relaxing shower was a nice way to unwind before you poked your head out of your window to watch the fireworks people would inevitably launch to usher in the new year.

"Hey, sweets." He said to you softly, his thumbs brushing your collarbone softly. "We can feel your pulse jumping like crazy. You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I just..." You sigh.

"Liar." Eddie chuckled, bringing his large hands to your shoulders to press his thumbs into your weak spots, making you shiver and drag out a soft noise from you.

"C'mon." He urged gently as he massaged you, sending delightful shivers down your back and to your toes and all the way back up again.

"You can tell us, sweets. You thinking about the delivery again?"

You deflate a little, the bliss of his skilled hands drifting away from your grasp as the weight of your baby's birth came back to your mind.

"...Yeah. I'm just... I'm so, so worried, Eddie." You say, feeling your lip begin to wobble.

"I've read so many horrible things online of how it could go wrong, and..."

Venom's head suddenly slinks around you until his strange body is stretched so he could look you in the eyes.

"But there's also good things." He rumbled. "You might have a quick birth, not having to go through it for hours or even days..."

"And hey, you might even be one of those ladies who sneezes and pop! The baby's out!" Eddie added in, making Venom groan.

You can help but chuckle at how absurd it sounded, and you knew Venom was inwardly cringing at such a naive suggestion.

"I doubt I'll be that lucky." You sigh, a smile finally gracing your soft lips.

"Hey! You never know!"

"Idiot." Venom huffed.

"Shithead." Eddie smirked.

You feel your anxieties settle a bit, at least for now.

Your hands trail over your belly, over the thin purple lines crossing your skin, your fingers gently caressing the rising and falling bumps as your baby shifted and rolled around inside your womb.

"...Willow." Venom suddenly said.

You and Eddie blinked and stared at him, brows raised and eyes large, a long silence filling the shower as the water ran over you.

"What?" You ask him.

"For a name. You're gonna be due any day now." He purred, leaning his face closer to your belly.

"Still haven't settled on one."

"Where did you hear that name, Vee?" Eddie asked, shock evident in his tone.

"In some TV show I flicked through when you two were asleep. I like it." He replied simply, pressing his muzzle to your belly, feeling the tiny feet and hands thrash out from within.

"Okay, as far as names go that's... actually a good one." Eddie murmured.

"...Willow." You repeat softly.

It was a beautiful name. And honestly... You liked it. You had yet to pick a name for yourself, indecision being your worst enemy your entire life made the process that much harder.

Picking a name was one of your fears, too. You wanted your daughter to have a wonderful one; one she could carry with pride, and the pressure you placed on yourself to pick the perfect one was what screwed you up on that.

But this name, the one Venom suggested felt... right.

"Yeah." You smile once again. "Yeah. Her name can be Willow."

Venom grinned a shark-like grin and nuzzled his face into your belly like a happy affectionate cat, purring like one, too.

"Well, I'm glad that's a weight off of you." Eddie chuckled, resuming his earlier massage into your shoulders, earning another blissful sigh from you.

Yeah... Things will work out. After all, as long as you had these two with you, you felt like you could handle anything.

You relaxed and leaned into Eddie's touch, a little whimper escaping you as his thumbs knead into a knot in your shoulders.

Venom grinned up at you, and you knew fell the glint in his eyes meant you were in trouble.

And you knew that Eddie had the same smirk.

"No point in hiding it, sweet thing." Venom growled lowly, his tongue laving out to taste the skin on your hip, tracing the stretch marks etched into your skin.

"We know what gets you going." Eddie said quietly, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

You shivered when Venom's tongue slithered lower, past the swell of your midsection and down to your twitching clit.

"It's n-not my fault..." You whined, your voice cut off by a breathy moan as you felt Venom's tongue squirm past your entrance and into your tight, gummy walls.

"Of course not." Eddie hummed, massaging your shoulders as you arched your spine as little as you could; Venom's inky body slinked around you, enveloping you and keeping you from slipping off the shower chair in the process while he proceeded to eat you out with voracious hunger.

Eddie hissed suddenly, his fingers halting in their ministrations to squeeze you softly.

"Eddie, what--" You panted.

But that's when you felt it. The water was getting cold.

"Maybe we should move this to the bed, hm?" Venom cackled.

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"Eddie, fuck..." You whimpered fingers gripping tight into your bedsheets as Eddie rutted his nose against your clit, his lips and tongue dancing through your soaked folds as his hands pawed at your hips, bringing you down closer every time you squirmed away.

As Eddie devoured you, part of Venom's mass was completely surrounding his cock, sucking and stroking in time with his tongue as it pushed and pulled against your weeping cunt.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. As much as you wanted more, you also wanted to push him away because the sensations were beginning to become too much for you to handle.

Your eyes were rolled back into your head as you felt that blissful feeling begin roll into a roaring crescendo, threatening to overtake you and make your heart patter out of your lungs.

God, you wished your belly wasn't in the way so you could see what he looked like between your legs. One day, soon.

Or, well... At least once you were fully recovered after the birth. Which would probably be a while.

You were so lost in Eddie's mouth working you over that you didn't notice Venom leering at you, saliva dripping around his fangs as his eyes narrowed to barely-there slits, focused intently on your heaving breasts; both long since swollen and sensitive as your milk came in.

You certainly didn't notice the small beads of hazy white liquid beading up and threatening to roll down the soft mounds of flesh as your orgasm approached.

"Oh, fuck--" You gasped, weakly rolling your hips to meet Eddie's eager mouth.

For a split second, you hear Venom snarl softly, before all of a sudden his mouth was on you, latching onto your pebbled nipple, his tongue rolling and squeezing your breast to get out every drop of that sweet liquid he could.

"Fuck." Eddie groaned, pulling back to breathe heavily.

Venom made sure Eddie could taste your milk as he drank from you readily, the flavor coating his tongue and flooding his taste buds to combine with the sweet taste of your nectar that coated his face and chin.

It was an intoxicating combination.

Eddie's eyes rolled a bit as he dove back in, aggressively sucking and nipping at your clit, gently prodding your entrance with his fingers as Venom proceeded to try and drain your breasts of all their milk.

All at once, the combined feelings had your mind blacking out, every muscle tensing as you came; your teeth snagging your bottom lip between them and you made a loud moan, barely able to string their names out of your mouth as they helped you ride out your orgasm.

Eddie pulls his mouth away from you and rises to his knees while Venom pulls himself free (albeit reluctantly) of your breast, licking the stray rivulets of milk that had begun to run down the sides of your tits.

"So sweet, love." He purred, licking his chops. "But we need more."

Venom's head merged back into Eddie's body, his inky mass slinking down his arms until it was comfortably arching your hips and back off the bed while Eddie rutted his sensitive cock against your sensitive cunt, still fluttering and clenching around nothing as the remnants of your orgasm waned.

But every lazy stroke of his hips sent little bolts of lightning arcing through your nerves, stretching out the little aftershocks just a bit farther as he carefully slid his cock into your hungry cunt.

"Fucking tight." Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes pinching shut.

"Not gonna last long, sweets." He rasped.

Between Venom working his cock over and edging him while he ate you out, and how your silky wet heat enveloped him so wonderfully tight, he could already feel himself getting lost in your body.

"Eddie, please..." You keened, your fingers going to grip at his wrists, your nails digging into his skin with each plunge of his cock into your needy hole.

He was careful with you, trying not to jostle you (and the baby) too much as he fucked you.

You felt the pressure build up low in your belly once more, squeezing down and sending another tight feeling down your spine as you became hyper-aware of every vein in his cock as he glided in and out of your hole.

"Almost, baby, almost..." Eddie breathed, wriggling one of his wrists free so he could brace it in the pillow by your head to give himself a bit of leverage as he rocked his hips into yours.

He could feel his orgasm climbing fast; sweat dripping down his brow as your delicate hands slid over his shoulders. The way you bit your lip and locked eyes with him only drove him further into no man's land.

"Fuck." He moaned weakly, his pace stuttering and dragging out as he felt the first volley of cum shoot out of his sensitive tip.

He had enough control to pull out, rutting his hips over your belly as the rest of his cum shot over your swollen belly and twitching pussy, his cock once more rutting against you as he came hard.

Your teeth grit and your nails dug in as Eddie buried his face in the crook of your neck, panting hard into your damp skin as you feel a sensation you were almost familiar with burst low, a fresh burst of wetness gushing from you are the pressure on your lower spine builds and tingles.

"Oh, fuck." You swallow. "Eddie."

"Yeah?" He asks, pulling back to look down at you with an almost cocky smile on his face.

"I think my water broke."

He and Venom both immediately began to panic.

"WHAT?!"

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

The scrambling to get to the hospital moved by you in a blur. One minute Eddie was hastily dressing you in one of your sundresses, slippers, and a pair of panties, the next you were carried like some sort of fairytale princess down to the car park.

Good luck getting an ambulance out to your place tonight...

Eddie and Venom bickered the whole time to your car, your hospital bag prepped and slung over Eddie's shoulder as he guided you down to your car.

They sat you in the passenger seat and helped you buckle in as the first set of contractions ripple through you. As the pain flashed, you couldn't help but be reminded by your earlier concerns.

You read that some women felt pain for days, or hours before their water broke. Why were you only feeling it now? Was that a bad thing? Was something wrong?

Fuck, you knew it would hurt, but... you weren't prepared for the sudden sharp stabbing. You expected it to start as a throb and build from there, not immediately start out like someone was hacking away at your lower half.

When you arrived at the hospital, Eddie had actually slipped and busted his ass on the freshly mopped floor in his haste to fetch you a wheelchair.

You would have laughed, if you hadn't been gripping the safety handle in the car, screaming as another sharp jolt stabbed through you.

A few nurses even chased him out, harping about how he could have a concussion from falling, but quieted when they saw what had him in such a frantic rush.

Your baby girl was coming, whether you were ready or not.

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

It had been close to four hours, and you were almost ready to deliver; nearly fully dilated, as your obstetrician cheerfully announced, a smile so cheerful and calm you almost kicked her in the face.

She was less impressed with Eddie, however, as she pulled him out of the delivery room to talk.

"We'll be right back, luv." She assured you sweetly.

"Uh... Is--is everything okay? You were saying they were okay, and--" He blurted out nervously.

"No, no, she's fine." She assured him, pushing her glasses up her nose once more.

"Then what..."

"I couldn't help but notice how hesitant she was to tell me how she went into labor. But I have to know, did she fall? Injure her belly in any way?" She questions.

"No! No, god no." Eddie said, waving his hands and shaking his head. "Nothing like that!"

She crossed her arms and tapped her finger on her bicep, a thick brow quirking upwards on her freckled brow.

"...Were the two of you having sex?"

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck fuck fuck.

FUCK.

"Uh... I, er..." Eddie put a hand on his hip and scratched the back of his head, casting a look into the room where you were read-faced and sweaty while the nurses wiped your face with a towel while your hands gripped the handles in the birthing chair you were seated in.

He blew a puff of air out of his cheeks.

God, he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The embarrassment of the situation was too much for him, having this teeny tiny Irish woman stare him down.

"I'm not judging you." She says flatly, not letting him escape her microscopic gaze. "But I have to tell you that there is a reason we tell pregnant patients to avoid penetrative sex, or excessive sex this late into their third trimester. It can make them go into labor."

She clicked her tongue and sighed. "You're lucky that she was so close to her due date that the baby isn't in any real danger. But it was still reckless. Regardless if she consented or not, this sort of thing can be dangerous, you hear me?"

Eddie wilted, feeling very much like a puppy who got caught wee'ing on the carpet, shame and mortification filling every inch of his body. Even Venom felt this way, cringing internally at the truths the doctor spat at them as she gave her lecture.

Her rant was cut short when you made a sharp yelp, jerking and clutching at your belly and one of the nurses came rushing to the doorway.

"Doctor O'Halloran, she's ready. We can already feel the baby's head. Looks like this baby wants out now!" She said, absolutely calm and no concern in her voice. If anything, she sounded excited!

Eddie meanwhile was frantic as O'Halloran clicked her tongue again, checking her watch with an almost bored glance. "Huh. Look't that. Well! Let's get this baby out of her! Adjust the chair so she's a bit more comfortable."

She grinned at Eddie, "Well? C'mon, Papa! You better be in here to see your baby girl!"

He felt his heart surge and flop in his chest when she said that. It was finally settling in.

Papa.

Their baby. Their baby girl.

Eddie had scrambled to behind the chair, leaning forward to wrap his arms around you.

He was glad he had Venom to strengthen his body, because god, could he swear you had suddenly gained incredible super strength as you began to push, crying and screaming as your lungs were squeezed of air, the pain so blinding you had actually fainted for a few seconds, all while not losing your inhumanly tight grip on his hand.

