#IT WAS ME WHO HE RELIED ON THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME NOT YOU

[cherryblossms]

"you'd really do anything for me, wouldn't you." a realization spoken far too confidently that his tone almost came off as condescending but that wasn't his intent, it was more a statement made as garam was truly coming to terms with just how deeply angel felt for him. something as, seemingly, small and insignificant as reheating his fries or even ordering more felt more impactful than it should have. it was the small acts of service that really mattered to garam, he didn't need grand gestures to feel significant to somebody. something as meaningly as reheating food, he saw it as the other still going out of their way to appease him — probably because those were the kinds of things he'd do to show his love and affection towards somebody important to him. he'd notice the small things like their food sitting untouched for too long and immediately take it upon himself to reheat it. it was a bit foolish to find such comfort in something so meaningless and garam knew it but he was so accustomed to not receiving love in the more traditional sense that he took whatever he could get. garam visibly shivered as angel's hand moved along his spine. "if i didn't want the same, i wouldn't be sitting here like this. i wouldn't have gotten into that bath... i wouldn't have suggested going to a hotel." well, maybe that last one was a bit of a lie. sure, garam wanted someone nice and private for the two of them to be alone together but it wasn't the sole reason he offered up the idea. that would be so the both of them could be safe, so they wouldn't have to stay up the whole night worrying what axel might try to do or who he might send over to do his bidding, so they wouldn't have to rely on alcohol to relax and get a good night's sleep. "you're allowed to be greedy with me, i've already told you you could do whatever you wanted to me." granted, he was intoxicated the first time he made the proposition but, as they say, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. and if there was a time where he felt unsafe or uncomfortable, he would be vocal about it. garam knew so much about him except when it came to this avenue, he really wanted to learn more by experience. "you're not him," he whispered as he shook his head, "i know i'm safe with you." when angel made the proposition of his fries or riding him, garam paused as if he actually needed to take a moment to choose, as if it wasn't obvious what he truly wanted right now. a hand rested against the center of angel's chest, applying the smallest amount of pressure as he whispered, "lay down." and as soon as he listened, garam scooted back just enough to reveal angel's cock between his own legs. as his fingers wrapped around the man's shaft and began stroking slowly, garam scanned his way up angel's body until their eyes met. "you know, nobody's ever made me come like that before." garam couldn't outright say that angel had hit that one little spot that drove him wild, he was far too diffident to put it out into detail. "you didn't even have to touch me," he added as he lifted himself up onto his knees again, aligning the head of angel's cock with his hole before slowly lowering himself. garam's jaw dropped, eyes shutting tight once again as inch after inch entered his cavity. he was already stretched out and prepared to take angel once again but it still caused him pain. "fuck," he spat out, dropping his head forward as both hands moved to rest on angel's chest to steady himself now. he'd barely taken in half of angel's length and he already felt like it was too much to endure in this position. "i might need a little help."

