#I have been watching them for two hours now

[missarchive]

motel six

spencer reid

cw; spencer reid x fem!reader, spencer gets caught jacking off, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, softdom!reader, sub!spencer, one bed troupe, oral (m. receiving), aftercare, unprotected p in v, spencer’s a little desperate and awkward (what’s new)

an; HIII ALLL!!! This is based on an ask I received earlier this month, but I have had a few similar ones so I finally made a fic for them. The truth is that I have been seeing a beautiful woman and she is taking up most of my time. BUT- I managed to sneak this one in. I will start posting more consistently again now that my writer’s block has finally disappeared. As always, please leave some feedback if you liked it (if you didn’t just know you’re stepping on my hopes and dreams). Love and miss u guys xoxo

wc; around 3k

Your stomach twists. A long day chasing leads and poring over case files has already left you drained, and now you have to share a room with someone? You glance around at your teammates, who are pairing off with little hesitation. Morgan claims a room with Rossi. Hotch and JJ take another. Emily and Garcia get the third. That leaves…

You turn your head just as Spencer Reid—resident genius, profiler extraordinaire, and your usual case partner—adjusts the strap of his bag with an unmistakable grimace. His hazel eyes dart to yours before flicking away, his jaw tightening.

Of course.

"Looks like it's you and me, Reid," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he nods stiffly and brushes past you toward the room number scribbled on the keycard sleeve. Your stomach sinks further, but you push down the unease and follow.

The room is as underwhelming as expected: beige walls, scratchy-looking blankets, and a single queen bed shoved against one side. A rickety wooden chair sits near the window, but otherwise, the space is cramped.

Spencer stops in the doorway, his whole body tensing. "You take the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair."

You frown. "Reid, that thing looks like it’ll collapse if you breathe on it too hard. We can just—"

"I said I’ll sleep in the chair," he snaps, dropping his go-bag by the door.

The sharpness in his voice catches you off guard. Spencer is always a little awkward, sometimes distant, but rarely outright rude. You watch as he rubs his temple, his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if he might crack a tooth. He looks… angry. At you?

"Okay," you say slowly. "Did I do something?"

"No," he bites out. "Just drop it."

You exhale sharply, irritation flaring. "Spencer, we’re both exhausted. If something’s wrong, you can just—"

"Just leave it alone, Y/N."

His words are clipped, final. You stare at him for a moment, searching his face for an answer, but he won’t meet your gaze. The room suddenly feels suffocating.

Fine. If he wants to be an ass, let him.

"I’m going outside," you mutter, grabbing your jacket. "Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have figured out how to use your words like an adult."

You don’t wait for a response before stepping out into the cool night air.

The motel parking lot is nearly empty, save for the team's vehicles and a couple of semi-trucks parked along the far end. You breathe in the crisp air, letting it wash away some of the frustration bubbling inside you.

Spencer’s behavior isn’t just annoying—it stings. You thought the two of you were friends. Sure, he can be awkward and distant, but he’s never been outright cruel before. Whatever is bothering him, he clearly doesn’t want to share it with you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering as the cold seeps through your thin jacket. After a few minutes, your irritation starts to wane, replaced by exhaustion. You don’t have the energy to stay mad, and honestly, all you want is to collapse into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours.

With a sigh, you make your way back toward the room. The hallway is silent, the only sound your footsteps against the aging carpet. You reach for the door handle but freeze as a muffled noise seeps through the thin walls.

A low, breathy moan.

Your heart stutters.

You strain to listen, barely breathing as another quiet sound follows—one you recognize immediately.

A strangled gasp, unmistakably Spencer’s.

Heat rushes to your face as your brain supplies every possible explanation, each one more embarrassing than the last. You should walk away. You should turn around and pretend you never heard anything. But your hand stays frozen on the doorknob, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Another moan drifts through the door, this one louder. You swallow against the sudden lump in your throat.

"Fuck," Spencer gasps. "O-oh god— please."

His voice is low, rough. Desperate.

You grip the doorknob tighter, debating for what feels like an eternity. Should you walk away? Or—

You ease the door open, pressing your hand against it as if to stop yourself from charging forward. Spencer’s back is to you, his head thrown back as he works himself over, his hand moving in rapid strokes.

You can’t help it—you step further into the room, drinking in the sight of him.

He’s sprawled on the bed, shirtless and pale in the moonlight filtering through the blinds. His arm muscles are tense, sweat dripping down the side of his face. The blanket is thrown back, revealing his naked lower half: his long legs, his perfect hands—

His cock, thick and wet between his fingers.

You feel a rush of arousal at the sight, your blood pulsing hot. This is so wrong. So inappropriate. He’s your teammate, for god’s sake, and yet—

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

Spencer's hips jerk upwards, his body shuddering with pleasure. "Y/N," he gasps again, his head falling back against the pillow. His eyelids flutter shut, his brows drawn together.

"Y/N, fuck, please—" His hand moves faster, stroking himself with a rough desperation that makes your breath hitch. You can’t look away as he thrusts against his grip, his hips writhing, his spine arched.

"Ah- fuck," he gasps, his body tensing, his fist tightening around himself. His mouth falls open, his eyes squeezing shut as he comes with a strangled moan.

You press your hand over your mouth, holding back a whimper of your own as you watch him.

Spencer sags against the mattress, his chest heaving. He's so fucking beautiful, and—

And you’re still standing here, watching him.

Your eyes dart to his face, and your stomach plummets as he turns his head.

He opens his eyes, and you meet his gaze across the room.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Then you both leap into action.

He scrambles upright, fumbling for the blanket to cover himself. You jump backward, tripping over the threshold and landing hard on your ass.

"Shit," you hiss, wincing at the pain that shoots up your tailbone. "Shit. I—fuck, I’m sorry. I should—"

"Y/N," Spencer says in a strangled voice. "I—I thought you were gone. I didn’t know you were—"

He trails off, looking anywhere but at you. You struggle to your feet, smoothing your clothes down self-consciously. This is awkward as hell.

"I thought you were asleep," you admit, wincing. "I didn’t mean to—"

Spencer draws his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. He looks so fucking embarrassed, and you can't blame him.

You should say something. Apologize. You should put him at ease—

But the sight of him still has your pulse hammering.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down your racing thoughts. "I’m sorry, Spencer. I really am. I don’t mean—this is just—"

He raises his head, his eyes searching your face. "What were you doing, standing there?" he asks softly.

You swallow against the lump in your throat. "I don’t know," you whisper. "It was wrong, what I did. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have watched you. I’m sorry."

Spencer lowers his gaze, his face still flushed. "What if I wanted you to?" he mumbles.

Your heart jumps. "What?"

"I wanted you to watch me," he says louder, his eyes darting up to meet yours. "I’ve been wanting you to for weeks, ever since you asked me to take over the case files."

"What?" you repeat stupidly.

Spencer shifts, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I started—I started thinking about you. Fantasizing about you. You touching me, kissing me— everything."

Oh.

You stare at him, trying to process. "Reid," you say softly. "I—"

"Don’t apologize," he says quickly. "It’s not your fault, I just—I wanted you. So fucking bad. I thought that sleeping next to you would be—"

"What?" you prompt gently.

He exhales sharply. "That it would be uncomfortable," he says in a rough whisper. "That it would drive me crazy. That maybe you’d—maybe you’d feel it too."

His gaze flicks up to yours again, full of hope.

Your heart races. "Is that what you want?" you ask, stepping forward.

Spencer's breath hitches, his fingers tightening around his knees. "Yes," he rasps. "Oh fuck, yes. If you—Y/N, I’ll do anything you want. Just—just don’t leave me alone again. Please."

His words send a surge of pleasure through your veins. The sight of him, desperate and pleading, is almost too much to bear.

"Spencer," you whisper, taking another step forward. "Come here."

He scrambles to his feet, rushing toward you. You meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. He melts against you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck with a sigh.

"I can’t believe you saw that," he murmurs into your skin.

"I can’t believe I did either," you admit with a chuckle. "But I’m glad I did."

Spencer raises his head, his hazel eyes searching yours. "You are?"

You nod, smiling softly. "Yes."

His face flushes. "Do—do you want to watch me again?"

You smile wider. "Maybe later," you tease. "Right now, I think it’s my turn."

Spencer's eyes widen as you press him backwards, onto the bed. "I thought you were tired," he murmurs, his voice already thickening with arousal.

"I am," you agree, smiling. "But this is more important." You drop your jacket onto the floor, pulling off your shirt and jeans in quick motions. Spencer's eyes dart down to take in the sight of your naked body, and you flush at his hungry gaze.

He groans, throwing his head back against the pillow as you climb on top of him.

It takes a lot to shock Spencer Reid. But you're definitely up for the challenge. The look on his face is priceless as you take his cock in your mouth, not wasting any more time. His hips buck against the mattress, his hands threading into your hair.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Oh my god. Y/N."

He tangles his fingers in your hair, urging you on as you work him over. He's so responsive, moaning and gasping and whining—fuck, it's a beautiful sound.

You work him deeper, taking

Spencer moans loudly as you take him deeper, his thighs trembling. "Y/N, oh fuck, I—fuck—"

You press one hand against his hip, holding him steady as you swirl your tongue over the underside of his cock. Spencer bucks against your grip, his fingers tightening in your hair. He's still so sensitive from his previous release, but he's still getting harder—thicker—by the second.

You run your tongue along the underside of his cock, teasing the spot behind the head.

"Oh fuck," Spencer gasps, his voice broken. "Y/N, please—please don’t stop. I’m going to— ah."

You press your other hand against his stomach, feeling the muscles contract. His whole body is straining upwards, his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut.

You take him all the way in, swallowing around his length as you work your lips over his shaft. Spencer comes with a cry, his hips jerking as he empties down your throat. You swallow every drop, holding his gaze as you slowly pull back.

"Touch," he rasps, his fingers searching for your own.

You swallow against the ache in your throat and smile up at him, lacing your fingers with his. "How are you feeling?" you ask, running your thumb over his hand, keeping your voice soft as to not disturb the air.

Spencer sighs, though not out of exhaustion, you assume he’s still taking everything in as you see his head rolling against the pillow. "It’s never felt like that before."

You grin. "Glad I could help."

He shifts, reaching for his discarded pants on the floor. "We should—we should clean up," he mumbles, his eyes darting to yours. He flushes when he sees your expression, and his face turns even redder as you realize what he’s doing.

"Reid," you laugh. "Are you really reaching for tissues right now?"

His ears turn bright red. "Well, what—what else am I supposed to do?"

You shift, straddling his hips as you lean down. "How about we do something else," you murmur. You kiss his jawline, working your way down his neck.

"Like what?" he asks in a breathy voice.

"Like this," you reply. You shift, taking his cock inside you. Spencer's breath hitches, and he groans at the feel of you surrounding him. You clasp his shoulders as you begin to move, his hands falling to your hips. He gasps with each thrust, his eyes falling shut as his head lolls back against the pillow.

"Y/N," he whimpers, his fingers digging into your skin. “I don’t know if I can-."

You ride him harder, sliding up and down his cock. “Yes you can, baby. I know you can give me one more,” Spencer's hips rock upwards to meet you, his breath coming in broken gasps.

His fingers tighten around your hips, holding you close as he thrusts upwards.

You’re both panting and gasping now as you chase the peak. You're so close. So fucking close.

"Please—" Spencer groans. "Y/N. I'm—fuck, I'm coming."

You feel him spasm inside you, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your hips. You groan, your movements slowing as you ride him through his orgasm. Spencer's eyes are closed, his mouth open as he gasps for air. His body trembles beneath you, and you feel a surge of satisfaction as you reach yours, too.

You slump forward, catching yourself on his shoulders as you press your forehead against his. He opens his eyes and smiles at you, a warm expression that makes your chest ache.

"Hi," he murmurs softly.

"Hi Spencer." You smile back.

You both lay there for a moment, enjoying the weight of each other’s bodies. Finally, you roll off him, stretching out next to him on the creaky motel bed.

You reach for him, pulling him into your arms as you smile. He nestles against you, his arm snaking around your waist as he presses his face against your chest.

You wrap your arm around him, whispering soft praise into his hair as you stroke his skin gently. He relaxes further, his body growing heavy with sleep.

The mattress is uncomfortable, the sheets too thin. But somehow, you feel more at ease than you have in weeks.

Spencer Reid is a brilliant man. But he’s also really fucking good at other things too. And you’re excited to find out what else he’s good at.

You smile to yourself, your chest warm with affection.

"Goodnight, Reid," you whisper into his hair.

He hums a soft reply, his breathing already slowing. You wrap your arm tighter around him, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off into sleep. Tomorrow, the case will continue, and so will your job. But right now, you have Spencer in your arms.

And that’s more than enough. You smile again, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you drift off to sleep. This room might not be perfect. But it’s home for the moment, and that’s all you need. You drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Spencer's heartbeat against your chest.

[cryptidcasanova]

King For A Day

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It was just a King Cake. How much power could it really hold?

Warnings: Mardi Gras shenanigans. It's sappy. I'm a sap.

2.3k words

I'm still not over TFATWS. I'm not over the soft moments, of the slow lapping of waves against the Louisiana coastline, of the tinkering on an old family-owned boat. I'm not over them.

Away from the crowds of Bourbon Street and the old French Quarter, the coastline was busy with chatter.

Sam Wilson was home for Mardi Gras. And this year, he wasn't alone.

The Wilsons were revered for their parties, and Mardi Gras was no exception. Growing up, Sarah and Sam watched their parents memorize the names of cousins and aunties of every neighbor in the bay. Genuine and kind, their neighbors were their family. Everyone was ready to celebrate Carnival. News traveled fast, and now all eyes were back on the Wilson household…much to the chagrin of their wet cat of a visitor.

Bucky Barnes slunk out of the house early that morning. Convinced he could distract himself, he made his way to the boat. He watched the sun burn the chill off the ocean and could smell the surf…and the lingering Old Bay seasoning drifting down from one of the cottages. He scrunched his nose.

He understood the importance of community and had lived it himself, but that was a lifetime ago. His community was in an old brownstone building with his parents and his sister, and then there was Steve. His community was built on the backs of the 107th infantry regiment.

This…this wasn't it. He wasn't about to pretend to feel a part of the community. He wasn't about to intrude on Sam's homecoming. So he worked on the boat, listening to the city wake up around him.

And hours later, that's where Sam found him.

Lost in his own memories, Bucky should have heard him long before he saw him. But Buck was cycling through memories of baseball games and museums, of the scraps of his old life. Sam watched and waited. Wise beyond his years, he leaned against the door, watching the captain's chair where Bucky was tinkering with the old electronics.

"Maybe we should shack you up in a lighthouse. Teach you some old sea shanties." He finally said.

Bucky didn't jump. He didn't look up from his work. But he did smirk, poorly humming a jig in jest. Sam's toothy grin is what made him finally look up.

"I take it back. No shanties."

Sam turned his head at the sound of laughter down the docks. Then, with a raised brow, brown eyes met blue.

"There's someone I want you to meet."

Sarah was going to be the death of you.

When you offered to help with the baking, this wasn't what you had in mind. Your little shop was a glorified café, and you thought it would be some small-time catering. You thought it was for a small Mardi Gras get-together. You should have known better. But you weren't prepared to lug around three-gallon carafes of chicory coffee down to the docks.

"Did you bake the cakes?" Sarah called out with a grin, as out of breath as you felt. You couldn't help the bubbling laugh, readjusting your grip on the jug.

"You'd never let me live it down if I didn't."

But your grip wasn't much better. The round container was awkward to hold, and the handles were uncomfortable. Fumbling down the wooden steps, you dared to push forward with Sarah before feeling cool metal against your wrist instead of the heat of the insulated carafe.