You had shouted more obscenities than Eddie and Venom had ever heard you swear, in between crying and apologizing for saying them and fainting like a messed up cycle.

Doctor O'Halloran assured Eddie this was normal rather calmly as you came to yet again, just to cry and scream again as your body struggled to push the baby free of your birth canal.

The smell of blood immediately had Venom wanting to surge forth, despite knowing there was nothing he could do for you currently except support you from inside of Eddie as you endured the most painful struggle of your life and he bore witness to something he'd never seen with his own eyes.

The bringing of a life into the world.

It hurt the both of them, to see you hurting so badly as you strained to bring Willow out for the world to see. Thankfully, as Venom had hoped earlier in the night, your birth was going quickly.

Not painlessly, of course, oh no. Definitely not painless.

"The moment we get home, I'm bonding with her. I know I can do it." Venom whined within Eddie as you sobbed in pain. "I want to fix her. I don't want her to hurt anymore after this."

Eddie silently agreed, hoping you would consent to melding with the symbiote to heal the damages your body was going through to birth your baby.

They just wished that you didn't have--

All at once, your body went slack and your eyes shut, but before the boys could panic any further, a tiny, ear-piercing wail filled the room.

"A girl! A nice set of lungs on her!" O'Halloran laughed as she scooped up and handed the newborn off to the nurse. She knew that Eddie (and Venom of course) were too preoccupied between staring in awe at the squirming purple body the nurse held to focus on cutting the cord.

All they could think about was her.

She was here. In front of them. Finally.

Those tiny feet that kicked out at them all this time, the little head they could feel shift around in your belly...

The nurses adjusted the chair enough to allow you to lean back, and Eddie covered your face in kisses, waking you up again with a mad grin.

And, heaven fucking bless you; amazing, gorgeous, powerful you, you smiled back. A tired, watery smile as you cried in victory.

Giving birth and being birthed was the closest thing that someone could come to dying and still come out of it. Many were not so lucky, but they were glad you were among the majority that emerged from this bloody struggle with a smile on your face and mirth in your bloodshot eyes.

The nurses wiped your baby down a bit before pulling your gown down to place her squirming, hiccuping body onto your bare chest.

Your hands weakly went to cradle her warm body, kissing the top of her head where a patch of fuzzy hair was.

"Hey, sweetheart." You sniffled, whispering against the wet fuzz.

You could barely get words out as emotions surged out of you all at once, overwhelming your body and mind as you cradled your precious child.

Almost immediately as your voice washed over her, it was as if the angry baby instantly calmed. It was like your soft, happy sobs were a soothing balm to her squirming body.

Neither could tell who moved it first, but Eddie's hand went to cover yours, Willow looking positively teeny beneath his large hand, watching in awe as her tiny, fat little fingers clawed and groped at your chest.

The sounds of loud booms from outside filled your ears, making her jump and wail once more as you coo'd and murmured to your baby.

"Hey, Eddie?" You sniffled, looking up at him.

"Y... Yeah?" Eddie asked, his throat tight as tears began to build at the corners of his eyes.

You tipped your head and kissed his jaw, weak and tired.

"Happy new year."

You were only faintly aware of the nurses cheering; both the healthy baby you birthed and in celebration of the new year ahead of you.

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

They kept you at the hospital for another two days after you gave birth. After passing the placenta and remaining viscera of the birth, your body felt like literal tons of strain had been lifted from you.

And of course you, at the same time, felt like you had been tackled unprotected by a professional linebacker.

So, of course as soon as Venom offered to ease your comfort and repair the damage you agreed. It would certainly save on the recovery time. Sure, it would be hard to explain during your next checkup, but you'd cross that bridge when you got to it.

Ms Chen had gone to the hospital, as she was practically the closest thing either of you had to a mother and she wanted to see the baby. She carried an armload of supplies with her, too. Including some kinda balm that frankly stunk of something akin to menthol, but whatever it did, it certainly eased the pain on your poor nethers.

And of course, she gave a shit-eating grin when you named her honorary grandma.

Even Eddie's ex, Anne, came with her fiancee to congratulate him and coo over the adorable little bundle he so proudly cradled in his strong arms.

He certainly had nurses swooning, but you knew their eyes were only for you. Especially after he cried some more when you wanted his name on her birth certificate.

Right now, you watched as Willow suckled on her cute pink pacifier that Anne had slipped down to the gift shop to buy while they were at the hospital.

She was dressed in a soft two-piece to ensure the remnants of the umbilical cord weren't too aggravated, her cute little face pinched as she grunted in her sleep, exhausted from feeding and content as you carefully swaddled her.

Eddie came up behind you as Venom's head emerged from his body, all three of you looking down as your newborn dreamt whatever dreams babies had. Probably about her next feeding time.

"She's so fucking cute." Eddie sighed dreamily.

"I know! And she's so chunky." You giggle. "I had a real meatball of a baby. No wonder I was so big."

"Nah, you're beautiful." Eddie chuckled, kissing the skin of your shoulder that had been exposed by your oversized T-shirt. One of his, for sure, but he didn't mind.

Venom purred in a near-silent content, before turning to look at Eddie with a shark-like grin, sending a thought telepathically for only him to hear.

The thought made Eddie choke and start to laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"What? What's so funny, you ginormous dorks?" You snicker.

"Ah. Eh..." Eddie said, grinning widely. "...Vee says he calls dibs on the next one."

"Next one..?" You say, your brows furrowing.

"Yeah... the next one. He wants to be the one to knock you up next time."

"Oh, my god!" You gasped, spinning around to slap at Eddie's shoulder while he and Venom laughed. "You two are horrible! Have mercy on my poor body!"

Venom leaned in, nuzzling the pulse in your neck.

"We didn't hear a no..."

[xo-codbby]

blue-collar!141 x reader

got brainrot 😵‍💫 continued from here

"maintenance" a rough voice calls out as they knock thrice, waiting out on the door step. it was a rare thing they would do check ups, even more rare that they would go out their way to check up on a customer. but you were different, they'd taken an immediate liking. plus they had just renovated your home, they had to make sure everything was in working order. all sorts of trouble could arise with a new home and their loyal customer deserved the very best

"c'mon pretty, we're roasting out here" price wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, blowing out some air as he squints back at your front door still unlocked

you were not aware of this however, it seemed to be a surprise check and you could not be more inconvienced. you had been in the middle of assembling some new furniture, quickly heading to the mirror to make yourself a little more presentable

the check up had been weird, they didn't usually do it to anyone else. completing their service and then disappearing, only being called back when they were required. hardly coming on their own will with the whole team, no less. your heart hammered in your chest, looking at them through the covered window. they looked casual, relaxed as they spoke between themselves and then glancing back at the door. price and ghost leaning against the fence while gaz toyed with the handle. soap trying to peek in the window, casually obviously, he had some class

"just a sec" you called out, grimacing slightly as you quickly sort everything out. the drills lay on the tiles, the wood still needing to be fixed together with the screws rolling everywhere and the instructions lost somewhere in the box. but you didn't have much time to fix that, trying to brush yourself down. finding it a little odd how they picked a time you'd be home, almost calculated but you didn't dwell on it too long before you reached for the front door

the sight of them still made you breathe in shakily, first greeted by gaz and soap, then ghost and price standing behind. all eight eyes staring at you intently, lips pulled in a half smile. their presence was huge, figures bigger than usual men you've seen before. barely waiting for your word, walking inside. they were dressed in causal clothing, belts around their waist donning their tools and muscles straining from the heat and the work they had done before they came over

"well, what do we have 'ere?" ghost tilting his head ever so slightly, half amused as he looks down at you and then the cupboard you were currently trying to fix. his balaclava obscured his features, aside from his eyes but you've seen his face before. the image of him leaving the shower had burned into your mind, being able to wish to trace every feature so tenderly with a finger and wonder how he'd taste. from his cologne, his heady musk and the slightest hints from the earthy scent he usually was surrounded by

"you're constructing this all by yourself?" gaz gently moves the planks of wood out of the way, half chuckling as he narrows his eyes at you. leaning against the counter, adjusting his cap his shoulder bumping into yours

"aye sweetheart, don't ye have a man to help around?" soap hummed knowingly, taking the hammer from your hands as he holds it in his palm setting it down. his comment holds teasing, you're aware of that much but you wonder if there's a hidden meaning when he glances at the others and then back at you. surely not

"no, it's... just me" you nodded back, looking at the mess on the floor and then back up at the team. they seemed to glance at each other relatively quickly, looking at you with amusement and slight nods

"well we'll take that from you, darling. can't have a pretty thing like you gettin 'er hands dirty" price hums, gently taking you by your arm to stand between them. the four men already making themselves home but you pretty sure this service wasn't listed anywhere on their website, nor had any customers had spoken up about it.

"what are you guys doing here?" you asked raising your brow looking at them as ghost shrugs nonchalantly looking around your home, picking up the screws from the floor as he twirls them between his fingers

"jus' being thorough love. checking over quality assurance, any hidden problems, warranty protection. and y'know, for your peace of mind. can't have you questioning our craft now, can we?" his brown eyes darkened for a moment, connecting with yours and it takes you everything not to shake. somehow he had this piercing glance, as if he could see in the very depths of your beings. as if you could spill your deepest darkest secrets to him and he would barely flinch. oddly enough, it wasn't a look that made you recoil or cower. you wanted to tell him everything, wanted to spill your secrets to him. to them all

price holds your hands, his thumb stroking your knuckle for a moment while gaz and soap assemble the furniture with ghost. you're delicately placed between all four, offering snacks and drinks but they seemed more content to have you like this instead. poor johnny hurt his arm so you tend to his wounds, no matter how little while he grins shooting looks at his team you're sure has nothing to do with you. the glare he got from simon, the scoff from kyle or the eye roll from price had nothing to do with you

and it was professional, of course it was. the brush of price's lips against your forehead, the tender touch of ghost, the caress from gaz and the nuzzle from soap was all in your head.

they wouldn't dare to cross that line, of course they wouldn't

[nipuni]

Hello time to yap about life and media again! 🥰

It's been a month and a half since we fully moved into this new old house and it's been a steep learning curve!! so far we had to learn how to care for a garden and grow fruit, how to deal with extremely humid weather, the mold!! also learning about various repairs, electricity and plumbing, we had a leak that turned one lamp into a waterfall, the rcd keeps tripping every time it rains, had to fix a door in the dark after Nicolas got himself trapped in a room when the handle broke during a power outage, the heating system is an air to water heat pump and it took us ages to figure out how to set it up correctly so we spent weeks wearing 3 layers inside the house, I even fell down the stairs!! I'm not used to having stairs inside the house lmao It's a big adjustment when you've always lived in small apartments in big cities all your adult life, but to be honest we love it!! everything feels like a new quest for us to tackle and it is so much fun figuring it all out as we go, reading technical manuals by candle light, the teamwork of installing and assembling furniture and networks, pruning the trees, celebrating every small mundane accomplishment and new skill learned every night over dinner, I may be corny as hell but it all feels like a privilege and an adventure 😭

Media wise we watched the second season of Arcane! This series never fails to make me fall in love with art again, not that I've ever fallen out but I can't say that the whole AI debacle hasn't been ass for the morale. Aesthetically it is a masterpiece. The character design, the cinematography, the mixed media montages aaaa Seeing the work, the skill and care that was put into every frame reminded me of how important and human the storytelling aspect of art really is. I wonder if we will see a shift to the more story driven or conceptual arts when we look back on this period, but I ramble, back to Arcane. I have mostly praise for it, wonderful characters and very touching relationships. I think our only issues were with the pacing being too slow at the start, every character climbing out of a very low point, and then too fast which made the second half feel a bit rushed. This season also felt a bit more tropey than the first one but still really solid. It remains one of the best animated series ever made and I am so happy to see it succeed in this current environment 😭 It feels like teenagehood condensed into a show, we really enjoyed it. I hope we get a season 3!!

Also there was an update in our David Tennant filmography quest! we watched The Politician's Husband and unsurprisingly we loved it!! It was gripping and the acting was brilliant. It is actually what I was expecting Rivals to be like, I realize 🤔 I think it could have used a 4th episode, felt like it ended too quickly and there was room for more, as if they ran out of time to tie things up so they picked the quickest route. But it was really good!! These miniseries are always so engaging and so short, I need mooreee.