Angel’s eyes darkened the moment Garam’s lips parted to take his fingers into his mouth. His breath caught, quiet but sharp, as he watched the way Garam’s tongue dragged slowly over his skin—deliberate, slow, sinful. A low sound curled in Angel’s throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl. He always saw Garam as his cute innocent friend who had a feisty personality when pushed too far. But this side him of was doing things to Angel in the best possible way. His mind wandered to his online life. How he could see himself pleasuring Garam for all of his followers to see. His Garam. His. “Fuck Garam,” Angel murmured, voice husky now, a smooth contrast to the teasing sharpness of his earlier words. His thumb dragged along Garam’s cheek, reverent, and then he laughed, soft and incredulous. “My fries are going to get cold,” he mimicked with exaggerated pouty lips, leaning forward so their noses bumped. “You really think I’m going to let you walk around complaining about sore thighs and cold food when I’m right here and perfectly capable of reheating both?” His hands slid slowly over Garam’s hips again, this time with more pressure, more intent. He didn’t push Garam down or forward, not yet—he just held him there, grounding them both. His tone softened at the edges again, a quiet sort of seriousness threading into it. “Baby,” Angel said, tipping Garam’s chin so their eyes met fully again. “Ill order more fries if you want fresh ones. If its too much tell me to stop. Hit my chest if you need to. I don't want to make you nervous, I just-” He let out a breath and smirked. “I just get greedy when it comes to you.” Angel looked at him—like he was seeing all of Garam, the hunger and hesitation, the blush and the boldness, the way he fought to speak his truth even when his voice trembled. And it mattered. Every little bit of it mattered to Angel. “How about this, Safe words. I like the light method. Red means I stop. Yellow means a slowdown and Green…well green means I fuck your pretty hole until you ask me to stop” He leaned in, kissing the corner of Garam’s mouth, not quite taking the full kiss, just ghosting there. “But if I’m being honest… yeah, I want to wreck you .” The smirk was back, but the heat in his gaze made it clear this wasn’t just talk. “Not just to make you cum—though believe me, I will—but because I want you to feel it tomorrow. I want you to wake up and remember exactly how good I made you feel.” A hand slipped up Garam’s back, fingers tracing along the spine with practiced ease, coaxing, tempting. “But only if you want it,” Angel added. “Only if you feel safe with me.”Because it wasn’t just about desire. It was about the trust Garam was slowly, carefully placing in his hands. About knowing this wasn’t just about release, it was about connection—intimate and deep in the ways that scared Angel the most.Then, Angel leaned back slightly, letting Garam decide how much space they’d leave between them. “You can have your fries now,” he teased lightly. “Or you can ride me until you forget your own name. Totally your call, sweetheart.” He winked, shameless and bold, even as one of his hands snuck down to Garam’s ass again like it had a mind of its own. “Just don’t blame me when you can’t sit right tomorrow.” If Angel had it his way Garam would forget about the fries and fall asleep when he was done with him.

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[a-bucket-in-the-void]

i keep having dreams that would make like really good stories but i’m not sure what to do with them

[lunar-fey]

warning for uh general cop shittiness and transphobia

okay so my client is pretty much always watching like cop shows. actually i think its vids on a youtube channel its like all bodycam and dashcam footage and like. its Bad to begin with. like genuinely awful and upsetting and i actually do not know how anyone capable of feeling empathy (this is not a moral judgement i do not experience empathy.) could watch it and not come out with the opinion that cops are exclusively awful people who ruin lives.

but maybe worse than any of the screaming and crying and injuring people for Literally Just Existing to me. is the fact that EVERY SINGLE TIME the cops see "a man dressed as a woman" they automatically assume the person is cis male who is a prostitute. there have been at LEAST two def trans women that ive seen over the months and both times the cops were questioning her like. so youre a man right? you wear those clothes to prostitute? why would you do that? "because im a woman" "so its a hobby? youre a prostitute? youre fully a man?" like. HELLO. the hate for trans women is so real and i love every trans woman and will kiss them on the mouth if they would like.

[rafeslvbug]

rafe helping maybank!reader after an encounter with luke…

your sobbing into your brother’s shirt, burying your bloody face into him while his bruised arms hold you. he should’ve been there. should’ve come faster. should’ve helped you.

luke’s gone now, leaving behind the stench of alcohol and disappointment, jj scared him off. now, it was you two, and he needed help. he couldn’t do this alone, and as much as he hated it : he needed rafe.

his fingers dialled rafe’s number over the phone. it hung up. he tossed the phone onto the floor, grappling around for yours, the one rafe got you for your birthday, equipped with all that fancy face id stuff too. but that wouldn’t work while you were in this state. so he tapped in the passcode - rafe wouldn’t hang up on you.

and thankfully, he was right.

rafe picked up on the first ring. “hey baby?” his voice spoke through the phone, and jj held you tighter, holding the phone up to his ear.

“not her rafe, you need to come over,” he says, trying to keep his voice as steady as he can, ignoring every ache in his body.

“jj– why the fuck d’you have her phone?”