"Here, let me."

You pulled back slightly as the weight of the jug was lifted from your arms. With a huff of breath, you pulled back, but you refused to let go entirely. Maybe it should have been a two-person job from the start.

"Thanks," you started blindly, arms thankful for the reprieve. "But I'm happy to help. We're almost there."

Out of the corner of your eye, there was a crinkle in the man's expression - was that amusement?

"I told you we'd come up to the truck." A familiar voice chastised, and you turned to see Sam Wilson helping Sarah with the other jug. "You didn't have to drag these all the way down here."

But Sarah clicked her tongue, and you'd bet she was rolling her eyes.

"If you think we've got time to wait on you," Sarah started, a hand on her hip, "you've got another thing coming."

But Sam just chuckled. He turned with a smile and called your name.

"It's great to see you! This is Bucky." He introduced, nodding his head at the man beside you.

It was then that you remembered you were still holding onto the carafe. As you noticed and looked up, there was a twinge of a smile on the man's lips. Bucky.

"Hi," he said.

Oh. Oh no. You had been too busy trying not to drop the coffee to notice him, really notice him.

But he captured your attention all the same. With dark hair, a strong jaw, and those eyes...You were staring. Good god, you were staring.

"Hi." You replied carefully.

Still on the stairs, his eyes swept back to the path.

"Shall we?" He added quietly.

And with that, you bumbled down the steps and across the pier.

A number of coolers were stocked with chilled beers, and big pots of crab boils were bubbling away under an old wooden cabana. Sarah directed you to a dessert table, and you were pleasantly surprised to see the number of people starting to gather. You hated to admit it, but you missed it. You missed this. It had been years since you'd been to one of these parties.

"Come on," you urged with a laugh, taking Sarah's arm in yours. "We've got work to do."

You don't think anyone would blame you for sparing a glance at Sam's friend on your way back to the car.

Mardi Gras was in full swing.

Conversation and alcohol flowed freely. As the night drew on, the cabana was crowded with people. Crab boils were poured out on paper tablecloths, and everyone was shoulder to shoulder on the picnic benches.

There was laughter, buttery fingerprints on clothes, and music. A jazz quartet was starting in the corner, and as darkness hovered over the water, the kids were playing with sparklers.

The Wilsons were mingling, couples were dancing, and you were handing out beaded necklaces. Walking around with a gentle smile, your arm was covered in colorful necklaces. Yellows, greens, and purple beads glinted in the light. Plucking them off one at a time, with the delicacy of a knighting ceremony, you offered one to everyone at the table. You were slipping them over their heads, laughing and joking along.

And Bucky watched it all at a careful distance. He offered to start a fire in a barrel drum, and pulled up benches for people to warm up as the night grew cold.

You didn't recognize him earlier, hadn't regarded him with hesitation. Why did he fear that? The hunch on his shoulder told him everyone knew his darkness and unfortunate past. He feared all eyes would hand on him. But maybe he was wrong.

He watched you move around the party, and warmth from the fire covered his cheeks. That must have been it, right? 

He shouldn't have been surprised as you sauntered over. Bucky wasn't secluded, but he wasn't necessarily in the throes of the partygoers. As you reached him and pulled a strand of green beads from your arm, you held them out gallantly.

"May I?" 

Your voice was warm, if not a little reserved. He understood it. You didn't want to get in his space if he didn't want you there. He couldn't blame the fire for the sudden warm feeling in his chest. At a stand, Bucky didn't hesitate. He bowed down, low enough for you to reach up and put the beads over his head before patting them securely across his chest.

"Thanks," he found himself saying.

With a full smile, you paused before pulling back. And then, after another moment, you were pulled away by the kids running up to you for beads.

Bucky took a full breath and let his eyes wander. He needed air. And then, as he found Sam in the crowd, he was already staring back. Smirking back.

Bucky knew that look.

Sam witnessed the interaction, which was just what he needed, and with a gruff sound, Buck walked off in the opposite direction of where you had gone.

There was a line for the dessert table. People gathered for sweets and coffee before telling stories about the fire pits.

Bucky didn't drink coffee - he had enough to keep him up at night. But he got in line mechanically and took the cup you offered with a small smile. Before he could step away, you called out to him.

"Bucky," You started, testing the syllables on your tongue. He paused with a careful gaze. "Wait."

You held up a finger and turned—just a minute. When you turned around, you held out a plate to him with an iced piece of bundt cake.

"It's King Cake. The cinnamon in the cake goes well with the chicory coffee," you explained, looking at his cup.

The look on his face must have given him away. He didn't know about the tradition. You smiled as you held it out.

"And it's a superstition, a game. Everyone gets a slice, and there's a plastic baby hidden inside. It's said that the person who gets the baby will have good luck for the year. That they'll be king for a day."

Convinced by your explanation, Buck moved his coffee to his left hand, his right hand reaching for the plate. Fingers against fingers, you were beaming as he took it from your hands.

"That, or they'll have to buy a round of drinks for the party," you whispered out of earshot of the others in line.

He chuckled quietly at that. There was a wordless goodbye in his expression as he stepped down the line.

It wasn't intentional. It was Sarah, truly. She must have been the one to save a seat between her and Bucky as you finished serving plates and brought your own over to the fire.

She pulled her arms around you, tipsy and smiling as you sat down. It had been a long time since you had seen her so carefree. And Sam, on the other side of Bucky, looked just as at ease. He was preoccupied listening to an older couple talk about their latest fishing trip. Across the fire an old woman was beaming about her encounter with the fabled Rougarou.

Comfortable, you squeezed more people in to listen. Shoulder to shoulder, you looked up to Bucky. He was still wearing his beads, listening to the fishermen.

"We've waited long enough," Sarah started, pulling you away from your reverie. "Shall we?" She addressed the group, holding up her slice of cake.

"Let the good times roll!"

"Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

The crowd cheered, digging into the cake. False hope dimmed through the group, and even you, realizing you didn't have the baby, set down your cake in favor of the warm cup of coffee. It was more fun to watch, anyways.

Ever cautious, Bucky hadn't touched his cake. Not until Sam nudged him. He took a healthy forkful and, raising it to his lips, took a bite. You were right; the cinnamon cake paired well with the coffee. He remembered you talking with Sarah - you baked the cakes just for this party. Distracted by the taste, he didn't notice the baby until he returned for another forkful. He pulled at it quietly, but eyes moved quickly across the fire. Everyone must have seen it.

"Bucky!"

"You lucky dog."

The men heckled and joked, and Sam put a hand around his shoulder. And you, humbled and happy, watched him accept the praise. He wasn't used to it. It was endearing, and for some reason, it made your heart flutter.

The night crawled on with ease, and with liquor flowing, the stories were growing. Fables were told of old Louisiana, of pirates and adventures. As Sarah's boys started to fall asleep, Sam offered to help her take them home. More logs were added to the fire, and new stories were told. Stories of war and battles made way for stories of love and companionship.

Some people called it a night. More people took their place. And you were so fixated on the stories that you hardly realized you had been leaning into Bucky. Or perhaps he was leaning into you.

As the stories and the music tapered, you stayed.

"It's nice," you whispered at last. "That Sarah invited me. I didn't think I'd belong."

Bucky turned slightly, tilting his head.

"You did great - fit right in," he applauded. "I felt the same way when Sam invited me down. I hate when he's right." He grumbled with mirth.

You huffed out a laugh.

"I won't tell him."

You shared a comfortable silence, enjoying the fire and the hazy sounds of the pier. Shoulder to shoulder and almost hand to hand, neither of you had the heart to leave.

It wasn't baseball games and crowds and New York. It wasn't his home, and yet he felt surprisingly at home. And as soon as he felt brave enough to break the spell, he'd ask to walk you home. He'd ask for your cake recipe. He'd ask you to dinner.

Bucky didn't know about superstition, but in the late hours of night before dawn, sitting next to you on the old pier, he was king.

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[partiallysame]

So sorry (I’m not sorry) for spam liking but OMG poly wife is my new obsession l!???? Like I want to be her so bad????

What do we think the 141 would be like at wifeys job? Like she’s come to base before and got oogled at, what if she’s like a teacher or a nurse or something (a female dominated profession????) and reader gets jealous about her husbands getting oogled??

Again so sorry (babes I’m not sorry who keeps apologizing??) but I love this fic and I’m in love I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it

Ok ok I think the missus would’ve been a school teacher before stay at home wife. Early grades like maybe kindergarten or 1st. (If you can handle 30 five year olds you can handle 4 soldiers. Sometimes). I also think that you would substitute teach when John was gone for long periods of time to help with boredom. But anyways ok back when you were still working I think John was only ever allowed in her classroom during the summer time to help you with prep for the year and setting up your class room. Can’t go during when there are students bc kids hear military and immediately ask about guns and if he’s killed anyone (you made that mistake once and never again). Now I’m thinking this is when you two were dating or engaged. Once there was a ring on your finger Price suggested (borderline demanded) you not work anymore. Pretty lil things shouldn’t have to work. “It’s not work if you love what you do” “if you clock in it’s work” fair enough but who’s complaining. A few weeks before school starts you brought your big handsome man to work to help put stuff up around your classroom while you finished lesson planning. Left the room for what was supposed to be a few moments to grab your packets from the copy machine but the stupid thing was jamming so it took you a while. On your way back you heard giggling from your fellow teachers before finding your classroom empty. Making your way towards the laughter you peek in to see the teacher in the room next to yours with her hand on John’s bicep thanking him for the help. No nope no. You watched sneaky as he told her it was no problem and asked if she needed anything else and ofc she did. Now he’s moving desks and the woman is biting her lip watching him pick them up one handed and put them where she says. Absolutely not. “John” you called out. The request for your fiancée seemed normal enough but he heard the upset undertone in your voice. Uh oh. He turned to look at you and saw you were glaring at your coworker who’s eyes were still on him. Ohhhh. “Yes my love?” He set the desks down and was immediately in front of you. His quick response brought a small smile to your face. Leaning around your large man “I’m taking him back. You can handle the desks.” Ooh sassy he likes it. (John spent a few hours that night in bed making sure you knew he was yours and yours only)

[smallestapplin]

Could I request a NSFW megatron x cybertronian reader. The reader is the ship's draftsman usually he works with brainstorm and preceptor and often reports back to rodimus but the one time they report to megatron, they come back to brainstorm with their brain fucked silly, their valve nice and full, and with their blueprints scrunched up and damaged.

:0!! Big brained anon lets go. Also I’m sorry if I read your ask wrong or just typos, so I went with a he/they reader if that’s okay! If not tell me and I’ll change it.

Warnings : Cybertronian reader referred with He/They pronouns, semi-public fucking, office fucking, cybertronian have both valves and spikes, reader gets called ‘good boy’ once. Percy and Brainstorm have implied feelings for you (this was by accident I swear)

Mdni you will be blocked! Adults only please!

-

-

Perceptor hums curiously, where on the ship are you? Surely it doesn’t take you this long to delivery blueprints and get the captains approval, right? You are a dutiful bot, you like staying on time and you’d usually send him or Brainstorm a message if things came up…speaking of.

The red bot looks over to his colleague, not at all surprised to find the teal bot oblivious to the world around him, it would be easy for him to miss anything.

“Brainstorm?”

Perceptor sighs watching the other bot strip was wires. 

“Brainstorm!”

“Huh? Oh, yeah?” Brainstorm blinks his optics rapidly, clearly having been so lost in his project.

“Our assisant has been gone a while, do you think we should comm him?” Perceptor looks to the time, noting you’ve been for nearly an hour.

Brainstorm waves him off with ‘pff’

“You worry too much, for all you know Rodimus is stalling and Ultra Magnus got off topic.”

“And Megatron?’

“Now why would they have to go to him for those blueprints? Ah…I guess he is also Captain, meh, our little draftsmech probably got to rambling, they’ll be back.”

Perceptor just hopes he’s right, trusting Megatron is still new, but surely he wouldn’t hurt or yell at you, you’re too sweet!

How you wish you could talk, to babble off nonsense that Megatron loves to hear so much, but he can’t risk anyone else hearing how fragged out you are in his office. your back strut arched perfectly for him.

Your optics roll back feeling Megatron’s large chassis pressing into you, your intake stuffed with two of his thick digits muffling your pitiful cries. He’s so big, almost too big for your valve to take, yet you take him like you were made for him. Transfluid from pervious overloads sliding down your legs and twitching spike, dripping to the floor below.

You are a stunning mess.

“As much as I’d love to hear your voice, you don’t want the others to hear just how good you’re taking my spike, do you?”

You sob around his digits, muttering something or trying too as your valve clenches down on him trying to milk him once more of his transfluid. Megatron doesn’t understand how Rodimus or Ultra Magnus do it, being able to sit there while you so passionately and excitedly explain the blueprints you worked on, and the plans for it.

Such a sparkle in your optics, he wanted you to come undone.

His engines purrs lowly as your servos claw at his desk.

“You’re making such a mess…frag…” he groans. His free servo on your hips keeping them up and arch to take all of his spike.

Your optics leaking lubricant as your frame is wracked with sensitivity. His spike slams so deeply into you, stretching you out and denting your metal just to make all of him fit! You’re gonna overload again—!!

Megatron curses under his harsh ex-vent, red optics burning brightly as he leans back watching your valve clench down around him, your own fluid gushing from around him, sending him into yet another climax himself.

His transfluid is so hot inside you, painting your insides pink. He pauses, savoring the warmth and closeness you two have in this moment with you warming his spike. Megatron slides his digits from your intake, letting you speak freely, or you would if your brain module wasn’t static.

Megatron chuckles, gazing tenderly at your fucked out expression, such a smart bot fragged so dumb over his desk. He almost wants to coo when you let out a broken whine, so pitifully too, sad he’s pulling his spike from your well loved puffy valve.

Once empty you fall limp across his desk, your frame trembling and twitching, he can’t help but find you so intoxicating. His servos gently rub across your back, slowly bringing you down from your high.

“Think you can stand?”

“Mm…gah…”

Megatron stifles a chuckle at your sounds, you’re just asking to get bent over again. He helps you steady yourself, your blueprints in your servos wrinkled and partially torn down the middle from your previous grip on them.

“Fix up those plans of yours and I’ll sign off on it, okay?”

You nod dumbly, legs shaking and threatening to give out from underneath you. Megatron smiles at you, placing a servo on your cheek to give you a gentle pet before letting you melt into his touch.

“Good boy. Now, you might want to head back before your coworkers get suspicious.”

Oh. My. Primus.

You forgot.

You forgot you needed to head back to the lab and help run some diagnostics, oh no-

“Right! Right I just….” You’re shaking so bad, your modesty paneling doing a horrible job keep all his thick transfluid inside.

But he doesn’t telling you that as you hobble out of his office, and back to the lab.

The cycle is almost over, surely no one is still in there. You can barely think, the only thing your foggy mind can think of his obeying Megatron’s order to get to the lab. Perceptor awakes from his near half stasis at the sound of the door sliding open and someone stumbling, it even catches Brainstrom’s attention.

Both sets of optics widen at the sight of you, drool still wet down your chin, optics glazed over with bite marks denting your neck cables. Down your legs is raw evidence of what possibly could’ve happened to you, with the transfluid staring brightly back at them.

Brainstorm is frozen in shock, completely blind to Perceptor rushing to your quaking form to help you sit down. Your words slurring, all he can manage to hear is ‘plans’ ‘made it’ ‘did..good.’

“Brainstorm don’t just sit there, bring them some energon!”