We missed our DT nights!! Nicolas spent the last week hunting for more of David's work for us to watch. We've been hosting family for a few days again last week and on top of work and everything else we had to pause them for a bit. But now we are back to our nightly routine and he's over the moon!! Instant mood boost it's embarrassing lmao both of us falling this hard for this guy is too enabling, he even made his name our guest wifi password, we are besotted 😂

Oh! I also I saw a Veilguard Q&A was happening and read a few replies I saw posted here, and it proved to be a huge mistake! It was a disappointing and truly infuriating read. What even happened during the production of this game lmao How come the average fan seems to have a much better grasp on the lore, characters and plot than the people who made it 😭 There is this gaping disconnect between intent and execution. The way that fans are trying to make sense and give meaning to the complete mess that is the writing in an attempt to salvage and preserve the aspects they loved about it is saddening. I am mentally throwing tomatoes at John Epler as we speak. His answers felt so unserious and baffling at best and offensive and petty at worst. It's been eye opening, I could go on a two hour rant but the more I learn and dwell on it the more bitter I become about it all and I'm already seeing ten year old discourse resurface and people getting weird about it so I'll just ..🚶‍♀️ In my eyes this world and it's characters now belong only to those who love it and lives in my memory 🫡

Anyway, this ended up being at least twice as long as I was planning to make it again 😭 and I still have to catch up with asks aaaa it's been a busy month sorry I'll get to them soon!! Thank you for reading and for the support and for just being here!! I hope you all have a great week 🥺❤️

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 16

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.3k+

Note: fucking hell YN is a bit melodramatic hey?? damn crazy. someone should do something about it.

xxx

The flat is nearly done. Well, nearly is the operative word. You can’t exactly turn a blank canvas into a masterpiece in just one week — not when you’re battling a mountain of flatpack boxes and wrestling with furniture that arrives with more screws than instructions. But I gave it a red-hot go. The sofa’s in place (mostly assembled), the kitchen’s unpacked enough to cook something edible, and the bed actually holds me without collapsing. The boxes are mostly unpacked, though there are still a few corners that feel bare — empty enough to remind me this place is still a work in progress. But honestly? I kind of like that. It gives the space room to breathe. Room to grow.

Speaking of growing, I’m currently drowning in cardboard. The sheer volume of it could probably form its own ecosystem. It’s all shoved into my bedroom right now, stacked like the starter pack of a hoarder’s anonymous meeting. It’s chaos, but it’s my chaos, and I’m strangely proud of it.

Despite the mess, the fridge is stocked with fresh food — no more sad instant noodles for me. And tucked in the corner is a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a moment just like this. Tonight, that moment finally arrives.

I’m hosting a goddamn housewarming.

A bunch of my friends from The Van are coming over. Here. To my new flat. The place I’ve poured sweat, frustration, and a hell of a lot of laughter into. It feels like a milestone, even if the space isn’t quite finished. Because this — this is my fresh start. And tonight, I get to celebrate that with the people who know me best.

The nerves buzz beneath my skin — the kind that comes from knowing I’m about to open the door to more than just a flat. I’m opening up a part of my life that’s still a little raw, a little uncertain. But mostly, it’s mine.

And god, I’m ready for it.

Will’s been on my mind a lot lately. The space between us feels bigger than this whole flat, and I’m still trying to figure out how to bridge it. But tonight, I’ve thrown myself into every little detail—the perfect candle, the best tablecloth, making sure everything’s just right.

I want him to meet my people, to see this side of me, to taste my cooking—not just grab a quick bite on the run. It feels like a chance to remind him what we could have, if only that distance would close.

He said he probably wouldn’t make it for dinner, caught up with some deadline, but that he’d come by afterward. Knowing Will, I’m still holding out hope for a surprise.

Ruth shows up early, as she always does. I think she likes the idea of getting her hands into something, and she’s always ready to help. So we’re tackling the dinner together. Best friend type shit.

It’s a simple menu — pasta, salad, garlic bread. The basics, can't fuck it up, but Ruth’s made sure we’re not cutting any corners. There’s fresh basil for the pasta sauce, real garlic, not the stuff from a tube, and a block of parmesan for grating. No pre-grated cheese. We’re going for it.

“Okay, we’ve got the pasta and the bread covered,” Ruth says, setting down the garlic butter with a satisfied look. “But have you seen any tongs around here? I don’t see any.”

I blink at her, then look down at the kitchen drawers. “Tongs? Damn I haven't bought tongs yet have I?”

Ruth gives me a deadpan look. “You’re making garlic bread. How are you going to get it out of the oven without tongs?”

I roll my eyes, but she’s right. I’ve clearly missed some basic kitchen essentials in my shopping spree. “Fuck. Tongs,” I mutter. “Let me guess — I didn't buy cling wrap either, right?”

Ruth grins and hands me the fresh basil while pulling out a cutting board. At least I remembered that. She starts to look in my drawers, telling me all the things I've missed. Classic.

“You still need cling wrap, tongs, maybe a ladle... You know, the essentials. The adult things.” She pauses. “And I see you’re still rocking mismatched mugs. Gotta work on that.”

“Right,” I say, glancing at the array of mismatched mugs stacked in a corner. I haven’t quite gotten around to replacing the ugly ones. “Thanks for pointing that out.” I grin at her.

Ruth shrugs and pours some wine into a glass for both of us. “Hey, it’s part of the charm. You’ll get there eventually.”

She heads off to the living room to look at my makeshift bookshelves. I honestly had no idea I owned that many books. I had a box my mum parcelled over to me a few months ago and just never opened it. 

I scramble to put together a shopping list. I grab my phone and make a note: Tongs. Cling wrap. Ladle. Proper mugs.

By the time Ruth’s back in the kitchen, I’m just about to check the oven. She grins, holding up the wine bottle. “You ready for your first official dinner party in this place?”

I laugh, and the nervous energy I’ve been carrying all week suddenly feels a bit more manageable. “Sure. Just don’t judge me when it’s basically a glorified pasta night.”

Ruth shakes her head, clearly amused. “It’s going to be amazing. Don’t stress.”

As the others start trickling in, I’m already half-drunk off the wine, and the kitchen smells like garlic bread and fresh pasta sauce. I’m more than ready for the evening.

I want this — the warmth, the laughter, the feeling that everything is starting to slot into place. The place is starting to feel like a home.

First in is Matt, looking slightly more cheerful than usual. Then Naomi, Sam, and of course, Leon. The last one to walk through the door is Oscar, with his tattooed sleeves and that unreadable smile that always makes me a little nervous. I've learnt his name since the night out. He’s holding a six-pack of beers, a piece of the puzzle I hadn’t even realized I needed.

Even though the flat’s buzzing with activity, I can’t stop glancing at my phone, hoping for a message from Will. He said he’d come by, but so far, nothing. I try to shake off the nerves, but it’s there, just under the surface.

I give Ruth a quick look, and she grins back at me like this is the moment. I’m pulling it off.

“You made it, weirdo,” I say to Leon as I hand him a drink. He grins back, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he says with a wink.

“Perfect. You’re just in time for the pasta," I say. "Let me know if it's too burnt. And if you need tongs or ladles, don’t hesitate to ask.”

There’s a round of laughter. The good kind. The kind where you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not. Everyone settles in, the energy rising to meet the occasion, and it feels like the beginning of something — like this could be a regular thing.

Matt immediately makes himself comfortable at the kitchen island, I tell him he should complement my brand new stools and he does. Sam and Naomi are on the couch, Oscar’s standing by the window looking out, his beer in hand, but still very much a part of the group.

I lean over to Ruth, still plating food, and whisper, “This is good. This is really good.”

“See?” she grins, nudging me with her shoulder. “You’re doing fine. You just needed a bit of support, that’s all.”

And just like that, the tension I’ve been carrying all week starts to slip away. Even if things with Will feel like they’re shifting in some unsaid way, even if George is still somewhere in the back of my mind, right now, I’m here. Right here. In my new flat, with my new friends, and the room is full of laughter and light and the smell of pasta sauce.

It’s not perfect, but for the first time in a while, it doesn’t have to be.

xxx

The night goes on with too many drinks, too much pasta, and a whole lot of laughter. Ruth ends up taking over the playlist, making us listen to all kinds of weird indie songs I’ve never heard of. The vibe is relaxed, comfortable — almost like this is something we’ve all been doing for years.

The conversation flows in waves, picking up new threads as we all bounce between topics. But I can’t shake the quiet tug in the back of my mind. Will hasn’t texted in a while, and every time someone mentions “plans for the weekend,” I catch myself glancing at my phone, wondering if he’s about to text me something — anything.

He said he’d swing by. I remember him saying it so casually, like he had a hundred other things to do, like he wasn’t as excited as I was to finally introduce him to this weird, wonderful group of people. He said probably after dinner.

But now is after. Well past the time he was supposed to show up, and still no sign of him.

The flat feels warm, filled with laughter and the clink of glasses. The food’s been devoured, and we’re well into the inevitable post-dinner chaos — too many empty wine bottles on the table, a bunch of half-finished drinks, and everyone drifting into different conversations.

Oscar, fiddling with the tablecloth, turns to me. His voice drops low, quiet but deliberate. “You enjoying it here?” he asks, eyes steady and kind.

His question hangs in the air longer than expected, heavier than the easy chatter around us. There’s something about the way he says it — like a small thing, but with enough weight to make me feel seen. I try not to overthink it.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a slow sip of wine to steady my hands. “It’s good. I’m finally getting settled.”

Naomi catches my eye and grins, always the one to break any tension. “You live alone! How fantastically adult of you!” She laughs, then leans forward, raising her glass like she’s about to make a toast. “So, surely you’re hosting pre’s all the time now?”

I laugh too, grateful for the distraction. Hosting parties still feels a little out of reach — like I’m playing a part rather than living it. “How fantastically adult of me!” I echo, but my words feel hollow, fading too fast. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Yeah, I guess. I’m still figuring out how to organise the kitchen without tripping over pots and pans.”

Naomi’s grin widens, clearly enjoying the tease. “I bet you could totally host though. You’ve got the place, the vibe… And I’m sure Will would help with all the heavy lifting.”

I force a laugh, trying to hide the flutter of nerves that hits my chest. “Alright, alright, you guys are all obsessed with Will now,” I say, but there’s an edge to my voice I can’t quite mask. “Seriously though, I’ve only been here a week. Let’s not get carried away with the hosting talk.”

Oscar’s quiet gaze meets mine again, and his voice softens, almost thoughtful. “You enjoying it though? Living on your own, I mean?”

I hesitate, the question suddenly too big for the easy smile I want to give. “Yeah… it’s weird. But good weird, you know?” I try for lightness, but there’s a flicker of doubt I can’t shake.

He nods slowly, eyes warm. “It’s a big change. But it suits you, I think.”

His words hit in a way I didn’t expect — simple, but somehow more real than anything else said tonight. My heart skips.

Before I can say more, Ruth leans in with that spark in her eyes I’ve come to trust. “So, when can we meet Will, huh?”

I blink, caught off guard, but the smile still breaks across my face. “Oh, he should be coming soon!” I say—maybe a bit too eager—but it doesn’t matter. I’m excited, though now there’s a knot of worry twisting in my stomach.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a subtle softness in his expression, like he’s watching a story unfold but isn’t sure where it’s going yet.

Naomi grins at me, all bright eyes and enthusiasm. “Well, we’re all excited to meet him!”

For the first time in a while, it feels like everything’s just right. I’m still figuring things out, but right now — in this warm, noisy, wine-soaked chaos of friends and laughter — it feels good.

Now, if only Will would show up.

xxx

He didn’t show. No text, no call, no nothing.

This is the casual bit, I suppose. He doesn’t want to meet my friends. Doesn’t need to. Not really. It’s fine, I tell myself. It’s all fine.

But even as I say that, it feels less fine than I want it to. It’s the way the night should’ve ended — with Will here, laughing, a glass of wine in hand, mixing into the chaos of the crew that’s been my lifeline since moving here. Instead, it ends with a quiet empty spot in the corner, where he should have been.

Everyone filters out slowly, footsteps soft on the floor as they gather their things. We’re doing that thing where we’ve all hugged and said goodbye, but somehow there’s still more to say before the night truly ends.

“See you Tuesday!” Naomi calls out cheerfully, her voice still light, but somehow, too loud against the silence that’s filling the flat.

I’m wiping down the last of my counter when Leon, already halfway to the door, tosses me a comment over his shoulder. “I’ve got an old bookshelf I’ve been thinking of selling,” he says casually, pausing in the doorway. “If you’re looking for one, let me know. It’s not much, but it’ll hold some books.”

I’m surprised, but it’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve been hunting for. “Oh, yeah, definitely,” I say, smiling a little. “I could always use another shelf. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

He grins, gives me a quick salute, and heads out. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me standing there for a second, processing how it feels like everyone is offering something these days. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m still settling in, or maybe it’s just them — these people who don’t mind extending little bits of themselves. Maybe it’s not so bad, this whole "being part of something" idea.

Oscar, standing near the door, finishes gathering his coat and keys, then turns to me with a calm smile. “By the way,” he says, his tone always steady, “I've got a social netball game next week. We're down a player. You should come along. Text me if you’re interested.”

I blink for a second, caught off guard by how casually he says it. Netball? Me? My heart races slightly at the idea of joining something new, but at the same time, the idea of being included, of having another regular to show up to, feels oddly comforting.

I laugh softly, shrugging. “Yeah, alright. I’ll text you.”

He nods. “Good. It’ll be fun. Everyone’s a bit rubbish, but we make it work.” His tone softens as he walks out. "And if you need any help with the flat, don’t hesitate, yeah? That’s what we’re here for.”

“Thanks, Oscar!,” I reply cheerily, watching him disappear out the door.

It’s strange, how suddenly, these people I barely knew a couple of months ago have started to feel like… home. Not that everything’s perfect, or figured out, but the little things, the offers, the casual kindness — they build something I can’t ignore.

They're so good at the casual kindness that none of them mention it. Not the fact that Will didn’t show, not the fact that they didn’t meet the guy I’ve been talking about for the past two months. It’s like the whole thing doesn’t even exist. The same casual tone is there when they leave, like it’s just another night of drinking and laughing. Not even a passing mention of him.

I stand by the door, waving them off, giving them the usual goodbyes, but my heart isn’t in it. I’m already retreating inside my head, processing the quiet absence of the night. And even though they’re gone, the quiet lingers. It settles in the corners of my flat, heavy in the air.

I start getting ready for bed, moving through the motions like I’ve done a thousand times before. But tonight, the evening feels heavier, somehow. The fun, the warmth of it all, has melted into something… off. The laughter still echoes in my ears, but it’s already fading.

Seeing everyone was nice. It warmed me up a bit. But Will’s no-show weighs on my shoulders, pulling everything back into question.

He’s been so weird. That’s the thing, right? He’s been so weird lately. Pulling back physically. Not calling, not texting the way he used to. The conversations have been shorter, the energy a little colder. It’s like there’s a wall I can’t get past.

What is it with everyone being weird? First George and now Will?

And maybe that's it. Maybe I’m the one who’s being weird. Maybe I'm the one overthinking it all. Or maybe Will really has just decided I’m not worth it anymore. Whatever it is, I can't shake the feeling that something’s off, and I don't know how to fix it.

And I’m being paranoid, I'm sure of it. I’m reading too much into it. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if he’s already decided I’m not worth it. Maybe he’s figured out that I’m not the kind of person you want to stick around for. Maybe I am just a distraction, a filler until something better comes along. I climb into bed, pulling the covers over me, but it feels too empty. It's become a rare thing to not sleep next to him. Or it became a rare thing, it's been more common again this last week.

I can still feel the weight of the night, the quiet hum of unspoken things between Will and me, filling up the space. I stare up at the ceiling, trying not to get lost in my own thoughts.

But no matter how many times I tell myself that it’s fine, that maybe it’s probably nothing... it’s hard to believe.

I want to be angry at him. I really do. But the thing is, I can’t summon it anymore. That’s the part that kills me. We’ve already done our time of angry, and now… now I’m just left with this thick, suffocating sadness.

I told him. I told him that night, the first time we crossed that line, that I wasn’t ready for anything serious. And he said he wasn’t either. No big deal. It was supposed to be a fun thing, right? Nothing to complicate. But this — this silence, this absence — it doesn’t feel fun anymore.

He helped me move. He helped me move for Christ’s sake. He even roleplayed coming home with me in the IKEA showroom, like we were already living that life. How was I supposed to brush that off like it was some weird joke?

And then there’s Monaco. Monaco. That brand trip invitation had my stomach doing flip-flops. Why would he invite me if he wasn’t looking for something? He even knows I can’t just drop everything and take a week off work, especially after the move. So why make it feel like it was an option?

I cling to the hope that he’s just letting me down gently. That he’s realised we’re not going to work out long term, and he’s sparing me the awkwardness of some big breakup speech. Maybe he’s just trying to soften the blow, make it easier, to not put me in a situation where I feel like I have to argue or beg him to stay.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

Shift in bed, feeling the silence in the room press against me. I try to shake it off, tell myself it’s fine, that I’ll just talk to him when I see him next. It’s all I can do — try to bury the disappointment and hope it doesn’t bubble up when I finally see his face again. But I know, deep down, this isn’t going to go away until I confront it.

What hurts the most isn’t the waiting. It’s the not knowing. Because the truth is, if I knew where we stood, even if it was bad, even if it was over, I could deal with it. But instead, I’m just here, with all this space between us, with nothing but his absence to fill it.

And that? That’s the part I can't fix.

xxx

Its been a week.

Will hasn’t spoken to me all week.

It feels like a punch in the gut, but I can’t help the feeling that something’s shifted. The longest we’ve gone without talking since we met, and there’s nothing — no text, no call, no plans to meet up.

When we met — that stupid party I didn’t even want to go to — he texted me that same night. And then we just… didn’t stop.

It started as relentless. Snarky. Annoying. Like we were both trying to win something, though I’m still not sure what. For weeks — no, months — it was constant. A daily back-and-forth of sarcasm, one-liners, and deeply unnecessary hot takes. The kind of energy that should’ve fizzled out fast. But it didn’t.

It softened, eventually. Less sharp edges, more… rhythm. But it never really stopped. The most we’ve ever gone without messaging was about 25 hours — and even that was because he was on a plane and I was half-dead with a cold.

And now?

After he invited me on a holiday.

After he helped me move flat, kissed me like I was worth living for, learned my pizza order, and figured out exactly what makes me tick?

Now, it’s quiet.

And I don’t know what to do with the silence.

Fucking hell, even a “u up?” text would satisfy this craving I’ve got for him right now. As ridiculous as it sounds, the idea of him texting me — even just to say something stupid or half-hearted — would be enough to quiet the pit of frustration that’s been growing in my stomach all week. Goddamn, I’d even take a “I hate you” as a response to my question of "Where have you gone?".

At least then I’d know.'

At least I wouldn’t be left here wondering. Wondering if I messed something up or if it was him or if I’m just being too sensitive. It’d hurt, sure, but the silence? That’s worse. The quiet stretches out longer and longer, and with it, all my stupid, paranoid thoughts start creeping in. Maybe I said something wrong. Maybe I took the wrong step. Maybe I’m just too much, and that’s why he hasn’t even bothered to reach out.

But no, I don’t even get that. I get nothing. The space between us is thick with unanswered questions.

If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure why I care this much. It’s just a thing, right? Just a guy. We weren’t anything serious. I said it myself: I wasn’t ready for anything serious. But that doesn’t stop the feeling. The one that twists in my chest every time I check my phone and see it’s still empty.

I try to shake it off. I mean, it’s not like I need him to validate me, right? I’m fine. I’ve got my own life now.

But it’s funny how much a single text can feel like it could break the tension in my chest. Even if it’s not the answer I want, it would be something.

Instead, I’m left with the silence, which, honestly, might just be worse than any shitty message he could send.

Still, I keep telling myself it's fine, that he’s probably busy. It’s just a bit of space. Just a bit of time to breathe. But the truth is, I’ve spent the entire week in this weird limbo, where I’m pretending I don’t care, pretending I’m fine. But I’m not.

Still, I try to keep myself busy. I’ve got my new flat, right? It’s not just empty space, it’s mine. And the more I sink into it, the more it starts to feel like a home.

The new flat vibe is pretty damn good, I’ll admit. It’s like the universe is handing me a chance to do something with my life, to build it the way I want to. No more shared walls, no more roommates, no more worrying about someone else’s mess. This is my space. It feels cool, like I’m finally grown up. Like I’m not just floating through life anymore, I’m steering the ship. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I’m crouched on the floor, rearranging bookshelves for the fifth time.

Should I arrange them in order of colour or by authors surname?

I’ve thrown myself into interior design, and honestly, it’s a little embarrassing how into it I’ve gotten. I’m that person now — scrolling through Pinterest boards and flipping through magazines like I’ve got my life together. Who even buys magazines anymore? Me, apparently. Maybe it’s the thrill of having a blank canvas, or maybe it’s just me convincing myself I’m doing something productive while I wait for Will to acknowledge me again.

It’s not just the flat. Somehow, I’ve picked up three new hobbies in the last week. Because of course I have. Why not? I’ve got the space for them now, and apparently the energy too. I’ve started baking — simple stuff, like cookies, but it feels like a tiny victory each time the oven beeps. Then there’s painting. Like, actual painting, with brushes and canvas. It’s therapeutic in a way I didn’t expect. And, just to really round it out, I’ve joined an online book club. Because I have a ton of time to read now, right?

I think I’m doing all of this because I’m trying to fill the space, to prove I’m okay. That I can do this alone, that I can be enough. Because right now, all this newness is really just a distraction from the quiet. The kind of quiet that grows when the person you’ve been waiting for stops showing up.

But at least I’ve got these things, right? New hobbies, a new flat. It’s like I’m learning how to be by surrounding myself with things that fill the silence. I’ve got three types of flour in the pantry, a canvas that’s half-painted in the corner, and a Pinterest board that’s at least 50% living room inspiration. At least it’s something.

I just wish I could shake the feeling that it’s all a little... empty.

Like no matter how many hobbies I pick up or how many magazines I flick through, I’m still just waiting. For Will to text, for him to show up, for him to decide whether or not he wants to be in my life.

Maybe I just want to feel like I’m worth something. Worth his attention. Because right now, all this newness in my life — the flat, the hobbies, the Pinterest boards and the cake experiments — it’s just stuff. It’s all just stuff I’m using to fill up the quiet, to fill up the space where Will’s presence should be.

And then there’s work. God, work. It's is just awful. It’s like every day I’m dragging myself through quicksand, and the more I think about it, the more I want to scream. I moved across the world for this job, and right now, I can’t even remember why I thought that was a good idea. I was so excited back then — new city, new job, new life — but now? Now it’s just a slog.

The people at work are fine, the work itself is fine, but everything just feels so... meh. I felt Will pulling away all last week — the messages slowing, the distance growing in the silences between us. And I just let him, I guess. It’s like he’d already checked out, and I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in.

It’s like I’ve slipped into autopilot. I go in, work on my silly little programs, then come home to stare at the same four walls of my flat, wondering if I’m just wasting time.

The real kicker is when I think back to last week — that week with Will, building furniture, figuring out the best spot for the couch — it makes coming back here feel that much harder. How was it so easy with him? We were in sync. We didn’t have to try; just living together for a few days felt... right.

But now? Now it feels like that was a different life, a different version of me. One who wasn’t dragging herself through a job she feels nothing for. One who had the energy to care about something deeper than painting.

I want that feeling back. That rhythm. But every time I sit at my desk or stare at my inbox, the thought won’t leave me: Why did I come here? And more importantly — where is he?

Work was supposed to be the thing that would make it all worth it — the move, the change, the upheaval. But instead, it’s just another reason to feel stuck.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s easier to blame the job than to admit that maybe I’m just goddamn lonely. It always comes back to that doesn’t it?

Every. Fucking. Time.

I'm sick of going on about it.

I felt so cool when I got this job. So proud of myself. Like I was finally getting what I deserved. A real, grown-up job in a new city. In London, It was the dream, right? I had this whole story about how I’d made it.

They headhunted me. Me! Some young woman from halfway across the world, with no more than a decent CV and a wild idea that maybe, just maybe, I could do this. The company paid for my flights, gave me a sizable bonus — which, honestly, I only just used to furnish my flat. I always thought that money was the start of something big. I was going to fill my new space with things that meant something, that screamed me.

We can ignore the part where it took me eight months to find a flat.

But I don’t talk about it much. I kept it to myself, like a little secret that I didn’t want to admit, even to myself. This whole “new life” thing, I mean. It sounded so easy, so clean when I first thought about it. Move abroad, get a job, settle in. And yet, here I am, restyling my bookshelf again, and trying to piece together what was supposed to be this amazing new chapter.

And George! I couldn’t believe I got to live in the same city as George again. The mate who was there when everything felt like it was falling apart, the one who somehow kept me grounded and floating at the same time. After all this time apart, suddenly, we were both here, sharing the same streets, the same city.

And Look how that turned out.

Okay, I’m being overly cynical now. I say that about George, but it’s better now. At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect — how to slip back into the old rhythm. But after the move out conversation, in the garage, everything felt lighter with him. And then he  sent me a meme out of the blue, and I felt this weird little buzz in my chest. Like we were gonna pick up right where we left off, no awkwardness, just that familiar ease. It felt good.

It is good.