Perceptor helps clean you up, wiping away any coolant and spit from your face plate. His face burning when faced with the mess between your legs, he isn’t sure who or how this even happened but he will be raising several problems until he finds out.

Brainstorms coos softly at you, helping you drink the energon which you are swift to guzzle down, desperate for something to eat.

You could pass out right here and die one happy bot.

Though it’s hard to when Percy and Brainstorm are asking you so many questions, even arguing amongst each other.

[oceansoul001]

So it's been around two weeks now since I've finished Kingdom Come Deliverance 2, and to tell you all that there has not been a single day that I haven't thought about this game would be such a big understatement. Cause I'm not sure there has been a single hour that I'm awake that I haven't thought about it. And it's so weird! Let me explain.

I mean, it's not atypical for me to be fascinated by a piece of culture, be it a game, a movie, a tv series, a book, whatever. But this, this is something else, on a completely different level, and for the love of everything I just can't explain it! Maybe two weeks it's still super fresh, maybe it's because I'm now still playing the first KCD, what keeps me within this world, but I find myself constantly going back to thinking about it, about the story, about the characters, and most of all of course about Henry & Hans, and how special they feel to me.

It is particularly weird with Henry, because he is this strange amalgam of a written character and a player character, a sort-of-my-avatar in this world, but at the same time quite defined. I cannot compare this balance to any other game protagonist really, every other (that I know of) was either one or another, with my preference being always the custom character with some defined characteristics - meaning custom looks and gender, even if the backstory or a general vibe was not changeable (like, let's say, a Dark Urge in BG3 is for me a custom character, even if some crucial parts of them are well defined). But Henry's not like that, he always looks like Henry and sounds like Henry. At the same time, the flexibility of how he can react to the world is wider than with a typical written character. And even if within the game story we cannot actually change or influence what happens, generally the same things in the main plot always happen to my Henry and to your Henry, I think we can still differ in interpretation, what it actually means for MY Henry, and it can differ from what it means for YOUR Henry. And neither of us would be incorrect.

Some people might compare this maybe to the Witcher series, which is probably the closest, yes, but for me it's still completely different. I never WAS Geralt in my heart in any game from the trilogy. I played as Geralt, I made some choices, I picked a romance, I was immersed in the stories etc, but it was always the same Geralt to me, one and established character, not MY character. Maybe because he was first and foremost the book character in my head, and much later a video game protagonist, so it might feel different for other people, but I never had with him this weird fluid feeling of being him and not being him when I played the games. And I have it with Henry. I don't know if it makes any sense at all to anybody beside me.

And with Henry, it feels different, it feels as if I partially were Henry, when I played; I would not ask myself "Hmm, what would Henry do in this situation", it was rather "What would I do", with me being Henry at that point. With me taking over the emotions that my Henry would feel at a given moment. This again might feel as a regular thing for some people, who immerse themselves easily into defined protagonists, but it is not typical for me. And I tell you more - I have this... Thing... That it is much more difficult for me to find my own voice in a male protagonist. I can love them and root for them, of course, but it is like watching a movie or reading a book. Not "becoming" them when I'm playing as them in a video game.

I'm this kind of RPG player that always, like ALWAYS, plays as a female character, if I have a choice. I've never thought about it much, or why it's that way, but it is something I am very conscious about. And with Henry it's somehow different, it's like the way he is written and presented leaves still a place for me to blend in somewhere as well, despite the fact that he actually has an unchangeable face and an unchangeable voice. ...Or maybe it is partially because of that? Meaning that Henry is NOT your 'typical male video game protagonist', thank gods. But it cannot be just that, as there are definitely more characters in other games that do not fall into this category as well, and they don't leave me with the same feeling Henry does. I cannot explain it any better I'm afraid, I just feel this special connection between myself as a player and Henry as a protagonist that I have not felt before. And it makes him so, so special to me.

With Hans it is much easier to explain of course. Everyone loves Hans. He is funny, and witty, and cocky, and caring, and emotional, and vulnerable, and yes, he is sometimes self-absorbed, but he is also this pure, naive idealist - I LOVE the part when he says to Brabant that the role of the nobility is to protect the people they rule over, because I know that he genuinely believes that! He is this type of character that I always feel the need to protect, even if he doesn't need it actually at a given moment. Like in the framework of the game, when I AM Henry, I would gladly carry him over any puddle, so that he always stays safe, and warm, and comfy, and I would die for him no questions asked at any given point, even if it meant like the worst possible game ending for me as a player. Have I already mentioned that I love Hans?

But there is also one more layer, the layer that in my head is simply labeled as "Henry&Hans", together. And this is probably THE weirdest part to explain from all of this babbling. But I've got to try. So generally, when it comes to romances in fiction, I would say that yes, I enjoy a good romance, I really like when it is part of a story, I root for characters that I like to get together. But I rarely think about it outside of enjoying said fiction. I am usually not much of a shipper, don't read fanfictions, don't download fanarts, etc. I am now trying to recall when was the last time that I was really, like REALLY invested in a fictional ship, and I don't know, I think it might have been in 2017, when The Last Jedi premiered, and I was immensely angry that Rey and Kylo Ren didn't get together. It was freaking 8 years ago!

It is a bit different when it comes to romances in video games with customizable protagonists, because in that case I don't only expect to be immersed, I demand to be immersed, so to speak, if this is supposed to work. I need to feel something, anything, to be engaged in a romance that I am supposed to be an active part of, meaning choosing a character to romance, picking dialogue options, enjoying interactions, etc. And it happens quite rare. Most of romances in video games are just an additional mechanic of a sort, and choosing "I am going to romance this character" is not much different than "I am going to buy this ship/horse/base", or less harshly "I am going to make all squad mates loyal to me", not necessarily because I like all of them equally, but because it is possible within the game, so why not.

The video game romances that truly got to me were of course mostly the ones that had some good writing behind it, or great acting, or an interesting angle. I loved my Astarion romance during my first BG3 playthrough, because it ticked all the categories mentioned above, but also something beyond that. And I never loved any other of the romances from BG3 to the same degree, even though most of them are truly great and I really enjoyed playing through them. I loved my Solas romance in DAI (and in DATV even), because it was so different, it mostly wasn't even there so to say, like it was probably the least of romance content possible to even have a romance, but it touched something in me. And... No, that's that, that were the only ones that I had feelings and emotions about as a me-player, not just as a character I am pretending to be. Up till now.

So, with Henry&Hans romance, to jump from one digression to another digression, because who is reading all this at this point anyway, for quite some time I didn't even know, and later didn't fully believe, that is in the game. I started to play KCD2 around two weeks before it premiered, and all I've heard at this point was that there is potentially some gay romance that some people were rioting about, but I didn't even care much. You see, coming back to my previous notes about not being really immersed into male protagonists, because I am not male, it was always the same, or even more true, with romances - I was actually really immersed only into romances where I can play as a female character and I can romance a male character of my choosing. Because that is how it works in my life as well. Imagine my surprise when I'm playing through this medieval simulator about some guys engaging in some politics and shit, not expecting that this is soon going to be one of the most important games in my life, and then suddenly getting smitten by these two. It was when we got to Trosky, I remember it clearly, and they told me that I have now twelve bell tolls to save Hans. MY HANS! I mean, not mine at that point, really. At that point what I felt was probably sadness, because I was sure, oh I was so sure, that they would never let us romance Hans, are you kidding me? Like two main characters that have a history together, that are actually connected to one another throughout the whole story? With Hans being present in the game as his own, fully fledged character, with his own story arc, being already our best friend? Not being in the game to serve the one purpose of being a romanceable character? And to top it all, with like two guys?! I believe I am quite media-literate, so to say, have consumed my portion of different arts, and I just know it won't happen, it can't happen. It would be a contradiction to everything we have known so far. This kind of ships happen only in our imagination, in our fanfics, in our fanarts. So I didn't even dwell on it much.

And then came the ride to Nebakov, the first in game moment when you see this dialogue option with a heart icon next to it, and what the hell, am I just imagining things? I kid you not, for the next week my mind was living in this prison of "are they fucking Hans-baiting me; I won't forgive them if they are", because I simply couldn't believe that this is actually possible, that this could be our romance option, a meaningful one!

So it was probably all of the above, finally a meaningful romance, not just something slapped on a game with a plot as a separate thing, finally a meaningful character, not a "romanceable character", but a main character with a possible romance, if you get what I'm trying to say. A character that I've already started to love. And with this incomprehensible thing of me becoming Henry when I'm playing, it clicked. It clicked as nothing else ever did in the fiction that I've experienced so far.

And now I'm sitting here, a woman in her late 30s, not queer, thinking about these two fictional guys and their fictional love, like every day, and what it means to me as a person, and I just can't!!! The weirdest feeling ever. But a wholesome one, I think.

Thank you, if for some reason you've decided to read through this, I promise that I am not crazy, or at least I thought so up till this point. Now... not so sure. I needed to vent it all somewhere, somehow, and this is probably like the only place on the internet where I won't feel very bad about spilling it all out.

[sibsteria]

pls for the love of god write more spencer. ur writing is everything

The difference between love and pretending…

Spencer Agnew x fem!Reader

a/n ask and ye shall receive

Masterlist

Warnings/Content: This be a short one, little bit of angst, pining, kissing, cheating, alcohol

Summary: He dated your friend, granted she treated him like dirt and you, doesn’t that break some kind of girl code? But he stood there, oh so beautiful and you just…

New! Spencer Agnew Prompt Series!

Prompt: “I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” “You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.”

Flashback

The living room was heavy with the heartbreak of your best friend and colleague, for that matter. A stupid romcom blaring colour from the tv that he swore he didn’t like in the dim light room, wine drunk to high heaven, scattered takeaway containers around the table and a big big box of chocolate.

Having just broken up with your friend, catching her kissing one of her guy friends when she thought she was alone, you were here to help him feel better. You didn’t know if it was working, but you hope it was, you hated seeing him like this- not because you had a crush or anything. You set them up together so really it’s your own fault, your own fault that you had to watch the two people you love in this world kiss over and over, your own fault he sat here upset.

The tension grew awkward after he spoke, “I should have dated you instead.” He laughed, but in a sort of self deprecation way. And the alcohol that cling to your brain made the case even worse as you blurted out- “Maybe…” Your eyes met his, you know it was wrong- he was going through heartbreak and he had belonged to your friend not six hours ago and…

He leaned down, unsure of what he was actually doing right now, and sure enough your lips met. It turned sloppy and messy, your lipstick smearing over his face as you gripped each others clothing.

What were you doing?

You felt embarrassed at yourself, he was hurting and you just let him kiss you like that, how selfish can you be?

Soon after you had pulled away, you made an excuse and left, you can’t do this to him or to yourself. You didn’t want to stay and become a rebound girl for the man you were pretty sure you loved.

You didn’t talk about it after that night, the rooms went silent and stuffy when it was just the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say.

Both of you tried to build your friendship back up, eventually getting to a point where you could exchange niceties when working, but in the back of your head you were sort of regretting what happened.

Until….

“Can I talk to you for a second…alone?” You paused as you packed up to leave, it was getting late and you didn’t want to bother the clean up crew.

“Um, yeah, sure- is everything okay?” You ask, your eyes darted anywhere but his face.

“No.” He put it plain and simple, it had been at least four months since that night, was he still angry at you?

“Oh…” Was all you could say, waving goodbye to your desk buddies before it left just the two of you.

“I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” He huffed out, swiping some hair out of his eyes.

“Ah…what do you mean?” You knew this was coming eventually, it was stupid to think it wouldn’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, about you…” You blink at his words, about you?

“About me?” Your breathing became a little heavier as the office was silent and still.

“About how much I want to kiss you again…” You gasped quietly, was he on drugs?

“Spencer…”

“I get it, if you don’t feel the same way but…I kind of know you do…” He trails off, looking a little awkward.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You panicked a little, how did he know about your feelings? Was this a trick? You betted on Ian spilling the beans, of course he did!

“I feel like I used you that night, the night we kissed because…I knew you had feelings for me and I just…wanted to feel like someone loved me.” He’s upset at his own words, at himself for taking advantage of you and your feelings for him. You had gotten it all wrong, he wasn’t angry at you. You stayed calm even thought you felt utterly embarrassed that he had known about your feelings for so long.

“I…thought I was using you…because of how I felt and I thought I was being selfish letting you kiss me when I knew you loved her.” Her being your friend, of course.

“Let me kiss you again…” He stepped towards you, a fire in his eyes.

“What? Why?” You don’t want your feelings played around like that.

“Because…I, I like you back.” He softens at you, “Since that night, since the kiss, it’s like you messed with me…and I can’t stop thinking about you.” This can’t be true, it was just convenience.

“Spencer, no, you don’t. It’s just-“

“Yes…I do, I know the difference between love and pretending.” He was a smart man, of course he knew, not that you fully believed it.

“Okay, well…” You couldn’t do this to your friend, could you? You had only just patched things up after being angry at her for so long for breaking his heart, how would it look now if you just swooped him up? “I can’t…because she-“

“Forget about her, I stopped thinking about her the moment our lips touched and it’s not like she doesn’t deserve this…you shouldn’t care about her feelings more than your own.” Why was he so right?

“How are you so sure I love you, still? I don’t.” You had it coming as soon as you said that, your voice wavering because of the dishonesty in it. You couldn’t do this to her-

He scoffed, putting his hands up and cupping your jaw before pulling you into the most phenomenal kiss of your life, it happened quickly and you followed suit- kissing him back with the same passion.

His hands tangled in your hair as you came up to steady yourself on his chest, it went on for a while before he pulled away- a sick grin on his features.

“You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.” His eyes are shining as you can’t find anything to deny.

“I…” You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, you didn’t know what to say.

“One date? If we aren’t a match then that’s the end…but I don’t see that happening, I really, really want this to work with you. Don’t think about what she might think or say. We were friends for much longer and…you don’t need someone like her in your life” She did treat you terribly, you were always so kind to people and they took it for granted more often than not.

“You know, you are really stubborn.” You suppressed a smile, looking at him with a glint of joy in your eyes.

“Tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at 6? They do discounts on the bowling place down the street after 8, we could get some dinner…or something like that?” That sounded amazing, a chill first date.

“Perfect.” You bite your bottom lip, smiling.

“You won’t regret it.” He leans in to kiss your cheek.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[rayyanishere1]

"Studying? Yeah, Totally."

A Short FiddleStan Oneshot

(Part of the Loser Ford AU, but isn't relevant to the lore whatsoever lmao)

One night, Ford announced that he'd be at the library for a couple of hours.

"Knock yourself out, Sixer."

Once he left, Stan and Fiddleford looked at each other.

"Wanna..?"

"You don't even have to ask."

Stan led Fiddleford to the couch with only one motive in mind.

Forcing him to watch trashy television! They spent good money on that TV, and by God, they were gonna use it.

"Ladies and Gents, welcome back to 'Your Guess Could Be Royally Wrong!' The show where you don't win prizes, but you don't get punished, either. I'm your host, Zain Squalus—"

Ah, yes, gameshows. The peak of entertainment.

"Is this really what you wanna watch?"

"It's either this, weird chick dramas, or the news."

Welp, can't argue with that.

Fiddleford tried many times to make a move; pretending to yawn to wrap his arm around Stan's shoulder, not very subtly inching his hand towards Stan's thigh. Hell, he tried to go in for a kiss at least 3 times!

Without fail, something would make Stan dodge his advances. Oh, he suddenly has to shift a little in the opposite direction to grab something, oh, something shocking happened and he needed his whole body to react to it.

Seems fate was planning on cockblocking Fiddleford today. Not cool, man. Not cool.

During a commercial break, Stan left to get some snacks. That gave Fiddleford some time to think.