He seems less intense now, less… complicated. Or maybe I’ve just learned to roll with his quirks. Either way, we’re back to sending each other memes and laughing over all the dumb stuff we used to get up to. It feels easy again, and that’s a fucking relief.

And we’ve got that dinner I promised him coming up! After all this time, it’s finally happening. Don't ask why it took two weeks, I’m honestly just excited to catch up, to hang out with him like we used to. No pressure, no weirdness. Just two friends who’ve found their way back to each other. I say that. I still lived with him when it was weird. We didn’t exactly leave each other. But honestly, I can’t stop smiling just thinking about it. Feels like the good old days.

I drag my fingers through my hair and try to focus on that instead of the Will situation. And it works. Mostly.

My head’s too full of questions about Will, too full of the aching uncertainty of what’s really going on with us. I could blame work for all of this, but that wouldn’t make anything easier. It pulses on the back of my brain light a headache that no amount of paracetamol can cure

It buzzes beneath the noise of everything else, stubborn and unwelcome, refusing to let me forget.

xxx

Dinner with George is... easy. Comfortable. I can’t remember the last time I was this relaxed with him. We’re at a nice Italian place near his flat. It's nothing fancy, just cozy. The kind of place where you feel like you’re in the middle of a casual night out, not some rom-com scene.

It’s weird, seeing George not at the flat. He’s always been just... there, popping in and out without any big plans. The whole time we've known each other it's been like that, even living across the UK we used to just, pop in. But now, we have to plan to see each other, carve out time like it’s something that needs scheduling. We’re grown-ups now, I guess. It feels different.

I tell him that, how strange it feels to have to make plans, to check calendars, to figure out when we can actually hang out. It’s all a bit too real. Like, we’ve entered that stage of adulthood where everything is a bit more... intentional.

He shrugs, almost like he’s not bothered by it, but there’s something in his smile that makes me think maybe he gets it. “I’ll give you your key back,” he says, his voice light. “It’s all good to just drop by whenever, yeah?”

It should feel like a relief, and in a way, it is — a reminder that some things don’t have to change. That maybe we can still be friends, like we always have been. No pressure, no awkwardness, just that easy, familiar connection.

I try not to dwell on how different it feels now. The crush is long gone... mostly. There’s a comfort in knowing we’re still friends, even if it feels different now. Even if it feels more like a chapter that’s winding down than one that’s still building. But we’re still here, still part of each other’s lives, just in a new way. And honestly? That’s something worth holding onto.

We’re talking about everything and nothing now, the move, Arthur's new gross habits, Monaco. The whole trip is sounds a bit surreal.

I still think about Will's invite, and I’m still not sure why. I can't go, obviously—work, timing, all that—but it’s the kind of thing I’m sure would been fun if I could go. I tell George this, all casually, just another thing in passing.

So then he asks, “How are things with Will?” The question hangs there for a second, like it’s some innocent check-in, but I can already hear the curiosity in his voice.

I shrug, taking a bite of my pasta before I answer. “Yeah, not really happening anymore. I told you it wasn’t serious,” I say it like it’s no big deal, because, honestly, it’s not. It’s just another thing that didn’t work out. Another almost.

I'm fucking lying to myself, obviously.

I’m sure he can see it on my face. Maybe he can’t, though. Maybe I’m better at hiding it than I think. Either way, I push the thought aside, pretending that I’m not bothered. But it lingers, heavy, as I stab at the pasta with my fork.

George’s expression softens. He leans back and nods slowly. “That’s shit, you know? Even when you don’t expect it to go anywhere, it still hurts when someone pulls away.”

There’s a pause as if he’s weighing his words carefully. “I guess sometimes people don’t always know how to handle things. Or maybe they just don’t know what they want.”

He gives a small, understanding smile, the kind that says he’s been there before, even if the words aren’t perfect. “But hey, you’re not alone in this. And you deserve someone who’s all in — not half here, not half gone.”

I manage a weak laugh. “Yeah, well, it was never gonna be serious anyway.”

But honestly? I thought we were getting somewhere—felt like maybe this time it was real. Guess I was just fooling myself.

George nods, taking a slow sip of wine, eyes still watching me like he actually cares. “Yeah. But sometimes the ‘never serious’ things still sting.”

And just like that, it feels a little easier—not because the situation’s changed, but because someone seems to get it. Even if it’s just George, being George.

The rest of the dinner is just... normal. The kind of night where I’m not thinking about the past, or the future, or anything that’s been hanging over my head. It feels so good to have him back, in this easy, uncomplicated way. We talk about the usual stuff, laugh at the same jokes, and for once, it feels like things are just right. For now, I’m okay with that.

That's me lying to myself again.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 8

Source for pic

Imperfect 8

Word Count: 4802

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: I'm so eager to share this chapter with all of you that I may be making a mistake by uploading it early! I only have half of chapter 9 written, and I was hoping to write a little bit more before posting this. But, hey, I'll do it! *singing* Besides, which you see, I have confidence in me!! Anyway, please enjoy the emotional whiplash you're about to experience with this chapter. Love you all! Small Warning: suggestive content, I don't think it warrants a specific NSFW, though.

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

You get a text from your dad saying he’ll be out for the day helping Makino’s niece assemble furniture at her new home in town, and that he might not return until dinnertime. He also asks if you’re alright and lets you know that morning chores are already taken care of.

Looking at the clothes you’re currently wearing - Kid’s - it’s actually a blessing he’s not home at the moment, or you’d have some explaining to do. 

The rest of the day goes by in the blink of an eye, and around five o’clock you stop by Sanji’s café to buy some donuts and coffee, not wanting to show up at the garage empty-handed. You can’t contain the tingle of anticipation or stop the silly smile from curving your lips when your car comes to a full stop in front of Kid’s shop. 

“Heeey, I brought sustenance!” you shout as you step into the garage. Your brow rises, and you set your stuff down on the nearest workbench before heading further inside. It’s all so quiet. No music, no curses, no tools rumbling in the background. 

And then you see him. 

Kid is hunched over another workbench. His prosthetic lies discarded in front of him, and he’s gripping the edge of the counter as if it’s all that’s keeping him from falling. Sweat dampens the collar of his shirt. His hair is soaked, and fat droplets of perspiration drip down his scrunched brows and heavy grimace. Everything in his posture, including the tautness of his muscles, screams pain and suffering. 

And it’s one you know and understand very well: phantom pain. 

“Kid,” you start, one hand raised as if you were approaching a wild animal. 

“Don’t,” he growls the word, and it hits you like a slap. He doesn’t even turn or open his eyes to acknowledge you. It’s like you can physically see the walls going up and all around him. Again. 

“Let me help–”

“Get the fuck out. I don’t need ya.” The poison in his words sucks all the breath out of your lungs. He’s lashing out.

“I can–”

His face snaps towards you, a feral growl shaking his lips as he grits his teeth. “No, you can’t! This ain’t a fucking novel, sweetheart. I ain’t some broken project for ye to fix! Ye can’t fix what’s irreparably broken! Get the fuck out.”

You try to swallow past the giant lump in your throat. His eyes are cold as ice, without a hint or a trace of the warmth he showed you in the morning. This is just another hurdle that you have to overcome. 

You want to succumb to the prickling of tears behind your eyes, but you can’t, because weakness won’t get you anywhere with Eustass Kid. He’s trying to scare you away.

He’s not going to fucking do it. 

“I’m not trying to fix you!”

“Bullshit!” Kid slams the workbench, and everything rattles with his fury. “Ye think just because we shared some nice moments, I’m suddenly fixed? That I ain’t fucked up? Broken? That we can have a fuckin’ happily ever after with birds singin’ and butterflies dancin’ kinda shit? It don’t work like that!”

“That’s not what I was–”

“Yer not the first pretty face that thinks she can fix me! And ye ain’t gonna be the last.” Kid snorts, and you bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling. “Guess what, sweetheart? Yer about to be just as disappointed as all of ‘em. Ye ain’t special!”

That blow stings like a cut in your chest. You take a trembling step back, averting his cold gaze, and shake your head. “Earlier–”

“Earlier meant nothin’!” His voice doesn’t even waver. “It was just a distraction, and yer a pretty distraction, I give ye that. But it ain’t happenin’ again. I don’t need this - I don’t need ye.”

The silence that follows is crushing. 

You finally look back at him, your chest heaving and chin trembling, eyes glazed with unshed tears you’re trying so hard to push back. You’re so angry at him. Rationally, you know he’s pushing you away again, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to reach for help. Irrationally, though, it feels like you’re not enough.

And like you’ll never be able to reach him.

And then you see his eyes tremble, his teeth grit, and his muscles contract in torment. He’s drowning in pain, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it. 

Raising your chin and fighting every instinct that tells you to turn around and leave, you walk past him. Then you fight another instinct telling you to throw a wrench at his stupid, stubborn head, grab the first aid kit, and take out the muscle relaxer cream, throwing it on the couch carelessly. 

“Sit on that fucking couch, Kid.” Good. At least your voice still sounds steady. 

“Didn’t ya listen to–”

“I don’t give a fuck. Sit. Down.” Your eyes harden like steel as you bore them into his. 

“I don’t want ye here,” his throat bobs, and you can tell that’s a blatant lie. One he’s willing to lash out for, over and over again, even if it makes you both bleed. 

“Tough shit!” you grit your teeth and shove him towards the couch. “I’m not leaving! You’re hurting, and I’m not going to turn my back on that. I’m not running away, Kid. You don’t scare me!” You shove him again, and he stumbles back, probably too stunned or in pain to fight back your advances. “It doesn’t mean I’m not fucking devastated by what you just said. I’m pissed and I’m hurt, but I’m not running away. Now sit the fuck down.”

He reluctantly sits, still unsure about what you’re going to do. When you sit next to him and start rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, he jerks his stump away from you.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”

“Kid—” You reach again and he pulls away with more force than before. 

“I said don’t! Yer not seein’ this part of me, for fuck’s sake! I ain’t yer charity case.”

God! Why is he so infuriating? Why can’t he just give you a chance? A small opening? Something!

“I never said you were! I just want to help! Let me—”

“Don’t touch me!” He’s not yelling, but it feels pretty damn close. The intensity of his words forms more lumps and clumps in your throat, and your breathing comes out in ragged, hurtful gasps.

At least your tears are still safely tucked away.

You grit your teeth and will some command into your voice. “I will fucking touch you because it will help.”

“It won’t help!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! It never fuckin’ goes away! It’s here to remind me of how I failed ‘em! Fuck!” Kid drops his elbow to his knee, face buried in his hand. His shoulders contract and twist in agony, his whole body coiled in grief.

Silence spreads its tendrils around you again, sinking its claws into your chest, reminding you that Kid is indeed as broken as he claims to be. And that only makes you care for him more. 

“Fine. Maybe it won’t go away, but I know I can make it better. And I’ll stay with you through the worst of it. Even if you continue to be an asshole.”

You don’t wait for a reaction, don’t even allow him to reply. You just roll the rest of the sleeve up and get straight to work. Lathering your hands with the muscle relaxer, you start to massage the stump slowly, yet firmly. Your muscle memory is kicking in and reminding you how you used to do this for your dad, all those years ago. 

Kid flinches when your fingers touch the scarred tissue, and he looks away, seemingly too embarrassed for eye contact. But you don’t miss the way he lets out a deep breath after a minute or two. His shoulders sag softly, and his brows relax from the everlasting scrunch he has them in. 

You keep working the knots slowly, ignoring the way your feet are already becoming numb because you’re sitting on them. You’re too afraid to break this fragile moment.

Kid drops his head back to rest on the couch, and his breathing evens out. You don’t think he’s sleeping, but at least he’s relaxed enough for a small reprieve. Your fingers tremble for a small moment, your breath catching in your throat.

Before you realize or manage to stop it, tears start spilling down your cheeks. Just when you thought you’d made progress, that you managed to break down those stubborn walls of his, he pulls this stunt. 

His words hurt much more than you care to admit. Of course you’re not special. Why would you be? But that’s not even the point, you don’t have to be special, you just want him to let you in. To open himself to the possibility of something else. To let someone care for him, to allow himself to be cherished. 

It’s like you take one small step forward and two back. A never-ending, frustrating dance. 

It’s only when you feel his calloused hand on your cheek, wiping the trail your tears left behind, that you realize Kid’s eyes are open and he’s staring at you. Trembling, you stop massaging him, waiting for another outburst of hurtful words. 

It never comes.

He softens his gaze, working his throat and jaw as if he’s trying to free the unspoken words he has trapped there. His mouth finally parts, like he’s about to say something, but you beat him to it.

You don’t want to hear the wrong words now.

“Take off your shirt.”

His brow furrows, and he removes his hand from your cheek, leaving only cold and emptiness behind. 

“I need to work on your back and chest muscles, or the pain won’t go away. Take it off.” You lace your words with indifference and command, and he obeys for once; doesn’t argue or grunt in disapproval, just follows your request.

As he’s busy taking the garment off, you swiftly wipe your wet cheeks on your arms, erasing any evidence of your earlier weakness. 

You make him turn slightly to the side as you start working between his shoulder blades and neck. He’s stiff as a board, his muscles tight and tense from too many years of holding everything in his shoulders. No wonder the pain won’t ever go away.

After a long stretch of silence, where the only sound comes from his soft, relieved grunts, Kid speaks in a voice so quiet you have trouble believing it’s his. “How d’ya learn how to do this?” 

You pause for a breath, then answer. Your eyes never leave the junction of his neck with his shoulder, applying soothing pressure with the pads of your fingers. “Shanks.” Kid hums, and you continue.

“I was just a child when he lost his arm, around ten, I think. Luffy, our neighbor, had a habit of sneaking out of his grandpa’s house, and he would get into all sorts of trouble. This time it could’ve been fatal. Except my dad was there.”

You sigh. There’s much you don’t remember about your childhood, but you clearly remember the day your father was left bleeding out in the field while the ambulance was on the way. Your tiny heart beating out of your chest, not knowing if he’d make it or not…

“The plough was working in the field, and Luffy got in the way. Dad saw it and jumped in to save him. Lost his arm in the process. He used to have phantom pain all the time back then. Mom used to do this to ease him through it, and it worked.”

Kid hums again, so you know he’s listening. 

“When they started to fight like they had nothing better to do with every waking moment of their lives, Dad was too proud to ask for help, and Mom got tired of offering. I could see him trying to suffer through the pain with gritted teeth and venomous words.”

Kid stiffens, and you know he’s relating to that bit a little too much.

“So I took over Mom’s place and learned how to help. It became our own thing.”

You move a bit, leaning closer and pushing his back against the couch, focusing on the planes of his chest now, where the scarring is so visible and the scar tissue is pulled so tight, it’s a wonder he’s not in pain all the time. 

You can feel Kid’s gaze burning holes into your face, and you would give anything to know what’s on his mind. If he would just let you. 

Your thumbs work slowly, kneading the flesh carefully but with firm strokes. You can already feel how much less tense he is. 

His question catches you by surprise. “Don’t ye find it disgustin’?”

You stop and stare at him, but he avoids your gaze like the plague, his lips twitching and frowning into an embarrassed grimace. 

“Why would I? It’s part of you. It’s just flesh, muscle, and skin. It’s not disgusting.”

Kid tilts his head slowly, catching your eye for a moment before turning away again. You continue massaging his chest until he speaks again. 

“Ye should. I’m a fuckin’ monster.”

Somehow, you realize he’s not just talking about his physical scars. 

“Stop,” you state with finality. Reaching for his face, you force him to face you. “You’re not a monster. You’re not this ugly, unlovable creature. You’re Eustass fucking Kid.” That draws a small smirk from his lips, but it barely lasts. “You’re just… wounded.”

“I’m broken…” he rasps out, the shadows in his eyes spreading further, dimming its brightness.

“Yes, you are.” He jerks his face away, but you hold it steady, forcing your gaze into his. “And I want all of those broken pieces. The anger, the sadness, the pain, and all of the things you don’t tell me… Kid, I’ll take it all and share that burden with you. I don’t want perfect. I want you.”

He stares at you, his chest shaking with uncertain breaths, looking torn between wanting to push you away and to hold you against him. 

It’s a make-or-break moment, you can feel it.

So when he presses his hand against your cheek in a mimicry of his earlier gesture, you let out a relieved breath. 

“I don’t know how to be anythin’ else. I don’t know how to be… good.”

You cover his hand with your own, while you lower the other one until it presses against his heart, feeling it beat erratically, madly.

“Then we’ll learn together. You just have to let me in, Kid. That’s all.”

Kid’s gaze burns. He looks torn, restless, like he’s fighting a war he’s tired of losing. Maybe this time, though, he has too much to lose and he’s finally willing to risk it. 

You know you are. 

With a tentative breath, Kid’s hand finds the curve of your neck and climbs until his fingers curl in your hair. He leans forward, hesitates, and the world stops. He’s gonna pull away. He’s gonna flee again. I’m gonna lose him—

Then he exhales a trembling breath, pulls you gently and presses his lips against yours. It’s a stark contrast to all the other heated kisses you’ve shared. This one feels fragile and precious, just a whisper of a touch. 

It’s everything he can’t seem to say to you.

When he breaks the kiss and pulls you gently to his lap until you’re straddling him, his hand stays on your hip, its slight tremble, reminding you how delicate this moment is. You cup his face, and he closes his eyes, your foreheads touching for a moment while the weight of everything settles between the two of you. 

When his eyes meet yours again, it’s like you can see a crack in his walls. It’s slight. It’s small. But it’s there. 

“I didn’t mean…” he starts, stumbling over his words, brows scrunched so tight you fear they’ll leave permanent marks. “My words, I… fuckin’ hell.”

“Kid—”

“No. Let me get this out.” Kid sighs heavily, his hand gripping your hip harder and harder, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Ye are special. Ye are!”

A choked sob dares to climb its way up your throat, so you steel your emotions, bite your lower lip to stop its trembling, and caress his cheekbones with your thumbs in a comforting gesture. 

“Much more than that, I…” It’s painfully clear how much he’s struggling to share the extent of his feelings. His eyes meet yours, and there’s so much emotion in them that you understand all he wants to tell you, even without words. 

He really likes you. 

And it’s scary as hell. 

“Fuck it,” Kid mumbles, then his mouth claims yours again, and this kiss is a far cry from the tentative one you shared before. It’s all-consuming, it’s raging, it’s fire and desire melting into something hot and unbearable. 

Kid’s hand slithers below your top and up your spine, eliciting a shudder and a muffled whimper. You respond by rolling your hips against his hardened length, and my God, this just needs to happen. Your hands greedily map the planes of his pecs, scraping your nails hard across the same spot you had been massaging just moments ago.

Your top comes off, your bra comes next, and so does an unwanted thought: you’ve been here before.

Except this time, you don’t let any doubt cloud your judgment. Yes, you’ve been here before, but never has the intimacy felt so raw and vulnerable. This is it. 

Your lips collide again, and as you open your mouth to gasp when Kid rolls his fingers over your nipple, he claims your tongue. Your heart and soul go next, and you don’t even fight it. 

You’re his.

You’ll always be his. If he lets you. 

“I want ye… fuck! I need ye,” Kid drawls between kisses and licks to your neck.

“Then take me.”

And he’s about to. Kid’s fingers trail the waistband of your pants, hover over the button, and—

“AGAIN?” Killer’s outraged scream reverberates off the wall and bounces in an endless, indignant echo. Kid pushes you flush against his chest to shield your breasts from view. “I can’t believe I have to see this again!”

Killer’s stomping footfalls thud around the garage in an angry tirade, and a bottle of pills hits Kid on the head. He growls, but Killer is on a rampage.

“Here are your fucking pills! The ones you were in too much pain to grab! Forgot to ask for condoms too? Fucking shitwipe, there are locks on—” Killer’s angry gaze lingers on the spot you’re both on as he approaches.

Why is he approaching? Has he gone mad?

“That is a fucking communal couch. I take naps there, goddamn it! I’m gonna have to bleach the whole fucking thing!” An exasperated growl escapes his lips as he stomps past you towards the office. “Maybe I should just bleach my own eyes while I’m at it!”

The office door slams shut, and you and Kid sit in silence for a beat, too stunned to say anything at all. 

Then Killer opens the door again, hands pressed together as if in prayer against his bandana-covered mouth. “I’m sincerely fucking happy this—” he gestures towards you, “—is happening. But for fuck’s sake and Jesus’ balls, take it somewhere else! You fucking live upstairs, you moron!”

The door bangs shut again, only to fly open a microsecond later. Killer looks at you and tilts his head. “I ain’t mad at you, love. Just at the fucking asshole who can’t keep it in his pants. Now, if you both could kindly take that elsewhere so I can fix the car Kid towed earlier, I’d appreciate it very much.”

When the door bangs shut again, it nearly comes off its hinges. You can’t help but feel bad for Killer. He really didn’t need to see this. Still, the hilarity of the situation makes you muffle your laughs against Kid’s neck, in an almost perfect replay of what happened once before. 

Even Kid’s lip quirks into a small smile. “Fuck’s sake… that FUCKIN’ HYPOCRITE should keep his fuckin’ mouth shut! HE’S MADE OUT A MILLION TIMES on this couch before, so he—”

“NEVER WITHOUT CLOTHES ON!” Killer bangs his hands on the inside of the office door, and you keep giggling. “I SWEAR TO GOD, KID! If I sit my ass on something sticky or disgusting on that couch… I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

“CALM YER TITS, DIPSHIT! Nothin’ happened!”

“I’M GONNA BURN THAT FUCKING COUCH!”

“THEN YE BUY A NEW ONE!”

“YOU’LL JUST DEFILE IT AGAIN!”

Laughter booms from your lips as you can’t hold it in anymore. The moment is long gone, but you can’t even be mad about it. Kid stops yelling at Killer and hands you your bra and shirt. When you’re fully dressed, his hand lingers on your hip, his thumb brushing soft strokes across your skin. 

“We can go upstairs… if yer still up for it.”

Hell yeah, you are. 

You’re about to reply with a teasing comment, but then you notice the slight sheen of sweat on Kid’s forehead. His neck is tense with pressure, and his stump twitches now and then. 

“You’re still in pain, Kid.”

You rise slowly, pick up the bottle of pills Killer brought, take two out, and place them in Kid’s hand, despite his barely-there objections. 

“Take the pills. Rest. We’ve got plenty of time.”

At least, you hope you do. It’s a feeling you hate, but unfortunately, one you’ve experienced more times than you’d like to admit when it comes to Kid. That hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach, always accompanied by a massive wave of doubt. 

Every time you walk away from a charged moment - whether sparked by desire or something far more vulnerable - you leave your heart in Kid’s hands. So far, you’ve come out the other end bruised, battered, but not defeated. 

But this time feels different. So maybe walking away is the right step.

Kid reaches for the water bottle you retrieve from the fridge, but instead of taking it, he wraps his hand around your wrist and tugs you gently until you tumble onto his lap with a soft chuckle. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t want ye to leave.” Kid’s warm breath tingles your neck as he leans in to whisper those words to you. 

It’s all the reassurance you need.

But he still gives you more. Kid presses his lips beneath your earlobe, then along your jaw, and finally at the corner of your mouth, until you sigh, and he drinks it in like oxygen to a dying man. 

You’re glad his hand stays steady on your lower back, because without it, you’re sure you’d melt straight into the couch. There’s no strength left in any limb of your body. 

The kiss ends abruptly when he pulls back with a groan, muscles tightening. Your gaze softens, and you massage his stump for a few minutes while he takes the pills and downs them with water.

“The pills and lotion will kick in soon. Go to bed and rest, Kid. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

God, you don’t want to leave him. 

But you know he needs rest. And the worst is definitely over; he’s no longer at war with himself, no longer trapped in a maze of self-loathing and doubt. He just needs time and sleep to recover.

Which won’t happen if you stay. 

After a few more stolen touches, he lets you go, and you drag yourself away from him, somehow feeling lighter than when you walked in. The events took a turn you weren’t expecting, and even though they were painful and pushed both your limits, you can’t help but feel like barriers were overcome and walls were demolished. 

Now it’s time to rebuild. One step at a time.

-*-

“Is it safe?” Killer opens the office door and comes out with his bandana tied over his eyes instead of just his mouth.

Kid can’t help a disgruntled, although bemused, sound escape his lips. He’s reclining on the couch, his arm draped over his eyes, muscles taut, and eyes scrunched. The pain has ebbed from fucking unbearable to moderate.

And he has you to thank for it.

You, whom he insulted, pushed, and harmed with venomous words; you who took them with a raised chin and open defiance; you who poured your kindness, your goodness, and your warmth into him - someone so undeserving it should’ve driven you away immediately. 

You, whom he definitely cares more for than he should; you, who he cannot relinquish; you, who will be his downfall.

No. Lies.

He’s sure he will be your downfall. 

“How are you feeling, man? You were down in the dumps when you called. I could hear the strain in your voice.” Killer sits on the couch next to him, grimaces, and gags loudly before getting up and sitting on a stool instead. 

“The couch is clean, dumbass. We were just…”

“Making out like horny teenagers? Yeah, I saw. Oh, was that what happened? You were dying from pain, and she was performing CPR on your dying ass?”