It was obvious that subtlety was getting him absolutely nowhere. He just had to be a little more direct, right? Yeah, that's definitely it.

Stan returned with a bowl of chips and sat back down. Now was time for Fiddleford's master plan.

He used every tactic he knew all at once. Wrapping an arm around Stan's shoulder, leaning in closer. Maybe he should also try getting Stan's mind off of this weird gameshow he was so invested in...

"You know, Stanley, we're home alone."

"I would hope so, yeah."

"And we aren't doing anything."

"Yes, we are! We're watching Your Guess Could Be Royally Wrong, the totally original gameshow based in Oregon."

"I just thought that, with Stanford gone, we'd be doing something else."

"...I don't follow."

That's Stan Pines for you, folks. The dumbest genius on Earth.

"Stanley..."

Fiddleford didn't know if he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. Instead, he decided that his plan of being direct was the right way to go.

"Stanley Pines."

"That's my name. Am I in trouble?"

"You're going to be if you don't kiss me right now."

"Haha, what?"

∆∆∆

The TV buzzed on in the background as they practically devoured each other's faces.

"Fidds, if you were this—hah—pent up, you could've just told me.."

"I tried to! For an entire hour!"

"Wait, really?"

"Lord, yes! I suppose something was keeping you from noticing."

"Uh huh.."

Deeming the couch to be too uncomfortable, Fiddleford took it upon himself to bring them somewhere more suitable for their.. Activity.

He picked Stan up like he weighed nothing and carried him to the bedroom.

Many kisses later, the two were shirtless and all over each other. It was like they were trying to fit multiple days worth of making out into one session. To be fair, though, it wasn't often that they had alone time like this.

Stan pulled away for a moment, much to Fiddleford's dismay.

"Ford's been out later than usual. He could come back any minute..."

Just as he said that, they heard the front door open.

Oh, God.

They rushed to put something on, not bothering to check what they had grabbed. If Ford saw them like this, in their shared space, Lord knows they'd never hear the end of it.

"Wait, are you wearing my—"

Too late to change now!

A few lazy knocks came from the door before Ford went in. He didn't even look at them, he just dropped his bag on the floor and flopped face first onto his bed.

Stan sighed in relief. It was a good thing that Ford was so tir—

"Wait."

The couple tensed up, expecting to get berated for their "inappropriate behaviour." Instead, Ford just took his glasses off and put them on his side table before promptly passing back out.

That was close...

[ozzgin]

Hi Ozz ! I was wondering if you had watched GTO (Great Teacher Onizuka) ?

I've watched a few episodes today for old time's sake and DAMN is the stalker-ish yandere content lurking in my brain hours after 😫

GTO has been on my to-watch list for more than a decade now, haha. I absolutely love the idea, and the overall theme is right down my alley, but I always seem to stumble after the first two episodes.

I'm someone who is very much used to Japanese humor and other tropes that might be considered odd overseas, but there's one thing that makes me cringe: old-school ecchi. If I see a teenage girl squealing and flashing her panties, I'm immediately reconsidering everything. It's the reason I gave up on Sayonara, Zetsubou-sensei. I wanted to like it so badly, but I couldn't get over all the lewd shots.

GTO hits especially hard, because I'm an adult in my twenties and I literally studied to be a teacher, so I cannot watch my man chasing his students without audibly grunting.

There's two series that I absolutely love and have a very similar plot:

Rookies, about a highly optimistic, dorky teacher who joins a school filled with delinquents. He encourages them to play baseball and follow their dreams. I watched the live action, and it's actually what motivated me to pursue my studies!

Gokusen, about the granddaughter of a yakuza boss who becomes a math teacher in an all-male high school. She is the next in line to become the Head of the Family, and is also assigned as the homeroom teacher to an unsuspecting class of delinquents.

[unforced3rr0r]

THE DEAL || CA

————————————————————————

pt. 2, (previous part)

summary: Carlos hated having a PR manager, especially one who was his age. Convincing her to leave was the best plan he'd ever had, but what happens when he realises he doesn't want her to go?

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warning: diabolical tension

a/n: this is kind of all over the place because I’m trying to build up enough foundation before the tournament starts. I hope you like it (please tell me how much you like it, I need validation)

MASTERLIST

You sat in an uncomfortable silence typing away on your laptop. In your peripheral, you could see the Spaniard slowly moving to lie down on the sofa from his seated position.

"Don't fall asleep." A frustrated grunt came from Carlos as he repositioned himself slightly resting his head against the back of the sofa.

"Okay and if they ask you about potentially facing Djokovic?" Your eyes watched the screen intently scanning the prospective questions on your laptop.

"I tell them I've beaten him before and I believe I can again, especially with my new serve and resetting over the break." His tone was dull and his eyes watched the ceiling.

"Perfect, any questions about the back end of last season or concentration just try to redirect and talk about the work you've been doing over the break." Carlos nodded, scrutinising you're every movement with his gaze.

You wrote down notes that you could send Carlos on everything you'd been discussing. You leaned back against the sofa, gently falling into the cushions as you moved to sit cross-legged.

Carlos' eyes observed you as you intently stared at the screen, "D'you get bored doing this?" Your eyes flitted to the Spaniard briefly for the first time since you began going over questions,

"What do you mean?" You returned to doing work, shaking your head at the silly question as you watched the time in the corner of your screen tick by.

You were desperate to get this done so you could return to your room and sleep, doing your best to ignore the looming tension of the deal you had earlier agreed to.

"I get bored at you asking me questions, and I'm the player. Don't you get bored of writing up answers and managing my media presence?" You paused briefly, the condescending tone grating on you. You met the brown eyes that hadn't left your frame.

"I love my job, I get to see behind the sports in a way no one else does. Plus I'm good at it." He looked sceptically,

"I'd rather play." You shook your head in amusement, finishing up the final question.

"Unfortunately we can't all be professional tennis players Alcaraz." He smirked at your response, getting up off the sofa and heading to the kitchen area.

You emailed the Spaniard the work you'd done the evening, finally closing your laptop and letting relief flood your body.

"Luckily for you, we're done for the evening. I'd like some pyjamas and then I'll get out of your way." You stood up moving slightly towards the door, begging to leave the company of the man who held you with such contempt.

"Gracias a Dios" (Thank god) His thankful tone stung slightly, envying the time when your clients enjoyed your company, and you'd stay long after the work was done due to the friendships you had founded.

He disappeared down the corridor and you stood by the door awkwardly. The night had ended up being the easiest day you'd had since you started, and all it took was promising Carlos you'd quit.

You knew the next issue would be telling his team and Juan Carlos would no doubt try to convince you to stay. But the thought of enjoying your job again loomed in the back of your mind and pushed you forward.

Just over two weeks. That's all you had to get through and now with Carlos actually cooperating it should've been simpler.

You checked the time and the massive 00:00 glared at you on the screen. It was a busy day tomorrow that involved you waking up with the sun and the dream of a full eight hours sleep has slipped from your grasp.

Just as you began to mentally plan for the content and work you needed to do tomorrow, Carlos reappeared his 6-foot stature looming over you.

"I don’t have pyjamas, so this is just some joggers and a t-shirt." He handed you the clothing, his hand brushing yours which jolted through your nervous system. In the last six hours, you'd been closer to the Spaniard in the entirety of your time working for him.

You avoided the brown eyes looking down at you, taking the items and moving towards the door. "That should be fine."

You walked to the door, reaching for the handle and standing in the open doorway. Just before stepping out into the hallway, you turned to face the Spaniard, shooting him a small smile that he didn't return.

"See you tomorrow Alcaraz." He nodded and the door closed in front of you.

Defeated you trudged back to your room, slipping into the far too big-for-you shirt and joggers that the Spaniard had lent you. They were bathed in his cologne and the musky scent filled your nostrils as you climbed into bed.

As you lay there waiting for sleep to hit you, you thought of what this job would've been like had Carlos not hated you from the outset.

Watching him play was magnificent and you wanted to be a part of the team that helped him achieve greatness, not to mention his Spanish charm had won over so many.

Every cold glance he gave you cut deeper and as you drifted off to sleep you were haunted by the way he had looked at you the first time you met.

...

The sun beat down on the outdoor courts. You watched Alcaraz move diligently from edge to edge of the light blue tarmac. The heat permeated through your body as the light summer dress you wore did nothing to alleviate the temperature.

You gaze fixated on the Spaniard's taut muscles and how he slid to seemingly effortlessly receive the ball. You had your phone up, taking photos and videos to go on Instagram later, but really you found yourself distracted by each noise that left his lips.

Your sunglasses rested lazily on the edge of your nose, and as Carlos' arms hit the ball over and over, your eyes watched his biceps carefully.

You understood why he had a flock of women watching his every move, his physique and tennis ability pulling so many in. Then there was his annoying smile.

The ball hit Juanki's torso with Carlos letting out a loud laugh that echoes through your mind. Carlos looked to his team who also laughed over the moment and his eyes flickered to you.

When he saw that your eyes were already on him, he smirked. A smug look took over his face and he shot you a wink, your face turned red and you quickly moved your gaze back to your phone.

You sent the photo to Carlos and picked up your bag, heading onto the court.

"Alcaraz, interview time let's get going." The clock was ticking down and media day was calling, with Alcaraz lined up for a fairly full day of pre-tournament interviews.

"cinco minutos más." (five more minutes.) The Spaniard called to you calmly as he continued hitting the ball back and forth across the court.

"Alcaraz. Now. We're already late." Carlos rolled his eyes, Juan Carlos telling him to go. The Spaniard headed towards you, the smile long gone replaced with his usual grimace.

"Disfruta la vista allá atrás" (Enjoy the view back there?) he taunted, his large hands reaching down to grab his tennis bag that was by your feet.

While he bent down to grab the bag, he brushed your side, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his arms brush yours. Then leaning into your ear as he stood back up. "You were blushing."

"I was doing my job, you know, filming content for you. Plus it's hot out here, I was just flushed." Your tone stood strong, but your eyes were telling a different story. Your body was covered in goosebumps, the bench behind you stopping you from stepping away.

He finally took a step away, which allowed your shoulders to fall in ease. He began to walk off with the same smug look as before back on his face, "¿No tenemos una entrevista a la que llegar?" (Don't we have an interview to get to?)

You shook your head, annoyance for the man filling your body. Not only was he being difficult, but now he'd resorted to teasing and taunting which was somehow worse than his angry indifference.

You turned to face Juanki as you began walking off the court behind Alcaraz, mouthing 'I'm going to kill him' which elicited a laugh from the coach.

"Have fun you two!" He called out and was met with two frustrated groans. Carlos stood at the exit waiting for you to catch up and began trudging behind you.

Walking through the grounds, he smiled, waved, and took pictures with the multitude of fans who spotted him. You'd silently stand to the side or offer to take the photo when needed.

The consistent stopping slowed you down, but you didn't mind when you saw the giddy smile of every fan's face as they met with Carlos' warm demeanour.

You eventually made it to the conference room. Before stepping into the room, you grabbed Carlos' arm, pulling him out of the doorway. He turned to face you, his eyes analysing your fingers wrapped around his bicep.

As his gaze focused on your hand, you pulled away as if his skin had burned you. "Sorry. I just wanted to remind you of everything we went over. This is just pre-tournament chatter so you should be okay."

"I've got it. Why won't you just let me do it." His tone was sharp and you rolled your eyes, your arms crossing in front of your chest in annoyance.

"It's not that I think you can't do it, I just want to help." Carlos took a step back from you, scoffing at your plea.

"Well I don't need your help." He left your side, walking into the room before you had a chance to respond. You threw your hands up in pure frustration, but the Spaniard had his back to you so the action was mostly for yourself.

You moved inside the room and sat down in the front row, ready to take notes.

The questions started light and easy, talking about the Spaniards off-season, the changes to his serve, the added weight in his racket. He answered the questions diligently, following everything you'd been through the night before.

You couldn't help but smile as he answered perfectly time and time again, showing you how easy this job could've been and subsequently how needlessly painful the Spaniard had been making it.

But then it fell apart. The questions began to get more pointed. More trying, asking him about losing to Jannik, losing to players outside the top 20, another year of struggles at the US Open. Then the straw that broke the camel's back came.

"So Carlos, your performance declined rapidly at the back end of last year, especially after your loss to Novak in the Olympics. How does that affect your mentality coming into Australia knowing you could face him?"

Shit. You knew you'd prepared Carlos for the question but you also knew how painful the Olympics loss had been. You knew how he was dreading facing Novak and you knew by the look in his eye that he was caught off guard by the question.

Your breath shallowed while you tried to stay calm as he sat there looking from the interviewer to you, the unease clearly written on his features.

"Um." He paused, he caught your gaze and you tried to send him a reassuring look. He looked down to his hands, lifting his head to meet the interviewers' gaze.

"I think to say my performance declined rapidly is stupid." Shit. Your head fell into your hands and you held back an audible groan. Some in the press conference laughed but Carlos didn't join in.

"I also beat Novak at Wimbledon, so maybe he should be the one scared to face me, no?" The room fell into a tense silence. The stone cold look on Carlos' face put off any follow up questions.

Carlos stood up, his demeanour clearly agitated, ringing his hands at his sides. He left the room and didn't slow down for you like he usually did. You quickly left, thanking the interviewers and apologising for Carlos before you rushed after him.

"Alcaraz, wait!" He didn't turn around, instead turning a corner and disappearing out of sight. You turned the corner and found him resting against the wall, shoulders slumped and hands covering his face.

"What was that?!" You stood in front of him and he pulled his hands from his face.

"Oh come on Y/N, He was out of line!" Carlos raised his voice in frustration, a clear sign of how much the interviewer had got to him.

"And we had prepared answers, you didn't need to be an asshole about it." You rested on the other side of the hallway, your annoyed facade matching the Spaniard's.

"You have no idea what it's like to sit there and have everything you do, questions and torn apart." Carlos stood up straight, closing the distance between you with his angry ranting.

"Maybe I don’t, but I do know what it's like to have to deal with you being an asshole." His face was mere metres from yours. Your hands moved to rest on his chest as he moved his mouth down to your ear.

"Then it's a good thing you won't have to for much longer, isn't it?" His spiteful tone sent a cold chill down your spine as his hand slid to your waist.

"Counting down the days Alcaraz." His breath hit your neck and you snapped, pushing away the tennis player's large figure. He had a smirk on his face as he stumbled back slightly.

You moved away from him, turning away from him quickly and storming away from the interaction. Your heart was racing and your chest was pounding, unable to sense if it was blinding rage or maybe something else.

————————————————————————

taglist: @kcharlyy @champagnecoastca

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Tug of War

The house had been quiet for two days. Just you and Marshall, wrapped up in each other, consumed by this thing between you that only seemed to grow stronger, deeper, more dangerous with every passing hour.

But now?

Now, the silence was gone.

The front door barely shut before your daughter launched herself into your arms. “Mommy!”

You barely had time to catch her before she nearly knocked you off balance. A laugh bubbled out of you as you hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo.

“Hey, baby! Did you have fun at Grandma’s?”

She nodded excitedly. “We baked cookies, and Grandpa let me stay up so late!”

Your older daughter followed more calmly, setting her bag down before giving you a tight hug. “I missed you, Mom.”

Your heart squeezed as you pressed a kiss to his head. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

From behind you, Marshall cleared his throat.

You turned to see him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look you knew too well.

Possessiveness.

He’d had you all to himself for days. No interruptions. No one else pulling at you, needing you.

And now? Now he had to share.

Your oldest turned to him first. “Hey, Dad.”

Marshall’s face softened as he ruffled the her hair. “Hey, kid.”

Your younger daughter wiggled out of your arms and ran straight to him, climbing up his leg until he lifted her easily into his arms. “Miss me, Daddy?”

Marshall smirked, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Always, troublemaker.”

She giggled before twisting to look back at you. “Mommy, can we watch a movie tonight? Together?”

Before you could answer, you felt Marshall’s eyes on you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love them. He did. More than anything.

But after having you all to himself for the past two days, the idea of sitting on opposite sides of the couch instead of having you in his lap, of watching a movie instead of devouring you—

You could practically hear the internal battle raging in his head.

You bit your lip, hiding your smile.

“Of course, baby,” you said, ruffling her hair. “Movie night sounds perfect.”

Marshall exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw ticking. You could tell he wanted to argue, to find a way to keep you to himself just a little longer.

But then, as if sensing the shift in him, your daughter threw her arms around his neck and whispered, “Please, Daddy?”

And just like that—

He was done for.

“Fine,” he muttered, setting her down. “But I get to pick the snacks.”

She cheered, running off toward the living room, your eldest following close behind.

Marshall turned back to you immediately, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you close. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “As soon as they’re asleep, you’re mine again.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around his shirt.

Like you had any doubt.

---

Movie night was supposed to be relaxing.

But for Marshall, it was torture.

You sat between the kids on the couch, wrapped up in blankets, your daughter curled against your side while your oldest stretched out with her feet tucked under you. You looked soft like this—warm, safe, a mother before anything else.

But Marshall?

Marshall wasn’t feeling like a father right now.

He was feeling like a man who had spent the last two days buried in you, wrapped around you, breathing you in like you were his only lifeline. And now, he had to sit here and pretend like he wasn’t starving for you.

You glanced over at him, catching the sharpness in his stare, the way his fingers tapped against his thigh impatiently.

You knew exactly what he was thinking.

He wanted you.

And he hated that he had to wait.

Biting your lip, you shifted slightly, brushing your foot against his under the blanket. A silent I know.

His eyes darkened.

Your younger daughter yawned, snuggling closer to you, her little fingers clutching the sleeve of your sweater. “Mommy,” she murmured sleepily, “can you stay here till I fall asleep?”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course, baby.”

Marshall’s jaw tensed. His eyes flicked to you, sharp and unrelenting, and you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Not if I have anything to do with it.

—

It took another hour, but finally—finally—the kids were asleep.

You had just tucked them into bed when you turned to find Marshall leaning in the doorway of your younger daughter’s room, arms crossed, watching you like a predator stalking its prey.

You barely had time to whisper his name before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you down the hall, straight into your bedroom.

The door shut with a soft click.

“You took your time,” he murmured, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm.

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “I was putting our kids to bed, Marshall.”

He stepped closer, his body pressing into yours, his other hand trailing down your waist. “Yeah? And what about me?” His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low growl. “You forget about me?”

Your breath hitched.

Like you ever could.

“I could never forget about you,” you whispered.

His grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. “Then prove it.”

And just like that—

You were his again.

---

The house was quiet when you stepped inside.

Too quiet.

You barely had time to set your keys down before you felt it—the weight of his stare.

Slowly, you turned.

Marshall stood at the top of the stairs, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight, his entire body tense like a live wire.

Like a man who had woken up alone and didn’t like it.

You swallowed. Shit.

“You left,” he said, voice low, controlled—but barely.

Your heart pounded. “I was just dropping the kids off at school—”

“I woke up and you were gone.” He started down the stairs, slow, deliberate steps. His eyes never left yours. “Didn’t leave a note. Didn’t tell me.”

You took a step back, your body instinctively reacting to the sheer energy radiating off him. But he saw it.

And he didn’t like it.

His head tilted slightly. “You backing away from me?”

Your breath hitched. “Marshall, I—”

“Don’t.” His voice was a growl now, rough and raw. “Don’t act like I’m crazy. You know how my head works. You know what it does when I wake up and you’re not there.”

Guilt tugged at your chest. You did know. You knew how easily the thoughts crept in, how quickly the fear could turn into anger, into something dark and consuming.

“I wasn’t leaving you,” you whispered. “I would never leave you.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “Say it again.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“I would never leave you.”

He exhaled sharply, like he needed to hear it to breathe again. And then—

He moved.

One second he was across the room, the next he had you pinned against the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his body pressing into yours, his breathing heavy, uneven.

“Where do you belong?” he murmured, his lips brushing your jaw, his fingers digging into your skin.

You shivered.

“With you.”

His teeth grazed your neck, making your knees weak.

“Say it again.”

“With you, Marshall.”

His fingers flexed, his breath hitching against your skin. “That’s right,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re mine. And I don’t fucking share.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your entire body heating under the intensity of his stare.

“I don’t want you to.”

Something in his eyes darkened—satisfaction, possession, relief.

And then, he devoured you.

Like he had to remind himself you were real.

Like he had to make sure you never forgot who you belonged to.

---

The air between you was thick—charged with something neither of you had fully put into words yet.

Marshall sat across from you at the kitchen table, his fingers drumming against the wood, his eyes locked onto yours. It was the first time in days that neither of you had been wrapped up in each other—physically, at least.

But emotionally?

You were still tangled.

"You gonna say something, or we just gonna sit here?" His voice was rough, but not unkind.

You exhaled, rolling your coffee cup between your palms. "I don’t know where to start."

His jaw flexed. "Start with why you left this morning without waking me up."

You sighed, looking down. "I wasn’t leaving you, Marshall. I was just taking the kids to school. It’s normal."

"Normal," he repeated, like the word was foreign. "What’s normal about waking up without you?"

Your stomach clenched.

This was different. This wasn’t just love, or passion, or even possession. This was need—raw, unfiltered, all-consuming.

And you felt it too.

That was the problem.

You set your coffee down. "Marshall, what are we doing?"

His fingers stilled against the table. "What do you mean?"

You swallowed. "This. Us. It’s more than before. It’s not just love or attraction. It’s like..." You trailed off, searching for the right words. "Like we’re addicted to each other."

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he leaned forward, his blue eyes burning into yours. "So what?"

Your breath hitched. "So what happens if we lose ourselves in this?"

His gaze darkened. "I want to lose myself in this."

Your heart pounded. "Marshall—"

"I spent years numbing everything," he cut in, his voice sharp. "First with drugs, then with work, then with distractions. I never felt anything like this before. And now? Now I feel everything when I’m with you. I don’t wanna let that go. I can’t."

Tears burned the back of your eyes. Because you understood.

You had spent so much time worrying about losing him—about the darkness that once hovered over him, about the demons he used to drown.

But now?

Now you were the thing keeping him afloat.

And somehow, in the process, you had started drowning in him too.

You reached across the table, gripping his hand. "I don’t want to let go either. But we have to make sure we don’t lose ourselves in the process."

His fingers tightened around yours, like he was afraid to loosen his grip.

"Tell me what you need," he said, voice rough. "Tell me how to keep you."

Your chest ached.

"You already have me, Marshall."

His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. But his fingers stayed locked around yours, his grip still firm.

Like he needed the constant reminder that you were real.

That you weren’t going anywhere.

And maybe—maybe you needed it too.

---

You were standing at the stove, flipping pancakes, when your daughter’s voice cut through the peaceful hum of the morning.

“Mommy, what’s that?”

You glanced down, confused—until you followed her little finger, pointing at the faint bruise just above your collarbone.

Your stomach dropped.

Marshall, who had been leaning against the counter nursing his coffee, went rigid.

Your son barely looked up from his cereal, but your daughter, ever curious, tilted her head. “Did you get a boo-boo?”

You forced a smile, quickly pulling the neckline of your sweater up. “It’s nothing, baby.”

Marshall cleared his throat, setting his mug down with a little too much force. “You finished eating?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

She nodded.

“Then go grab your shoes. I’ll drive you and your brother to school today.”

She hopped down from the chair, skipping toward the front door, completely unaware of the way the air thickened the second she left the room.

You turned off the stove, gripping the edge of the counter.

Marshall ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Because the truth was, you both knew this was getting out of hand.

The past few weeks had been intense. The lines between passion, need, and possession had blurred so much that neither of you had stopped to think about the world outside your bubble.

Not until your daughter pointed it out.

Marshall sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We need to get our shit together.”

You nodded, turning to face him. “We need some boundaries.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. He didn’t like that word. Boundaries meant space. Boundaries meant control.

But he also knew you were right.

“Like what?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“For starters, we can’t—” You gestured vaguely to your neck. “Leave marks where the kids can see.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Fine.”

You hesitated before adding, “And we can’t let this... thing between us get in the way of normal life.”

His gaze darkened. “Define normal.”

You sighed. “Marshall, I love you, but we can’t keep disappearing into each other every time we get the chance. The kids notice when we’re not present.”

His jaw tensed. “I am present.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But it’s different now. We’re different now. And we need to make sure this thing we have doesn’t take over everything.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, he stepped closer, boxing you against the counter, his hands gripping the edge on either side of you. His blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with a hunger that hadn’t faded—not even a little.

“You want me to stop needing you like this?”

Your breath hitched.

“No,” you admitted. “I just want us to find balance.”

His fingers flexed against the counter. “Balance,” he echoed, like the word didn’t quite make sense to him.

You reached up, cupping his face. “We can have both, Marshall. We can be parents and be this.”

His eyes searched yours, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Finally, he exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Okay,” he murmured.

And you knew it wouldn’t be easy.

But it was a start.

---

[somethings-are-meant-tobe]

Caught in the Act

Setting: The Bunker, post-Purgatory, Season 8

--‐-------------------------------‐------------------

Dean had always been good at sneaking around. Lying, deflecting, covering his tracks—hell, it was practically second nature. But keeping this a secret? That was a whole different game.

Cas had been back from Purgatory for a while now, and somewhere between whispered confessions, stolen touches, and nights tangled together in sheets, they’d stopped pretending they weren’t something more. But Sam didn’t know.

And Dean wasn’t ready for him to.

Which is why this was so, so bad.

The door to Dean’s room wasn’t locked. Rookie mistake. One second, Dean had Cas pressed against the wall, fingers tangled in his trench coat, lips mapping out the familiar curve of his jaw—then—

“What the hell?!”

Dean practically threw himself away from Cas. Sam stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.

Dean scrambled for an explanation. “Uh—this isn’t— I mean, we were just—”

Cas, of course, was completely unbothered. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam blinked. “Cas. Dean.” His gaze flickered between them. Dean could feel the heat crawling up his neck.

There was an awkward beat of silence before Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. You know what? I’m gonna leave before I learn more than I need to. But we’re talking about this.”

He turned and walked out, muttering something about bleach and eye soap.

Dean groaned, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Well, that was—”

“Unfortunate?” Cas offered.

“I was gonna say a disaster,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his face. “Damn it, man, I wasn’t ready to— I mean, I wanted to tell him, but—”

Cas sat beside him, placing a steady hand over Dean’s. “You were scared.”

Dean exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Cas squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

A few hours later, Dean found himself pacing the library while Sam leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Look, man,” Dean started, running a hand through his hair. “I— It’s not like I planned this, alright? It just... happened.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Dean, you think I’m mad? I’m not. I’m just surprised. I mean—you and Cas?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah.”

Cas stepped forward, his presence grounding. “I care for Dean deeply, Sam. This isn’t something either of us take lightly.”

Dean finally met Sam’s gaze. “I get if it’s weird for you, but... this is real. He’s real. And I don’t wanna hide it anymore.”

Sam let out a slow breath before breaking into a small, knowing smile. “Dude. I’ve literally been waiting for you to figure this out for years.”

Dean blinked. “Wait. What?”

Cas tilted his head. “Sam is perceptive.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You knew?”

Sam chuckled. “Dean, you’re about as subtle as a wrecking ball. I just didn’t think you knew.”

Dean huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, ain’t that just great.”

Sam smirked. “You happy?”

Dean glanced at Cas, who was watching him with that quiet, unwavering devotion that still took his breath away. He reached out, curling his fingers around Cas’s.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I am.”

Sam grinned. “Good.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder before heading for the door. “Now, if you two are gonna keep making out in my home, at least have the decency to lock the damn door next time.”

Dean groaned. Cas merely smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt light.

[dumbgoondog]

From GN!AFAB!Reader, Choco on caramel and coffee in a white bowl!!! For Yujjiiiii x3

Curse!Yuji Sundae

Chocolate on caramel and coffee, in a white bowl. GN!AFAB!Reader. Cursed Spirit AU where reader is kidnapped and being owned by Curse!Yuji, and you two are about to get it on for the first time.

Cw/Tw - Kidnapping. Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, blood, dub con, non human D, unprotected p in v, slight breeding kink mention, toxic, Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

Started out as thoughts and then kinda became a fic, oops. Curse!Yuji is making me rethink the Yuji alphabet, so I might redo that.

Yuji, who despite everything, couldn’t stand the thought of a moment without you. Even if you began to hate him, he needed you to see him. He wanted to take care of you.

Yuji, who said nothing to his grand uncle and snuck out to collect you. The way you struggled but were so warm against him and he was holding you for the first time too! His heart felt like it would explode from his chest.

Yuji, taking you back to the web, and bringing you to his burrow and room, making a web shackle and locking you in with him.

Yuji, not knowing what to do from here so he just sits and stares watching you panic and struggle the way the blood that made a shallow pool in the bottom of the room sloshes around you. Yuji who listens to your every plea and shout of anger, noting how you flip between them so drastically but Yuji never responds.

Yuji sits there for hours, watching you ride out the adrenaline, struggling and trying everything you can to get freedom. Yuji watches you cry and beg and Yuji can’t help but feel mesmerized.

Finally you pass out. Yuji doesn’t understand, well actually he does, he’s just in denial about it right now. Maybe he could ask someone else for advice?

Yuji who leaves after putting a blanket over you to go find someone… Sukuna maybe? What about Mahito? Choso?

Yuji who definitely starts to feel the guilt kick in and starts getting stuff to make you food and other comforting things.

Yuji who’s waiting in the dark corner of his room when you wake and scared the shit out of you.

Yuji who puts his lower hands up his eyes widening and he begins to ramble, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I have to! I won’t hurt you, I promise! Please I’m so sorry, please don’t yell!”

Yuji who’s trying so hard to convince you that he’s your friend that you both can be such good friends, that he got you new clothes and food!

Yuji who’s honestly really excited to dress you up in clothes he picked out.

Yuji who lets you panic and struggle against your shackles but he’s patient and you’re still so tired.

Yuji who comes forward with your food but stops as you tell him to stay away from you, so he continues to try and console you, “I promise I won’t eat you! I’m trying to help you! I got you food and clothes! I’m sorry I know this is scary but trust me! I’m your friend!”

—

Yuji who’s had you for a nearly a year now.

Sukuna has finally met you now, Mahito, Choso, and the others know about you too now! Though they haven’t met you because Yuji is just a bit protective and possessive.

Yuji who’s gained enough trust now to give you your food and bring you gifts. He’s a bit worried you might try to escape with the gifts though…

Yuji got you a pool float bed, so that you don’t have to sit and lay in the blood of his room. Yuji loves watch you Bob around on it as you sleep your ankle lightly tugging you back to the corner so you don’t just float all around the room.

Yuji also got a dresser for all of your clothes he’s been getting you, and he’s even asked which ones you like the most so he can get more of that style.

Yuji who when you’re in a good mood gets to talk to you! If he’s not careful though some topics will remind you of things and you get sad and clam up.

Yuji who even got you to start calling him by his name! And recently every time you say it his heart flutters and he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you.

Yuji also loves that sometimes you’ll sleep deep enough that he can come over and brush your hair as you sleep. Yuji loves that so much, it’s so wholesome and domestic that he forgets you two aren’t together.