Kid chuckles again. Dumbass Killer, always trying to lighten the mood and alleviate the tension. 

“I fuckin’ care for her, Kill.” Kid can’t face him, not yet.

“Well, duh! Haven’t we cleared that already? Because it was pretty damn clear when you returned from the beach date—”

“Not a date!”

“—With lovey-dovey eyes, swooning like a girl—”

“The fuck, man?” Kid finally lifts his arm to stare directly into Killer’s amused expression. 

“You more than care for her. And it’s alright to admit it. It’s not like your other arm’s going to fall off because of it.” Killer ducks when Kid throws him a wrench that was wedged between the couch and the arm of the couch. “Missed.”

Kid’s arm returns to act as a shield over his face as he lets out another groan. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted you again. In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to leave the door unlocked a second time, plus I really thought I was going to find you incapacitated.”

“It’s fine,” Kid slurs. The pills are starting to kick in, finally. He was close to resorting to more booze. “I… we better slow down, anyway. I ain’t aiming to do somethin’ stupid, so I gotta do things right.” 

He sighs and shakes his head. It’s so fucking hard to expose what he feels, to just get it out there. Why the fuck is it so fucking hard? With Killer, he can be truthful, he knows that, but still…

“That’s… actually wise,” Killer interjects with surprise. “Maybe my interrupting you was divine intervention.”

The bemusement in his tone is clear, but Kid can’t share the sentiment. 

“I stopped believin’ in divine anythin’ a long time ago, Kill. I ain’t about to start now…” 

Killer slumps in his stool, his back hitting the workbench where he supports himself with his elbows. His eyes fall to the corner where Kid keeps the army photograph. It’s already tucked behind an oil can, forgotten again, like it never saw the light to begin with. 

“They wouldn’t want—”

“I know what they want, Kill. I hear ’em. Every fuckin’ second of every fuckin’ day!” Kid gets up, his head feels light from the pills, and he really should take your advice and rest. But they are always there, he’s not lying about that. And their appearances always hurt the most once he starts enjoying himself, once he starts to believe he can be happy.

“They’re always blamin’ me, they’re always laughin’ at me! I know I fuckin’ failed ’em and I need to suffer for it! FUCK!” Kid kicks the couch and grunts in agony, but he welcomes the pain again. The one in his arm is already numbing, and he doesn’t exactly deserve a reprieve.

Killer rises, too, trying to placate his anger. “Come on, Kid, you know they would never do that. They would’ve forgiven you… They have.”

Kid swallows his anger and his pain alongside the rock-sized lump that suddenly forms in his throat. He doesn’t push it further. Killer wouldn’t understand.

“Aye. Whatever. I’m gonna lie down.”

He’s already stomping up the steps to his apartment, not giving Killer a chance to add anything else to this pity party.  Killer wouldn’t understand, but it’s not because he didn’t know them or wasn’t there; it’s because they’re his ghosts to bear, and Kid is the one to blame for their untimely deaths.

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen @mapachito @shamblespirate @ibuch7

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|Chapter 9|

[mosaickiwi]

Hi again! Hope you've been doing okay!

First off I just wanna say that you always deliver, I mean "Fall Unto Me"?? Four part+an epilogue of me being torn between wanting to baul my eyes out and wanting to melt into a puddle from the feels :')

But as for the request, could I ask for Angel and [REDACTED] redecorating his appartment? Getting rid of the gaudy furniture once and for all!

Don't forget to drink water and take breaks whenever you need to! My brain is also 105% filled with this skrunkly but the trick is to keep two neurons in a cell reserved for this >:] /silly

HEHE I’ve been ok! Hope you are too!! <3 thank u for appreciating my (deranged) brainrotting fic c: the suffering is my favorite part. I’m drinking lots of water cause summer hates my ass. 💖 Also sorry this is long I am clearly not winning at the "be normal" challenge.

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Redecorating

“This one?”

The dark haired man peered at the laptop in your hands for a long moment. “It's… nice.”

“Yes…? You called the last three couches nice, too. Any other thoughts?” You gently goaded your partner.

Choosing new furniture with [REDACTED] was supposed to be easy. You'd pick something, and he'd agree. Except you wanted it to feel like home for both of you. He didn't have to say the mushy, obvious line: as long as you were there, it was home. So progress was challenging with some things. You were sitting together on the current couch—the ugly, lifeless one that came with his apartment for some reason. 

His brow crinkled as he searched for different words. Those soft blue eyes went back and forth across the screen until he said, “It’s cozy yet functional.”

“Did you just summarize the description to me?”

He confessed to the crime with a sigh. “Angel, all I think when I look at it is you. And how cute you'd look sitting on it. Like y’do right now.”

“I'm always cute. Focus on the couch, please. Not me,” you insisted.

“No promises.”

“Let's see…” You had to find some way to get through to them. An idea came to mind that you knew he wouldn't like very much, but you had to try. “Pretend we're not dating. Or maybe I don't exist? You come home—don't make that face! I said pretend—so, you come home after a very terrible day and you see this couch. Is it nice then?”

[REDACTED] still made that face as he answered you. “Annoying as fuck to clean.”

It was progress. You didn't want to dwell on why that would be what they thought about after getting home. “Did the first one I showed you seem annoying to clean?”

“Mm... a bit.” They reached forward to change the webpage back for another look. “Y’never showed me these.” 

You leaned over to see what he was talking about. There were a few humongous bean bag chairs on the furniture wish list you’d made. “I just thought they looked fun to take a nap in. But I’m not sure we’d both fit, so it’d be silly," you explained and tapped the mouse to continue skimming through your other selections. “We can think about the couch later. I found some wall art that doesn’t look like it came from a dentist’s office.”

His eyes carefully followed the scrolling page until the bean bags disappeared at the bottom of the screen, but he didn’t protest.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

The new furniture had arrived—and been efficiently assembled by your boyfriend, despite your protest—while you were at the library, so you were excited to get home. [REDACTED] held one hand over your eyes as he unlocked the apartment’s door.

“I already know what all the furniture looks like, Ren.” Even so, you didn’t wave their hand away.

You could hear the door click as he guided you into the foyer. “I may have added a few extra things,” he hummed while you blindly struggled and failed to take off your shoes. “Actually… close your eyes f’me.”

“O—kayy?!” Just as you closed your eyes the floor slipped away under you, replaced by familiar arms cradling you to their chest. His quiet footsteps barely echoed against the marble as you got your wits about you. The living room wasn’t that far, so you were certain where he took you without seeing anything. You just didn’t know where exactly in the room.

They turned and came to a stop, rooted in place for a moment as if thinking to themself. “Y’gonna scream if I drop you?” 

“...Yes. Maybe.”

Without another word he let go. There wasn’t enough time to scream as you immediately landed against plush fabric with the faint crinkle of something below it. The fabric crinkled some more as you felt your shoes being taken off.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked. You could already tell what one of the ‘extra things’ was. It felt like heaven.

“Sure, love.” Their voice was a little farther away than you expected. Probably from hurrying to put your shoes in the closet.

You found yourself nestled on one side of the room, with a perfect view of his handiwork.

A couch that was easy to clean, in a color you insisted he decide on, draped with a luxurious looking blanket that wasn’t in your list. A coffee table with rounded corners so they wouldn’t keep hitting their leg on it. Some wall art of Attack on Giants—with extra pieces from a show you sort of recognized, but definitely suited the man's tastes. A few shelves to show off merchandise from another of your favorites. And the enormous, navy blue bean bag he’d so rudely dropped you in moments ago.

Your darling hacker stepped in from the foyer and tossed their hoodie onto the new couch. “Everything good?” he asked, piercings pulling up in a smile.

“I think I love it.” Your eyes scanned the room again and eventually landed on the pictures. “And I love that you added your own stuff.” It didn’t seem to be a clone of your apartment that he just happened to live in, like you worried about. “What about you?”

“S’better than before. ‘Course, the best part is that I don’t have t’see some shitty couch when I open the door—I get to come home to you, trapped in a bean bag.” He stood up and walked over, eyeing you playfully from above. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, then immediately yelped when he fell forwards. Just before you were squished, he caught himself on tattooed arms, caging you in the crinkly, soft material. You only felt some of their weight on you like a heavy blanket. A soft laugh slipped past your lips as he got comfortable himself, clinging to you as best he could while you both sank further into the depths of the bean bag. It’d be impossible to get out.

You wiggled your legs, straining to even find the damn floor. No doubt a futile effort, you had to sigh, “At least we both fit on it."

[REDACTED] didn’t speak, already yawning from the exhaustion of setting everything up before meeting you at work. The walk to and from the library certainly didn’t do him any favors, either. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep in what surely felt akin to a nest, all four lanky limbs wrapped around you like a snake.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

[atiny-for-life]

Confused about what happened in South Korea within the last hours?

Someone in The Daily Show's YouTube comment section summed it up better than I ever could. @앙팡옹팡 wrote:

I am a South Korean who enjoys watching The Daily Show. Last night and early this morning, my country experienced martial law declared by an incompetent president. This president, a former prosecutor with no political experience, spends his time engaging in illegal activities to enrich himself and his wife, while seemingly preferring drinking over governing. His incompetence has driven the Korean economy into its worst state, and as his corruption continues to be exposed and his approval ratings plummet, he declared martial law last night. Armed soldiers stormed the National Assembly, breaking windows, assaulting citizens who tried to resist them, and even pointing guns at opposition figure. Furthermore, it has been revealed that they had formed special teams with the specific goal of arresting key opposition figures as part of their plan. My country was a dictatorship until the 1980s, and it was only through the blood -soaked resistance of many people—especially students—that we achieved democracy. For the older generation, the memories of martial law declared by past dictators remain vivid. Among them, opposition lawmakers, many of whom were once activists, climbed over the walls of the National Assembly, which had been barricaded and blocked off by military and police forces last night. Together with their aides, they built barricades out of furniture and used fire extinguishers to push back soldiers, managing to pass a resolution to nullify the insane martial law declaration. While most people are condemning the president, there remains a group of young males online—mostly incels—who continue to support him and the soldiers attacking citizens even though they have clearly committed acts of rebellion against the state. I’m exhausted from having to endure the misdeeds of someone I didn’t even vote for. I’m also appalled by the disgusting loyalty of these hardline conservatives, who seem unfazed by his actions. I don’t know where this madness in our democracy is headed anymore. We are now swiftly proceeding with impeachment actions.

Under the BBC video covering Yoon's declaration to lift martial law, @DisinterestedParty wrote some words that stuck with me regarding all of this:

Your democracy was tested, and you all rose to the challenge to defend your freedom. Very impressive and honorable. Bravo.

Here is a video on the matter which draws some parallels between South Korea's past and what is currently happening in the US:

[namimod]

MOD UPDATES:

So... I just signed the property deed and mortgage for my apartment! I didn't expect the process to be as stressful as it was, but it's finally done. It's weird to think that I'm a property owner now lol

That means I will be kinda busy this month:

We have already picked out the furniture I want for the living room, but we need to buy and assemble it. We'll see how that goes...

Need to find a moving company to move our current bedroom furniture to the new place

Actual moving of all our stuff. We have a lot of books between my partner and me orz

Sadly, my mother-in-law fell a couple of days ago and broke her vertebrae. Thankfully, she is fine, if not a bit sore, but needs to stay in bed for a couple of weeks before she is about to move around and will need help around the house, so I'll be pitching in when I can.

We are going on vacation on the 28th of July

I really want to do more Art Fight stuff

So.... I wanted to be at the new place by the end of the month but that might be a bit too wistful of me ahahaha.... orz

[urban-shade]

my random miscellaneous sebastian headcanons. readmore because its a LOT

current

i was thinking about if he'd use special sebastian shaped emoticons like .:} and }:. and im honestly 50/50 i can see him thinking they're funny but i can also see him not wanting to think about the fact that he's a fish now and no longer human

in general i think he has a lot of identity issues. He literally NEVER brings up the fact that he is fish-esque besides telling us that he's not going to hurt us, and telling us items are on his tail. I think if he was more comfortable with his identity he might occasionally crack a joke but I think deep down he has a mask up emotionally where he tries to forget about it all.

and that mask CRACKS a little when players repeatedly climb on him!! it brings back hard memories for him and that's the most upset we ever hear him.. he doesn't even get that upset when he kills you for flash beaconing him twice.. you can fucking hear the hurt in gianni's voice acting and its just SO . AGH.

past / pre-breakout

i like thinking about what they had him get up to as an LR-P and MR-P a lot. What if they had him assemble furniture to get him used to his new 3rd arm. He thinks he's getting new furniture for his cell but then they take it away and put it in the break room and he gets SO ANNOYED. Then the 2nd furniture they have him do he assembles it and then throws it at the observation room at the top of his cell.

He'd get a game console for like one day to ensure his mental capabilities are the same as before the experimentation and for like 2 years after that day he misses his video games until he gets to play games again when he's promoted to MR-P

I feel like near the very start of things just to get a whole overview of like everything that's changed about him even if gills is only what they really gaf about (million dollar fish might as well see what your money did) they'd be testing a lot of basic stuff. Like taste. And they'd give him some normal food of different types of tastes to see if he's lost any taste receptors and he'd be like so happy but then intentionally one of the foods is really bad. And he gets so mad

i headcanon he did dual enrollment (college+hs) since he switched his college major from business to engineering and he's only 19. And that he was a massive nerd... unfortunately his fishtuation has changed him :(

there is a massive urbanshade in-network group chat/email chain for the scientists. There are a lot of inside jokes and a lot are at sebastians expense

i feel like he got food requests on his birthdays. The highlight of his years

His first request for birthday food was like a recipe his mom made a lot and he got it and it was horrible and barely seasoned because urbanshade is the worst and also they are in Norway and he is NOT going to get properly cooked authentic chilean food. And he never requested chilean food again :( Didn't want to be disappointed

post game

i don't think he truly realizes how big he is and if he ever gets a real human frame of reference he's going to get extremely upset about it (if he was already on edge from something else.. he's practiced at hiding/burying his emotions). The blacksite doesn't have a ton of normal size comparison things for him besides smaller human objects and humans themselves, everything is sorta larger than life there and he might feel quite big but I don't think he has a proper idea of the real scale.

Even if he escapes, even if he could deal with all the problems that come from being a snake/mermaid/fishmonster guy. He is still way too big to fit in any normal human spaces. He is truly screwed unless he can get turned back human by innovation inc...

even if he does get turned back human by innovation inc he's going to have to relive his trauma all over again. i think about that a lot

i think he'd also be conflicted on turning back human like it's the one thing he's wanted for the past 10 years but also.. He's been like this for so long.. he doesn't really feel like Sebastian the kid with a guitar that liked Metallica. He's Sebastian Solace the Saboteur… The dangerous fish man who's been forced to kill a few people out of necessity (and indirectly cause the deaths of a few hundred others)

i think he'd get phantom limb pains from his 3rd arm if he lost it in the human transformation. Like he isn't even supposed to HAVE that arm as a person and yet his brain still expects it to be there. He keeps trying to use it and then it's gone

When he first meets his family again for the first time after he escapes I think he wouldn't be human yet. Before he lets them see him he like speaks to them from behind a door or something… To try and prepare them. He's really nervous about seeing them all again because he absolutely cares about them just the same but he just feels like an outsider now.. he's changed so much

All he wants is to get back to a normal life but, normal human life doesn't feel normal to him anymore. He almost misses the monotony of the blacksite. I feel like innovation inc would take a few months-year to get him turned back and he might try working for them in that time to try and adjust to being out of urbanshade since it feels familiar to him and they're more equipped to deal with a giant fish man than his family's home. But ever so often things there remind him of urbanshade and he goes back to feeling like he's about to be shot on sight.

biology

silver spiny fins are some of the best vertebrates at seeing color in low light conditions! i think he has that trait from them

mantis shrimp like to burrow. I think he has some kind of instinct where he feels more at home in small enclosed spaces (he loves blankets)

what if his upper body had sandpaper shark scales. i dont want to put him through that because can you imagine putting on a cotton shirt with sandpaper skin???? too cruel. but its fun to think about

i think he molts but its only like once a year. The first time he does it he has like absolutely no idea that's what's happening he's just like insanely itchy or something and then he realizes his tail skin has PEELED OFF and he's like (HORRIFIED) but then realizes what's going on . And then it takes forever for him to get it all off and he just stares at it like Eugh after

the second time he realizes he can use the shed to screw with the researchers. Researcher walks in his heavy containment cell in the morning and there's just like a massive translucent crumpled version of him in the corner and they just scream before realizing 2 seconds later

the scientists have a sped up video of him molting to metallica music like how people post timelapses of their snakes shedding

[anjelicawrites]

Currently writing

True love’s kiss (Maleficent!Aemond Targaryen x woodland fairy! reader) Sleeping beauty!AU 3/?

Do you like scary movies? (Michael Gavey x reader) Scream!AU 0/7

Out of time (Osferth x reader) Outlander!AU 0/?

Soft IV (Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth)

Untiteled MOTA (Gale Cleven x reader NSFW)

After the heathwave (Aegond x reader NSFW)

His body remembers (Aegon II Targaryen x reader NSFW)

Little red riding hood, sweetest lamb to the slaughter (werewolf!Osferth x human!reader x vampire!Aemond Targaryen NSFW)

We are here to hurt ourselves (Lestat de Lioncourt x reader NSFW)

Chance encounters (Armand x reader SFW)

Cringefail Throuple: Billy gets his “Well done shag” | Cringefail Throuple: Michael needs to be fucked into silence while watching trash TV | Cringefail Throuple: their first time together | Cringefail Throuple: Billy and Michael first time together | How the War Boys throuple got together and their first time | Cringefail Throuple: the boys get hot and bothered while watching a spicy video of reader sent them during finals | dark!Michael Gavey x fem!reader smut| OG!Poly either prompt #1 or #8 from this prompt list | OG!Poly and the huge dildo reader once bought | OG!Poly Osferth, Aemond and his pierced nipples + Aemond wears the Mexico lace top | OG!Poly the first time Aemond went down on reader | Cringefail Throuple 💡the cringies on holiday! | OG!Poly and Osferth being such a loud sub, he and reader had the police called on them | Billy and Michael react to reader wearing a sexy harness | OG!Poly roleplay Aemond being a captive prince | Aemond's first time sucking Osferth off | How the War Boys Polycule plans a date night at home | Aegond x Aegon's wife!reader. Reader helps the brothers repair their relationship with a threesome | nipple play with poly!Aemond until he cries | Cringefail Throuple: can the boys come untouched when sucking cock? | poly!Aemond who gets off on being called pretty| poly!Osferth getting destroyed by poly!Aemond after the huge dildo prank | War Boys Polycule, Tom gets punished for being a flirt | Osferth x professor!reader with religious kink and corruption | the cringies and temperature play | Aegond x reader: Aegon gets fucked while wearing a slutty maid outfit | Aegon x reader, he gets pegged while wearing a slutty maid outfit | modern!dark!obsessed Aegon who falls for a reader who doesn't even know who he is and ends up as his basement wife | Aegon x reader where reader takes control over pathetic Aegon |

| Aegon x wife!reader. He begs for reader's attention | Michael and reader meet Billy's parents by mistake and they don't take too kindly to the throuple situation | modern!Aegon takes take of his partner who is struggling with their diabetes | Cringefail Throuple: Michael is dommed hard plus nipple biting | Aegond: college!Aegon opens an OF, Aemond finds out | for all the throuples: how do the boys manage when reader feels jealous and starts to withdrawn? | Michael Gavey gets head until he cries | dry humping with Billy Taylor | wedding night with shy virgins Billy Taylor x wife!reader | Aegon II Targaryen x wife!reader: Helaena tells reader about Alicent's betrayal and reader has to tell Aegon | poly!Aemond rubs one off after being called 'pretty' by reader | poly!Aemond in subspace | Cringefail Throuple: Michael gets his brain sucked through his dick by BIlly as reader dirty talks him and plays with his nipples | Aegond: Aegon gets his dick sucked until he cries | modern!Aemond x reader: sexting | Aegond: Aemond facefucks Aegon in the brothel, after he’s discovered with Sylvi | modern!Aegon x classmate!reader. He’s falling for reader but can’t stay away and having fantasies about her sucking his cock | Cringefail Throuple 💡: the cringies assemble furniture. Michael fails, Billy is a natural pro and reader is just there to be chaotic; sex ensues | War Boys Polycule: the first time Tom fucks Billy, and reader is there to cuddle Billy during the action | Aemond Targaryn x reader x Michael Gavey (AKA the Nerdy Poly) for -😎 anon | a second part to the “Are you jealous prompt” Tom Bennett x reader | a second part to the oneshot “One step from you” modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader | modern!Aegond x reader. They belong to a cult and kidnap reader so that they can marry Aegon | The Cringies spitroasting Michael when he’s too bitchy to function | temperature play with sub!Aemond Targaryen| Cringefail!Billy starts running the pub and experiments with newer drinks, not everything goes the way it should | Cringefail! Billy asking for affection using coupon tickets | the War Boy poly discover the existence of sex toys | Tom Bennett x reader. Reader tries to help him with PTSD | OG!Poly roleplaying a knights x princess scenario | the cringies find out about Michael's love for tentacle porn. Sex ensues | Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader. He fucks her as she only wears a necklace | strict headmaster! Michael Gavey. How he is at home and how he's at home with his wife | modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader. He takes care of reader when they're sick |

17/11 Updated!

[sugashook]

THANKS !!!!!

Quick Symbolism explanation:Althea =wades love, emotions inside him(she's also harmony and the cure). Wade:his heart . Vanessa:his other half and his universe. Logan:his strength. And peace. Cocaine: white : change/something new

she tries to assemble a piece of furniture while wade is out trying to keep them alive, while wade's heart is out of his own body his feelings are working by themselves, he doesn't help so it's like ....his heart(wade) is useless at helping his own feelings out. and his feelings are working, okay, blind, to try to make something work like to build i think a basic shelf. To store her contents. To organize his feelings and make sense of things.

his feelings, althea kind of simply can't navigate his insides well she's blind! his feelings don't know what to do, where to go, how to organize themselves. Neither can his heart(wade).

the crackhouse is basically a metaphor for wades changing body.

and his feelings are trying to build something NEW to help organize things inside him, without any help from anyone or wade himself. they fail. I think he's like well I need to keep us alive soooo can't you do literally anything .

He's trying to organize anything in his Insides it's not working and he's beating himself up for his pain. They're two disabled people, two disabled parts of him trying to help each other but they need other people's help!

Basically it's this , she's not the only disabled one! wade is depressed, mentally ill and physically disabled laying on the floor unable to move. And She can't see, they are both disabled they need help!

him hiding cocaine, and a cure for blindness.

i think if he doesn't come back with vanessa like his feelings will blindly be looking for drugs aka something new to cope but without the cure she wouldn't be able to find it. so it's a useless quest, he's just a jerk, to his own self.

You'll never see who I am if I don't find Vanessa basically. But that's just a joke I'll never allow myself to see who I became after my burns came to surface.

he's hiding things from his emotions, from himself. without HIM/his heart his feelings wont be able to find it. so she cant leave him. his love is all he has hes FORCING his feelings to stay with him. even though, he should move on. But then he would be empty Inside.

also he's hiding change from himself, cocaine is the color of change (white) and he won't allow change into his life, he's hiding change and new possibilites, he's hiding tools of improvement like 'cure for blindness' like if he looks around will he see reality? Will he be forced to face himself finally? He's self sabotaging .

and he's hiding the cure for blindness from her (now we dont know if its actually a cure or a joke) also the not knowing if it's real or a joke is like, hey can Deadpool ever see himself truly or maybe he simply never will.

but i think hes scared if he can see who he truly is, if althea saw who he is he ,would he scare her? in translation he would scare himself, the people who love him too.

he's so insecure that he's thinking am i too ugly and unbearable if i truly see who i am ,if i look at my own self, my heart, and the damage inside me (seeing the crackhouse in translation the insides of his traumatized body). i would not be able to handle it.

i think he sees himself as unlovable the way he currently is. He can't face reality. That's why his superpower is seeing through dimensions. He's distancing himself from seeing himself.

he was 'presenting as just the average dude with no baggage he can't handle' before but now that his trauma came to the surface aka in the form of 'superpowers' that is, mental illness and physical burns, cancer, ptsd, etc.

he can't hide his full trauma anymore, so he is unlovable in his head and doesn't trust for instance someone who SAW him before it all came to surface, vanessa. Or himself.

he's not present, he won't let althea see him, he pushes her away. he isn't even in his own dimension half the time he is with us. his relationship with his own feelings (althea) is disrespectful and distant despite their closeness. because he is so traumatized he is not living in the moment.

He won't allow a blind roommate to see him I mean that's just so sad. He wont let anyone see him. But if you pay attention you can figure him out a little he's a little puzzle piece.

For example Logan won't let him live In delusions but at the same time he understands his heart and it's intentions. And wade is very happy with the understanding so maybe Logan is making other good points.

He just wants to be understood and loved and he probably feels like he has a lot of unlovable traits and tries to hide as much of them as he can he's always hiding .

Love is the cure wades heart needs 🥰 but he pushes it away 😔 he's scared