Yuji who has started jerking off to you as you sleep and his pathetic little whimpers and apologetic pleas. Once you woke up and pretended to sleep to listen to him. Never once has he touched you or cum on you during it though. He always sits in his web in the corner.

Yuji who after he does that, every time without fail, brings you gifts. Your favorite snacks, a new book, new clothes, something to decorate your corner, anything.

Yuji who doesn’t know that you’ve been beating yourself up because you have slowly been growing to LIKE him. Your captor. The MONSTER, holding you captive for how long now? A few months? A year? You can’t tell time in here.

Yuji who’s noticed that you’ve been flipping back and forth between being open with him and hostile like the beginning and he doesn’t understand WHY.

Yuji who despite your flippant behavior is still being as sweet as possible and offers to finally take you to see the neighborhood… as long as you wear cuffs one side on you and the other to him.

Yuji who’s surprised when you say no, and ask for a clock. Who is he to deny you though? Yuji just wants you to be happy here with him.

—

Yuji didn’t mean to walk in on you but he’s frozen watching you. Your fingers slipping between wet folds playing with your clit and tugging it slightly before sliding down to your entrance to tease. The breathy sounds, the whimpers, he wanted to paint a picture because how could something so amazing exist?

The way your body shook and twitched, at such light touches, the noises that spilled from your lips the chimes of the heavens. How you laid on your side legs pulled to your chest, a hand snaked between your thighs playing with those pretty puffy wet folds, the creamy arousal dripping from you. The icing on the cake, the big sweater you’re holding, HIS sweater.

Yuji wants to move to get a better view, to come closer to you, to touch even! His legs won’t move though, and every word is caught in his throat. There’s a tightness in his pants that makes him squeeze his eyes shut from how hard he was getting just watching you.

You on the other hand, huff and pant having given up over a month ago on holding onto dignity. You knew it was your brain becoming victim to Stockholm, trying to help you make best of the situation, but at the same time could you not be delusional and enjoy this for your own sanity? So what if it was delusional, maybe things could get better, become healthy even!

For now though, you chase pleasure, his moans from lonesome nights guiding you in your fingers dance through draperies to your home. You imagine his embrace, hands touching along you so sweetly, nervously even. His whimpers against you and how his hands would feel against you, and pushing into you.

You gasp finally slipping a finger in, lips quivering from what felt like hours of teasing, a sweet song singing from them, “a-ah~! Yuji!”

Yuji straightens. He heard you, correctly right? You just moaned HIS name right?

He swallows a hand moving to his pants tugging them down just enough to free his cock. He bites his lip holding back a whimper as he twitches and takes himself into his hand pulling back the foreskin and starting to stroke his length as it twists and curls around his fist.

He’s trying to match your pace, and as much as your fingers go in the same amount he strokes of himself. You’re whimpering trying to pick up the pace, that high so far but so close if you can just find the right rope to climb. Both of you coming more undone the more you both touch and languish in the pleasures of the body.

Finally Yuji can’t hold back a gasp, and you jolt to cover yourself and hide the sweater. He jolts as well seeing you jerk up and see him, much like you he’s trying to cover himself and you’re both stammering for words. Finally he speaks up, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to peep or perv on you- I got back early and you said my name- you looked so lovely- I’m so sorry-“

“No no- I- Yuji-“ you stammer embarrassed flushed, and sweaty. You were getting so close but now you had a chance for something better. Swallowing you glance down and murmur, “Please… please help me finish, Yuji.”

Yuji snaps his gaze back to you eyes widening and he opens his mouth just to close it again. Almost to excitedly, he’s pushing into the blood and wading through to get to your pool float. You sit up a bit startled by how quickly he’s moving but relax a bit when he stops at the edge waiting for your permission first.

You nod and he crawls on moving to loom over you, you glance down eye widening seeing the tentacle writhing between your legs. It’s slightly glowing with a wine color and dripping pre- blood? You’re not sure. The tip reaches down and licks up your folds with a shaky nervousness.

Both of you shudder, and you reach up to push him off getting a small surprised and sad noise from the curse. You push him onto his back and Yuji’s eyes widen as you straddle him rubbing his length between your folds. Both of his hands fly to your hips and his tip curls around your clit squeezing and rubbing it.

Again you both tremble in pleasure but you lift your hips and his eager length follows with the tip tracing to your entrance. You roll your hips teasing him in, giving shaky breaths and he’s squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise his chest rising and falling with very quick breaths. You push down more and more and he’s shaking choking on the pleasure, you can tell he’s holding back but how long will that last?

Not long is the answer, because once he reaches full hilt inside of you he’s lifting your hips up and bringing them down to meet his again midway. You gasp and squeeze in pleasure and slight pain, still relishing in the full feeling of him inside you, but he’s to eager. His hips are smacking up into you feverishly, he’s panting and moaning as you lean over gasping, “Y-yuujjii~! Slow! Slow down!”

“C-can’t! You feel too good! So wet, so tight-“ Yuji pants thrusting and squeezing at your ass trying to milk you for all of your noises and the lovely creaminess of your cunt. You both are still riding the pleasure from the solo so it’s not taking much for both of you to get back to the high again. Yuji’s second set of arms wrap around you and pull you in tight as he starts kissing up your neck, “Fuck- I feel- I feel so good, please- please I wanna cum in you so badly!”

You gasp at the words, the kisses, his warm embrace- and cum hard. Squeezing and fluttering you cry out in pleasure and he gasp milking your orgasm until he can’t hold it in. He pulls out and you can feel his length squirm and rut up against your ass as thick hot ropes of cum spurt onto your back.

Finally you both are twitching and panting, sticky and messy. You close your eyes, deciding to ignore any talks that would need to be had or things to think about for now focusing on rest. Which Yuji is happy for because you’re falling asleep on top of him, and he can protect you so good like this.

[sitkowski]

punish || part one

one || i want to know what it feels like

pairing: incubus!jolly x f!reader cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ (for this chapter) allusions to mind manipulations, murder, oral sex (f!receiving), overstimulation. word count: 1.8k author's notes: okay and we're off! this one is gonna be a wild ride and it's my first multi chaptered fic in a while. chapter title comes from "onanist" by ethel cain, divider by @saradika-graphics.

⇉ masterpost || punish masterpost || playlist || taglist signups

There is a very attractive boy at the bar with silver hair that keeps looking Jolly’s way. He’s been sitting in a booth in the back for hours now, people watching. He’s selective about his meals, not about their gender. He can look at a person and see how well they will feed him, how they will taste. Some will last him a week, others mere hours. It’s been hundreds of years, more than he cares to recount now, but he still feels that rush of picking out the perfect meal, seeing the desperation in their eyes as they offer him everything they have.

Incubus. Sleep demon. Devil. Nightmare. He’s heard them all and he’s embraced what he is. He hasn’t felt remorse about the things that he has done to survive in a very long time. Lack of humanity, lack of conscience, call it what you will. He likes to think of it as surviving. If that means picking off a few club kids here and there to satiate his appetite for this evening, then so be it. It’s all food to him; emotions, sexual energy, the act itself. He isn’t fond of taking people against their will very often, and there are plenty of willing people who just need a little nudge in the right direction.

As he passes through the crowd to reach the bar, he siphons a little bit of sexual energy as he goes; a touch here, a glance there. The place is crowded, and so many bodies pressed together leave Jolly feeling high almost. Humans are very predictable and Jolly is a little vain, if he’s being honest with himself. He uses the fact that he is attractive to his advantage, like now as he approaches the bar and leans against it, giving that silver haired boy his most charming smile.

A little nudge.

It’s easy enough to lead him outside to his demise. The mouth of the alley behind the bar is dark and Jolly backs him into a corner, lowering his mouth just inches from his. He wonders what he looks like to this boy, if he can see through the human glamour he’s come to consider his skin. Jolly reaches up, dragging his fingers over his cheek, watching them lengthen against his pale flesh.

“You’re a fine meal indeed,” he whispers, and the boy’s mouth curves into a smile.

“Thank you.”

“No,” Jolly’s voice grows deeper and he presses one of those nails into the boy’s neck. Blood wells around the wound and he pulls it back to lick it away from his fingers. He tastes like iron and ripe fruit. “Thank you.”

The boy trembles in his arms as the poison takes hold, and Jolly honestly loves this part. Watching the life force, the soul and the tastiest part of a human, be exhaled like smoke that he leans in to take into himself as if he were shotgunning a cigarette. He takes it greedily and the boy doesn’t struggle. The poison doesn’t allow it, something Jolly’s always been a little grateful for. Not because he doesn’t like to inflict pain but because it makes it easier to get away with leaving the poor boy’s body in the alley to be found at a later time.

His hands twitch as he steps back to make sure that he left the boy hidden as well as looking somewhat comfortable. If it weren’t for the blood soaking into his pale blue shirt, the poor soul would just look as if he were sleeping. He’s fed one hunger but there’s always another waiting for him. Sometimes he combines the two, and sometimes he’ll only pick someone up to either be a meal, or to warm a spot in his bed for a while and they get to leave with their lives in the morning.

Jolly makes his way back into the bar, looking for a meal of another kind.

It seems like the most cliche thing in the world; your friends have abandoned you at the bar, and you find yourself having a conversation with a guy that leads to more drinks and more conversation and sitting close to one another like you’re in the middle of a meet cute romcom movie. But the two of you have been talking for over an hour, and maybe you’re imagining the connection you feel. A spark, or whatever. The way he makes you feel as if you’re the only person at this bar.

You don’t question bringing him home with you.

At least you remembered to get his first name. Joakim—call me Jolly, everyone does—is a perfect gentleman on the short walk from the bar to your tiny apartment. He drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders and he walks closer to the street, keeping his hand on your lower back the whole way. Maybe you should feel nervous, bringing a gorgeous stranger back to your place. You did tell your friends you weren’t leaving alone, but that was the most you did.

There's a brief moment where you think you've made a mistake, but then Jolly's touching you, hands warm as they brush against the skin beneath your top while he backs you up against your apartment door to kiss you. You immediately feel breathless with want and you bring your arms up around his shoulders, rising up on your tiptoes as he pulls you hard against his body. Only the sound of his jacket hitting the floor with a slap draws you away, and you shakily pick it up and shove it into his hands before you dig through your purse, sighing as he presses himself against your back. 

You can feel him hard against you through the fabric of your skirt and you manage to get the door unlocked, reaching back to fist a hand in his shirt and yank him inside. Immediately he's on you again, fingers sliding into your hair to cup the back of your neck and push you into the nearest wall. Your hands clutch his face, and you can feel how hot his skin is, he's almost burning up. You’ve never felt this needy for someone before, and maybe you should be more concerned.

He grasps your chin, pushing your head back to lick a line under your jaw and drag his teeth over your pulse point. Your panties are instantly soaked just from a little bit of kissing, and you let your head fall back against the wall as he clenches his fingers harder in the hair at the nape of your neck.

When Jolly lifts his head to look into your eyes, your breath hitches in your chest. He looks inhuman, eyes nearly black and his hair hanging in his face. The corner of his mouth tilts upward and he steps back swiftly, so fast you almost slide down the wall.

“Why don’t you show me where your bedroom is, beautiful?”

His words pull at something low in your stomach and you nod, trying to step away from the wall. Before you can make it very far, he’s pulling you back, and kissing you breathless again. You fall into his chest, whimpering and trying to pull him down the short hallway at the same time. At first, he’s unmovable, but he eventually relents and you lead him into your bedroom. He doesn’t bother to look around at anything. It doesn’t really bother you. Not when his hands slide beneath your sweater and he tugs it over your head, throwing it aside. He lowers the cups of  your bra, stroking your nipples leisurely with his thumb while he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. Your eyes track the movement greedily, unable to voice how much you want him. The idea of speaking right now is entirely lost on you. Finally, you reach behind yourself to undo the hooks, pulling the fabric away and dropping it by your feet

Jolly sinks down to his knees in front of you, and you watch raptly as he reaches up beneath your skirt to pull your underwear down your thighs. They get caught around your boots and he helps you out of them, clenching the fabric in his fist for a moment before he brings it up to his face and presses his nose into the balled up lace. Your skin flushes at the sight and he looks up at you before he tosses them onto your growing pile of clothes.

"Do you know what I want to do to you? I want to worship every inch of your skin, I want to make you scream. I want to eat you alive."

You nod, and he keeps staring at you until you realize that he wants you to actually give him permission to touch you further. “Yes, please.”

His fingers trail up and down your thighs, each pass lighting your skin on fire. You realize that he’s not looking at your face, he’s watching as your wetness is starting to run down your inner thigh. It doesn’t really register how turned on you actually are, until he stands up fluidly and tells you to get out of the rest of your clothes. He doesn’t take off his own, and this should strike you as odd, but it doesn’t.

The second he buries his face between your thighs, you come, sudden and sharp. Jolly doesn't stop, licking you through it. Your hands come down to grasp the back of his head, twisting into the strands and tugging hard. He growls against your cunt and you feel the vibrations of it, your entire body trembling in pleasure as your thighs tighten helplessly around his head. He's already dragging you towards your second orgasm, tongue flicking over your clit before he wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches off the bed and you choke out a sobbing moan as he brings you over the edge again.

Your eyes widen as Jolly begins to lick at you again, and you want to tell him to stop, that it's too much, but your words die in your throat. You're practically riding his face as you come a third time, grabbing a pillow to pull over your face to muffle your screams so your neighbors don't hear.

When he finally lets you breathe, your hips are still twitching and tears are in your eyes. His mouth trails softly up your stomach, over the side of your breast and he plucks the pillow from your hands. His face is wet with your arousal and he looks smug. You finally find the sense to reach between your bodies to get to the front of his pants, but he grabs your wrist.

“This was just for you,” he assures you, voice coming out rough. “And maybe it gives me an excuse to see you again.”

It sounds so reasonable, even though you had thought this was going to be nothing more than a one night stand. When you walk him to the door a short time later, he says he’s going to call you but you don’t get your hopes up.

You’re probably never going to see him again.

⇉ taglist

@ladyveronikawrites @circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @dominuslunae @rumoured-whispers @cookiesupplier @kinseysucks @collapsedglasshouses @thatchickwiththecamera @th4t-em0-k1d @blackveilomens @illmakeyousaywow

@malice-ov-mercy @itsjustforce @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @collidewiththesavannah @sorrowsofsilence @fadingangelwisp @wonh0z @xxrainstorm @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @kait16xo

if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[lillaydee]

Shhh!!! Part 8

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove @liciafonseca

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 7

Joel froze. He didn’t say anything back to Tommy. You were weirded out by the silence, so you turned around and gave Tommy a beaming smile yourself, asking him what you could get for him.

“Oh, I’m just here to get the coffee that changed my brother’s mind about fancy coffee. He seemed content with crappy coffee all his life until he had yours,” Tommy smirked at Joel, whose face had now turned bright red.

“Oh, you must be Sarah and Ellie’s Uncle Tommy! It’s nice to finally meet you! They talk about you all the time!” you held out your hand for him to shake, and he took it, kissing the tips of your fingers gently as he confirmed his identity. You didn’t see Joel’s jaw clench watching his brother easily flirt with you.

“Let me just get your order. You Millers must have an iron stomach! Six shots of espressos are no light feat!”

You turned around and immediately began preparing his order, completely unaware of the silent argument going on between the two siblings. Joel keyed in the price of an americano with the extra espresso shots, holding the reader out aggressively, stopping just before it hit the younger man squarely in the nose for him to pay.

“It’s okay, Joel, it’s on the house. Maybe he can wipe tables for a few hours,” you joked.

“Nah, he has places to be, he’s a busy guy, right Tommy?” Joel widened his eyes at his brother, though his stiff body posture visibly softened at your gentle tone.

“Actually, I could use a change of pace. Sure, I can wipe tables, you got a rag?” Tommy’s smirk widened as his brother’s face turned an oddly darker shade of beet. Joel tossed a rag to his face, signalling for him to move aside so he could serve the next customer.

“Best leave them to it,” Bill’s voice chimed in, “Not enough space in the truck for all of us,” he said, pulling a chair and sitting down himself, gesturing for Tommy to sit with him.

Tommy took a sip of the coffee you handed to him as soon as he sat down. He offered Bill a hand to shake, “Tommy, I’m Joel’s brother,” he said.

“I know who you are, I know who your brother is. Seen you on that show,” Bill grumbled. “You guys do a good job,” he said, “Been doing DIY all my life. You know what you’re talking about.”

“I hope so,” Tommy said, eyes watching Joel smile more than he ever had outside of his family time. “Learnt everything we know from our old man. Sure wish he was still around to see us, you know? We grew up lacking, he worked so hard for us, and I think our biggest regret, both mine and Joel’s, is that our parents didn’t live long enough to enjoy our success,” Tommy held his head down, fingers fiddling with the strap on his watch.

Bill nodded, eye softening a bit hearing Tommy talk about his late Papa.

The two chatted a bit, Bill learning how Tommy and Joel knew you, and Tommy learning a little bit about your family. The man was not as much of a grump as he seemed to be, Tommy found, actually reminded him of Joel a lot. It was clear how much Bill loved you, cared about you.

After a while, the two stopped chatting, eyes fixed on the truck, both you and Joel working seamlessly together. Tommy felt as if he was watching some sort of a TV show where the hero resembled his older brother, except this guy was smiling way too much.

“Is Lily seeing anyone?” he chanced a question at Bill.

Bill glared at him for a second, as if deciding if the question was intrusive, but ultimately deciding it wasn’t, seeing where the man was coming from. He had been wondering about this Joel guy since he appeared this morning, clocking his shy body language whenever you were near him. And as for you, there was something he saw in your smile when you saw him that morning. Being in the service industry, you had a smile at the ready, one you used for everyone, a generic smile you turned on effortlessly. But your real smile, you saved for a select few people in your life. The one you gave this Joel guy was definitely the second one. More so, in fact. Extremely genuine, but you didn’t hug the man or kiss him hello. You were usually very physical with people you deemed your friends. So the fact that you served this man your genuine smile, but refrained from touching him told him something.

“Who are you asking for?” Bill asked Tommy instead of answering.

Tommy laughed, “Just curious, is all,” he deflected, still watching his brother laugh with you in the truck, glancing at Bill, who was also watching the scene unfold. “Known that guy all my life, never seen him smile and laugh like that with anyone who is not his immediate family,” he told Bill, who raised an eyebrow at him.

The guy from the next truck came by, talked to you about something, and you beckoned to your uncle, who hurried over to see you. Joel came out, his own coffee cup in his hands, sitting down himself.

“You know, this is good coffee,” Tommy seemingly conceded, taking another sip from his cup. Joel nodded, couldn’t help himself from agreeing with his brother, eyes closing once more at the warm, bitter, sweet liquid warming his insides.

“But it’s strange,” Tommy continued, “It’s good, but I didn’t close my eyes as if my world was put right again after a sip. I’m wondering if it’s not the coffee… but the person who brewed it instead,” he finished, his eyes twinkling.

Joel’s head snapped around, checking if you heard Tommy’s accusation. But try as he might to retort, he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything. He could feel his cheeks turn red as his younger brother’s grin got wider and wider.

“Oh man, I’m right, aren’t I?” he smacked his brother in the shoulder. “What are you waiting for? Ask her out!”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “She’s a friend, Tommy. She’s the girls’ friend. I can’t risk ruining their friendships.”

“The way the girls kept talking about her at the cabin? I think they know. And what’s more, I know they approve.”

Joel hung his head, hands playing with his cup. He looked at the truck, seeing you and your uncle arrange the order that Tony’s brother put in. He had volunteered to help, but the order was urgent, so Bill would do a faster job, seeing as he was a lot more used to helping compared to him. The guy could actually use the machine and make fancy coffee with you.

“It’s not about that, Tommy. I’m not ready for that kind of thing. I don’t know if I even have it in me anymore. You want me to reel some unlucky lady into a relationship when I don’t know if I can do that? I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s just cruel.”

Tommy wanted to say more but decided not to. He didn’t want to push Joel into anything like this, knowing his aversion to having a romantic relationship. He had tried. Oh Lord, how he tried. But Joel was a stubborn man. And perhaps, his love for Laura was too great, maybe he was afraid of losing again. Tommy had no idea what it was like to lose a wife, to become a single dad at 22, heck, he didn’t even know Laura that well. He was in the army when Joel met Laura. He met her maybe five times, but it was clear to him that Joel was besotted with her. And when she died, it was as if his ability to love another woman, aside from their Mama and Sarah, and later Ellie, died with her. Joel refused to even talk about her. It hurt too much, perhaps. Maybe Laura was the great love in his life and he would spend his life mourning her. And everyone around him just had to make peace with that.

But then, what he saw this past week, and especially this morning, made him think there was hope yet for his brother. His girls definitely were hoping he would find someone. Both of them seemed to make their life plans around him, not wanting him to be alone. And what Ellie kept insisting happened over the two weeks before Sarah came home was not her imagination after all. He had only seen Joel with you for a little over an hour, and already, his big brother was the happy man he knew before his wife passed. More so, in fact. He seemed light, relaxed, happy.

His Mama used to voice her worries for Joel before she passed. Joel was quiet after Laura. He had an inkling that his Mama knew more than she let on, but she never told him anything. She was so worried he would just end up alone forever, and the last thing she wanted was for her oldest boy to be lonely. And then there was Sarah, she worried for her, wanting her to grow up with a female presence in her life other than a grandmother. But any time either of them suggested a set up or him going out more to meet new women, they were either met with silence, straight out rejection, or in Tommy’s case, hostility.

Tommy knew he was not one to talk. He hadn’t exactly had a serious relationship in years. He realized that he and Maria were a new development, but now that he’d met her, he also knew that he didn’t want to even imagine a life without her in it. And he wanted his brother to have that too.

But how could he help Joel, when the man himself didn’t want to be helped?

A couple of weeks went by, and before they knew it, the meetings for the shoots over the next season had begun. The new episodes shot over the past year was edited and ready to go for airing, and Joel found himself dragging his feet to get to work. The prospect of another year of this, as determined as he may be that it was the final one, was too much to bear for him. Another year of long work hours, another year of being away from his girls. The idea that he would have to be away from home more than he would have liked hurt him.

Sarah was home, loving her internship so much she came home every single day with stories to tell. Ellie finished her summer course, enjoying the last couple of weeks of her summer holiday. He was positively sulking at the idea that he might need to leave the house before he could send Ellie to school and come back home after the girls were asleep, missing Sarah’s stories and Ellie’s homework time. Given how busy his schedule would be, he might even be away on weekends, so movie nights with the girls and Tommy might be a thing they had to forego for a while too. Even the thought of what was coming made his heart feel heavy.

But what weighed his heart down even further was the fact that Ellie would no longer be attending the classes at the rec centre. There would be no excuse for him to see you in the mornings. For the coffee, obviously. He had no idea how he was going to go back to bad coffee on set when he had been indulging in that luxurious cup he had been having for the past few weeks.

Of course, the idea that he wouldn’t be seeing you every day for the next year was something he wasn’t looking forward to either, but that was neither here nor there, surely?

He had learnt more about you from your time together, seamlessly chatting whenever the truck had a breather from customers. You even taught him to make his own espresso shots. He actually managed to make a simple latte and an americano for a couple of customers when you went to get something from Tony. But for his special cup of coffee, his payment for helping you out in the mornings, you had always indulged him. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He stayed once Ellie came out of class, wiping tables, joking around with you and Ellie, only going home when you close for the day. Heck, he had the free time, and spending time with Ellie as she earned her first cheques was something he wouldn’t miss. Ellie got quite good at making coffee, despite hating the stuff. She even managed a decent cup of cappuccino a few times, complete with the foamy art thing at the top. He couldn’t get the look of happiness that graced his little girl’s face every time she succeeded, and the proud smile and hug you gave her stayed in his head.

He couldn’t deny the influence you had on his girls. He knew Ellie spoke to you about things she didn’t dare tell him, private stuff, perhaps, and watching her interact with you brought warmth to his heart. He watched as you braided Ellie’s hair in one of those stick to the head braid things, the one he had attempted for years with Sarah but could never get neat enough, when she complained the bits that was not tied in her ponytail kept getting in her face. He was so tempted to take a picture, you sitting in the truck doorway, Ellie between your legs on the steps, smiling and laughing with each other as Ellie told you something that happened in class that day, but if someone knew what a big deal it was to have someone snap a picture of them without consent, it was him. So he didn’t. But the sight was so domestic, so intimate, he wished he had done so. Ellie’s own mother ditched her as if she was yesterday’s garbage and knowing that Ellie had you to turn to made him feel better. Even Sarah wouldn’t shut up about you, even though her time spent with you were now limited to weekends, texting and phone calls. Like Ellie, she had taken to telling you stuff she wouldn’t share with Joel as well, and the fact that you never told him anything showed him they were right to have chosen to tell you in the first place.

He liked you. He knew that. There were days when he was lying in bed looking at your phone number, daring himself to text you. But he didn’t know what to say. Laura was the only woman he had ever allowed himself to be that close to, and his relationship with Laura was… different.

But God, he wished he could find the courage to text you.  

Yesterday, on Ellie’s last day of work, Joel watched as you presented her with her final cheque, giving her a tight hug after, telling her to come over in the evenings if she decided to volunteer at the centre. Though the teenager had plans to do exactly that, Joel could still see she was sad that she wouldn’t be spending so much time with you. She took a selfie with you, silly faces for the photo, you pointing at the cheque in Ellie’s hand with a huge grin on your face.

Then, you turned to him and gave him a brief hug, thanking him for helping you out, telling him not to be a stranger.

Maybe he imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw a glint of sadness in your eyes.

How he wished he had the courage to get a selfie with you too, but given how the two of you met, he didn’t even dare ask.

And he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss your company.  

“Okay, so there is a list of celebrities who had already expressed interest in the charity episodes, more than we need, actually, but those who we couldn’t fit in this season could always be on standby for next season,” Jimmy, one of the co-producers told the team, shuffling a bunch of papers on his desk, passing the list around.

“Next season?” Joel asked, “Didn’t Angela speak to you?”

Jimmy looked at Joel, confusion in his face. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not renewing. This is my final run.”

There were murmurs of confusion going around the room.

Jimmy looked flabbergasted. Tommy kept his head down, but didn’t say anything.

“Well,” Jimmy managed to blurt out, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it then. Moving on…”

“Angela, why hasn’t the team been informed about this being my final year?” Joel barked as he walked into Angela’s office, Tommy following behind.

Angela rolled her eyes, “Are we really back here?” she asked, her arms crossed on her chest as the brothers stood in front of her desk.

“I wasn’t kidding. I am not renewing. I was very clear about this.”

Angela opened her desk drawer, taking two envelopes out, depositing one in front of each brother. “Have a look, gentlemen, and tell me you want to decline that offer,” she said, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Tommy picked up the envelope and took out the new contract, shuffling the pages for a bit before settling on one page, letting a whistle escape his lips, his expression impressed. Joel didn’t even look at his envelope.

“They tripled our pay,” Tommy said. Joel still didn’t budge.

“Tell me I didn’t do you justice. Haven’t I always taken care of you two?” Angela cooed.

“I don’t care about the money. I am done. I’m not signing,” Joel reiterated, turning around to leave.

“Tommy, knock some sense into your brother here, please. Imagine what you can do with that kind of money!” Angela told Tommy, exasperated at Joel’s stubbornness.

Tommy didn’t speak. He closed up the contract and placed it back in the envelope. He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head a little before letting the envelope fall on her desk.

“I’m not renewing either.”

Joel stopped in his tracks, his head snapping around to face his brother.

“What?” Angela gasped, her face now devoid of any colour, despite the layers of make-up on it.

“I’m with Joel. I’m not renewing. I’m done. One more year and then I stop,” Tommy cooly replied, hands in his pockets.

“If the amount is not enough…”

“It’s not about the money, Angela. We’re just… done.”

Tommy turned around and joined his brother, asking him if he was interested in having a drink at his place, which Joel happily accepted.

They spent the evening drinking by Tommy’s pool, taking advantage of the final couple of weeks of vacation time they had, Joel letting loose for the first time in a long time. He felt free. Tommy wanted to retire too. One less person to fight over this decision he had made. Their phones were blaring with texts and missed calls from the agent, so much so, they had to set her tone to silent.

“So, you and Maria…?” he tried.

Tommy nodded, “Yeah…” he wiped his face with his hand, happiness written all over his features. “She’s great, Joel. She makes me happy.”

“Angela knows?”

“Fuck no. She’s gonna make it a thing. Publicity, all that. I’m not putting Maria through all that. And you know what she’s like, she’ll whip up an NDA before I finish telling her about it.”

Joel shook his head, annoyance clear across his features.

Tommy raised his eyebrows at that, pouring another shot of whiskey for the both of them.

“You two… uh… still…?” he tentatively asked, worried Joel might not be drunk enough to share.

“Nah, stopped that like… a couple months before i officially adopted Ellie?”

“Can I ask why?”

“She’s changed,” Joel said, sipping his whiskey, taking the fuzzy slippers Tommy gave him to wear in the backyard off, lying down fully on the pool chair. “You remember what she was like when we first met her?”

Tommy nodded. Of course he remembered. Angela, the sweet, fresh faced, innocent young girl who just landed a job at the agency. The two of them were among her first few clients. They were more friends than agent/clients back then, all of them starting out, still learning the business.

Somewhere along the way though, she changed. Obsessed with money, even going so far as marrying someone she didn’t love just because he was rich. The man was a known playboy, notorious for openly having a new young girl in his arms on a weekly basis. As she got older, she began to worry his interest was waning, so she took it upon herself to look younger, keep his interests alive, all in the name of living a luxurious life. It was no secret she didn’t love him, only his money. She had lovers on the side for herself, not that her husband ever cared. He stayed with her because of her Hollywood connections, good for business, you know?  

Unfortunately for her, the man matured, fell in love for real, retired, and divorced her for the love of his life. And because of the prenup she signed, she didn’t get much in the divorce. She herself had become successful by then, so she went back to her single life, with plenty of money and a list of men she could call should she ever get… lonely.

She and Joel were friends for a long time, with benefits, of course. But he was always the man he was now, someone who refused to commit. The arrangement lasted until she got married, and resumed for a bit after she got divorced, only to stop completely when Ellie came into the picture. Joel didn’t like the way she tried to influence his decisions on Ellie, realizing that his formerly kind friend had changed. Everything became a question of image, and of course, money.

Joel just couldn’t find it in himself to ever be involved with someone like her. If not for the contract he signed, he would have said goodbye to her the moment she suggested having Ellie in his life was going to ruin his image. But now, he had one year left of this contract. He was not renewing, and Tommy was by his side. He had to stick with this for one more year, and then he’ll be free of her.

“What are you gonna do when the year is up?” Tommy asked.

“Ellie still has to finish school, after that, we’ll see,” Joel shrugged, giving Tommy his glass for a top up.

“Don’t punch me, but… will Lily be part of that life?” he smirked at his brother.

To his shock, his brother smiled, so widely, and blushed.

Oh, the drinks had gotten to him, Tommy thought.

Joel closed his eyes, laid his head back on the chair, a silly grin on his face, looking just the way Tommy imagined he himself did when the revelation about Maria came forth.

“God I hope so,” Joel heard himself say.

Shit. Stop talking.

“I like her, Tommy, I really do.”

Fuck, what the fuck was wrong with him? Stop talking!

“She’s so sweet, and kind, and funny, and smart, and she’s so nice to the girls, they love her, and she makes the best coffee in the world!” he exclaimed, gesturing to show how big the world was with his arms, spilling whiskey on himself.

Fuck it felt good to finally say it out loud.

Fuck, did he say it out loud?

He sat up, Tommy grinning at him like that cat from that book. Was it a cat?

“Maybe I should stop drinking, huh?” he feebly said.

“Fuck, no! I want to hear this!” Tommy teased, taking the glass from his brother and giving him water instead. “So we were right, you do like her?”

Joel hid his face in his hands, nodding.

“So tell her! What are you waiting for?”

Joel took his hands off his face, frowning a little.

“I don’t think she likes me like that,” he pouted, lying back down, arms over his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Joel sat back up, looking a bit forlorn now.

“She hates celebrities. We’ve been mean to her all her life. One stole her boyfriend. And I yelled at her. I fucking yelled at her, Tommy!”

Tommy wanted to laugh. When was the last time Joel was this relaxed? But this was the most he had ever gotten out of his brother, and he wasn’t going to let such an opportunity pass by.

“Well, maybe when you retire, you could ask her out. Technically, you wouldn’t be a celebrity anymore then, right?”

Joel’s eyes went wide, “Yeah, you’re right! I could ask her out then! I need to text her and tell her,” he slurred, fishing his phone out of his pocket, squinting a little at the screen when the brightness hit his eyes, deciding then he shouldn’t text you right away.

“Okay, let’s call Sarah huh? Have her pick you up? You’re in no shape to drive.”

“It’s just down the street, Tommy. I’ll be fine. I’ll walk.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you can walk a straight line to the bathroom, brother, let alone to your place. It’s a very long street.”

Joel laughed, standing up, swaying slightly. He downed the bottle of water Tommy gave him, going to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face, smiling to himself. He felt lighter. He may have been loopy, but he knew he was telling Tommy the truth. He liked you. and it felt good to finally say it out loud.

“Hey Joel,” Tommy called out as he struggled to put his boots back on, “I want you and the girls to meet Maria.”

Joel nodded, happy to see his brother happy.

“Friday night? That sushi place?”

“It’s a date,” Joel said, squinting his eyes a little as Sarah’s headlights shone in his eyes. Ellie came out and went into the back seat, waving at Tommy as she did so.

“Hey, since it’s a date,” Tommy said, walking to the car with his brother, “Why don’t you ask Lily to join us?” He bent down to Sarah’s open window, “What do you think, girls? Do you think we should invite Lily to join us for dinner with Maria?”

The squeals the girls let out made Joel’s efforts to bend himself into the mini much more difficult, but his heart was soaring at the idea that his girls were that excited at the prospect of having you join them for dinner.

As he laid in bed that night, hoping to God his first hangover in years wouldn’t be too harsh, he took a deep breath and held his phone in his hands, the texting app at the ready. Might as well do it now while liquid courage was still in his system.

You placed the recycling in the bin, running a little as you went back to your apartment. The summer heat was still very much evident, even at night time, and you couldn’t wait to get back in the comfort of your AC. You were fishing for your keys in your pocket when Lucy tapped you on your shoulder, a meek smile on her face, a sponge cake in her outstretched hands.

“I need to apologize,” she said, a cringe accompanying the apology.

You felt bad for her, so you beckoned her inside, even cutting her a slice of the cake.

“I want to say sorry,” she began, “That day, I was hungover, I had a terrible first date the night before, and seeing Joel here…” she sighed, shame across her features.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, really… if you’re worried I would say anything, I…”

Lucy held her hand up, “No, Lily, I was rude to you. And I’m pretty sure I said some really bad stuff about him too. I just… I feel like I need to set the story straight.”

You nodded, letting her go on.

“See, I think I made him sound like some jerk or something. He really isn’t, Lily, there’s a reason I’m so bitter, after all,” she said, head hung a little, ashamed of herself.

“He’s a great guy. I dare even say that he’s the most gentlemanly man I have ever met. So polite, so gentle, so considerate. Compared to his brother, who, by all means was a great guy himself, Joel was just… on a different level, you know? I crushed hard on him. Everything I just said about him is true, and he’s good looking, humble, and a great dad to his kid to boot? Oh, I was in love with him before he even knew my name!”

You smiled, knowing that she was right. Joel was a great dad. You’ve seen him with his kids, they clearly loved each other a lot. And aside from his tantrums at the beginning, you knew him to be a great guy too. Everything she said about him was true.

“And the thing I said about his… bedroom… skills…” she added, carefully choosing her words, “I think his… lacking… was more due to the fact that he didn’t want intimacy, rather than his lack of a gift or talent, if you know what I mean…” she narrowed her eyes at you, head going down a little, as if trying to get you to read her mind.

Your head lowered with hers, face scrunched up, confused by her words.

“He’s packing, honey. Very much so,” Lucy blurted out.

Oh. Oh…

“So, he didn’t really need to try that hard, if you get my meaning,” she added, rather conspiratorially.

Uh… sure, whatever you say dear.

“So, when he reconfirmed the fact that he didn’t want more, I was heartbroken. He was perfect, he was actually a great guy, back then, at least. And he didn’t want me and couldn’t have made it clearer. I think if he tried to make it any clearer, he would have seriously injured himself. I couldn’t stay there and see him every day. It’s like being a diabetic in a candy store, and the shop owner wouldn’t let you buy any,” she sulked a little at her own words, making you snort.

She saw the way you were refraining from laughing and laughed herself. You burst into laughter, Lucy laughing harder than you at herself.

“So, I came to ‘warn’ you because I was jealous. I didn’t mean any of it,” she said, looking genuinely sorry for putting you in that position. “There’s a reason all his ‘exes’ are still on good terms with him, you know. He’s a great guy. Just… emotionally stunted, is all. And they all handled the NDA thing much better than I ever did,” she continued, taking another bite of the sponge cake.

“What about the NDA?” you couldn’t help asking. For someone who didn’t really bother with the gossip columns growing up, you were really curious.

“Ah,” she said, taking another slice of cake. “See, as I understand it, at least, the way it was explained to me before we, you know… had that experience in his office, he only made sure the NDAs go to people who were not deemed his ‘serious romantic partners’. Only his ‘friends with benefits’ receive them. And so far, most of those he slept with were given one, so when his agent gave me one, I knew right away that I was never ever going to be ‘the one’ for him,” she explained, taking another bite of the cake. “Damn, this cake is good.”

“Most? Did he ever not give anyone one?” you heard yourself ask, almost slapping yourself for even asking. Why did you need to know? You’re not interested, right?

Lucy nodded frantically, and you felt your heart drop further and further down every time her head dropped down. “One lady contractor, she was in that show on TLC a while back? Tess, I think? Yeah, Tess. They were seen together a lot, and there were rumours that they were an item. From what I heard, she didn’t have to sign one. They broke up when she moved to Texas.”

Okay, you shouldn’t listen to this anymore. So you changed the subject, asking her where she got the cake instead.

Before she left, she turned around and took you by the hand, making you promise her that you wouldn’t use her words back then against Joel. You gave her a disbelieving laugh, “Honey, I’m not with Joel. He’s a friend.”

“Okay, uhuh… sure… cause we all look at our friends the way you guys looked at each other that morning,” she smirked.

“Lucy, there was no look, I was just thanking him for helping me out,” you insisted, feeling your face and neck get hotter as you did.

“Lily, honey,” she said, “I may be a delusional, inconsiderate, untalented bitch who made you suffer through my horrendous singing at one point, and I was definitely hungover that morning, but I’m not blind. If Joel Miller had looked at you the way he would a friend that morning, I would not have come barging in here trying to make him seem like a limp-dicked, selfish man whore,” her eye brows were raised so high, her lips in a mocking pout at you, her hands rubbing your arms soothingly, as if she was sorry you were too thick to understand what was going on that morning.

With that, she took your face in her hands, pinched your cheeks and bid you goodnight.

You laid in bed unable to sleep, wondering what the hell to do with the information Lucy just gave you. You could not deny what she said back then did give you pause about Joel.

Sure, you liked him. He’s nice. Funny, even, when no one else was looking.

And okay, if you squint, he may even pass as okay looking.

Oh, who the fuck were you kidding? He’s totally hot. So hot you found yourself feeling hot all over every time he looked at you. Like all the heat in your veins just pooled under the outermost layer of your skin. Not to mention the way your heart skipped a beat every time he smiled at you. It’s a wonder you hadn’t toppled over from cardiac arrest at this point.

You looked for him in the morning crowd, and that week he was away…

Your fingers itched to text him. You willed Ellie to send you pictures with him in it. You stared at that photo she sent you of herself, Sarah and Joel with sushi in their mouths. Even at his silliest, he looked dashing. You found out rather early that googling his pictures was pointless, he didn’t smile in any of them, always with that frown on his face. You watched YouTube videos of him from that show, but he didn’t smile there either. You missed his smile when he was away. You kept rereading the text he sent you asking you to teach him how to brew coffee, the only texts between the two of you, aside from the ‘hi’ he sent when he first got your number.

When you said goodbye to Ellie yesterday, you meant it when you said she could still contact you. She’s been telling you things, whenever Joel was out of the truck. Texting you at night and even calling you with Sarah to talk to you about more private stuff. You didn’t mind, of course, but on one such call, he knocked on Ellie’s door and told her she should go to sleep, it’s late, and you heard him say goodnight to her and Sarah.

You couldn’t stop imagining what he was like at home that night, in a more domestic setting. What was he wearing? Did he look as good as he did outside?

After hugging Ellie goodbye, you took a chance and hugged him goodbye too, heart heavy at the thought of not seeing him around as much. You made the mistake of taking a whiff of his shirt as you did.

Fuck, he smelled great. And now you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not that you ever managed to since he started hanging out at the truck.

If what Lucy said back then made you pause on being closer to him, that conversation you just had with her didn’t help either. You could not get him out of your mind. And that comment about his… physique…

Your phone chimed, making you jump.

Joel Miller: Hej

Your heart soared. He texted you. He actually texted you.

Okay, stay cool. Relax. He couldn’t see you.

You: Hei. What are you, Swedish now?

Joel Miller: I might be a bot drink.

You: You don’t say? How can I help you, Mr Miller?

Joel Miller: Yuo frre Frrday?

You: Uh… I’m gonna guess you’re asking if I’m free Friday? I’m working. Why?

Joel Miller: Sorry, fst fingers. Froday night. You free Friday night?

You: I should be.

Joel Miller: Call I kill you?

Joel Miller: Walt. Np.

Joel Miller: No.

Joel Miller calling.

“Hello?” you had to refrain from laughing.

“My fingers are too big to text.”

“I can see that.”

He chuckled. You could hear the slow, lazy drag in his laugh.

Oh yeah, he’s drunk alright.

“I was trying to ask if you would be free for dinner. Friday. With me. The girls, Tommy, and his new girlfriend.”

His voice was so calm, slow, relaxed, every word drawn out. God it made you feel things.

“You sure you want me there? Sounds like a family thing. I don’t want to intrude…”

“You’re not. Please? The girls would really love it if you joined us.”

I would too. Please say yes.  

You were quiet. He lifted his phone off his ear, checking to see of you were still online. You were.

“Hello? You still there?”

“Yeah, I am, I just… are you asking me this cause you’re drunk?”

“No,” he slurred, chuckling. “I’m really asking. I’ll ask you again tomorrow, if you don’t believe me,” he promised.

“Okay, ask me tomorrow.”

“But if I do, would you say yes?”

“We’ll see, Mr Miller.”

“Okay,” he said, unable to control the grin on his face. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Good night Lily, please say yes.”

“Night Joel.”

Part 9

[guzhufuren]

Hey, I've noticed you've been pretty quiet lately and I hope you're doing okay. I know we're not friends or even mutuals so I'm sorry if I'm overstepping by messaging! I hope the world will treat you kindly and that you can find comfort and support if you need it 💕

hi sweetheart wow this is so genuinely nice and kind of you, thank you so much for caring to the point of reaching out

i'm on the way there! i will be okay, hopefully soon. it's not serious, i just had a medium sized break down after receiving a very negative comment on something i made, in mix with a bit of unrelated loneliness and yearning on top of that, plus many many 4am drowsy what-am-i-doing-with-my-life regretful thoughts that i have had in the last months swimming up. like for my unwellness history it's really only about 6 points on the scale where the maximum is 10, so not big. i turned all social apps off but couldn't shake off the distress caused by that one stranger on the internet being unkind to my project, despite knowing they were misunderstanding and were also not in a state to understand at all, so i was kind of confused about what's up with my brain and why it can't move on

and it was a good choice! because after being only with myself without any internet distractions for the first time in years, figured out in just a day that mood swings have been back for a while, over one month at least (so anger issues weren't totally Yunho's fault actually bless him), some other parts of mental health worsened too

got a grip on myself, went to my doctor, got back on meds, now i'm sleepy every minute of waking hours while my body is getting used to them again, but it's gonna be fine. received advice on how to write a mood log, turns out very helpful as additional treatment to keep hypomania and anxiety under control. i even started working out, doing memory exercises and preparing my exam notes tentatively, which is so hard and scary, oh my god, but i must. job search is even scarier but i'm working myself up to finding a good one with little, very very very very tiny steps but they are moving

in the first day of self made quarantine i rewatched the queer korean show Love for Love's Sake that cured me from depression for a while and from any possibility of suicidality for a lifetime last year. it didn't work the trick again, because i'm really not living in the best or even just calm psychological environment to let it do its magical healing thing the way it should, but it did give me new clarity and make me intensely cry some shit out, so that was also very nice

accidentally found the best fic ever and it brought me so much very needed comfort in the past week. it's sweet, funny and stress free. like a warm blanket. or a cup of vanilla cocoa that makes your cold toes tingle in winter. or a hug from the love of your life. first atz and woosan fic to enter my hall of all time longfic favourites. very rare honor but it deserves it completely

also found a bunch of bloggers who post videos of the ocean in Thailand, some even stream the beach 24/7. it's so cool, i watch it in the evenings for short periods of time. helps making it bearable to just survive here a little bit longer until i am able leave

i sort of of really like that when i don't spend 12 hours a day on the phone doing mind-numbing scrolling or posting, there is so much free time to do cool stuff? i have kinda felt like i can be back on here for a couple of days, but i still freak out a bit for two reasons. first, that bad comment is still hanging there and it still makes me too upset to open notifications or my own blog page, which is ridiculous but that's how my dumbass unwell-brain-made feelings are. so i will see how that goes away and i get over it like an adult. second, i'm scared to be sucked back in the addiction to the colourful little hellsite app so i usually end up throwing the phone away in panic after 5 minutes of the app being open. maybe i will work up to it more gradually, don't know, let's see how that goes too

thank you again my little treasure, i will happily take that kindness and comfort you offered here as you are a part of the world. and you can message without worrying anytime, no mutualship or officially labelled friendship necessary. i'm very cool with small amount of interactions, just not big on chatting online one on one for long and don't enjoy it super much. and also with how often i see you around we are considered friends for sure. so thank you again for being so sweet i really am so grateful to you for this, one hundred friend hugs in return