“not now asshole, get over here, she’s beaten, badly, if you care about her i– she needs your help,” he sighs, unsure if he’s annoyed or relieved that for once in his life, jj isn’t the person you need, or can solely rely on.

rafe hangs up after a firm, “coming.” the car that pulls up, looks incredibly out of place on the cut, but jj doesn’t question it. he knows it’s rafe.

getting up, he supports you against the couch, heading to the door and opening it for rafe who doesn’t even spare him a glance, pushing past to you. jj says nothing, looks back at you sorrowfully, knows rafe has got it handled and mutters, “i’ve gotta take care of somethin’, you okay with her?”

“always,” rafe nods, listening to the click of jj shutting the door.

then he’s knelt in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face to see the bruises blooming across your cheek, the blood running from the corner of your mouth and your red eyes. “holy..baby d’you need to get to a hospital?” he asks concerned, cupping your cheeks gently, trying not to press down on your injuries.

only managing a shake of your head, unable to speak through the sobs bubbling at your throat, rafe pulls you in, arms wrapping around your huddled form and tucking you under his chest. rafe softly rocks you, pressing kisses into your hair until you’ve settled and the sobs you unleashed have been subsided.

it’s safe, in his arms. a type of safety you’ve never felt unless with the pogues, but this is far more intimate. you could fall asleep here, live in the comfort of him, his gentle words and reassurances.

before you know it, he’s carefully lifting you into his arms, carrying you to the car and settling you in. he drives slow, careful even though he wants to speed and get to tannyhill as fast as he can. when he does get there, he makes a beeline for his bedroom, helping you to wash off after you feel better. his arms support you, fingers lingering over each and every bruise, across your stomach and arms, the blood running down you.

he helps you change into his hoodie and sweatpants, tucking you into his bed even if it’s broad daylight. you’re not going to move from there if he can say anything about it. having refrained from pushing you to speak this whole time, he now sat next to you, stroking back your hair and murmuring, “baby..you okay to talk?”

sniffling, you nod, “yeah.”

“how d’you feel? does it still hurt?”

“mhm,” you hum.

rafe’s brows pinch together, being able to do nothing other than you bring you into his arms again, delicately kissing the bruise across your cheek.

“don’t go back there again.”

he says it so simply. whispered into your hair, like an order over a suggestion. don’t go back, as if it was that easy.

“stay with me,” he murmurs, down heartened when you shake your head against him.

“i can’t.”

“why not?” he pulls back an inch to see your face properly, the tears already beginning to pool at your eyes which he quickly brushes away.

“i couldn’t leave jj an–“

“jj’s got john b. he stays there most the time, you said it yourself once. just stay with me, you’re safer here.”

you sink your teeth into your lip, holding back tears and trembles. “i’ll talk to jj first,” you whisper, and rafe nods, before pressing a kiss to your head and muttering something about leaving to get medicine and food.

when he was gone, you stared at the ceiling of his room, buried in his blankets and as much as you don’t want to leave jj, you don’t want to leave this bed either.

[lily-bisque]

✦ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎toji knows how to hit you where it hurts ﾉ hurt/mild comfort, suggestive content 3k words

A heavy, black mood settled in your living room, with you standing on one side of the couch, and Toji on the other. A wicked snarl painted his face as he leaned forward, making him nearly unrecognizable from the man you knew, the man you loved, mouth contorting as he spat venom in your direction. 

He’d been coming home wasted after his shifts recently. Kicking his shoes off in the foyer, stumbling and shedding his clothing right in the kitchen, and collapsing in your shared bed without even a word to you.

Worried as you were, you’d asked him about it after the first couple of nights, but you’d only been met with mutters and huffs, asking you to lay off him.

So you did. Allowed him to process whatever it was he needed to. When it came to his occupation, he never let you in much. Never gave you the details of his missions or showed if it affected him. He liked to keep his work and personal life separate.

But now that carefully drawn border was blurring, Toji teetering on the precipice of the straining overload that was beginning to consume his every waking thought.

Even with you, he couldn’t seem to escape it.

Instead, he stopped at the bar for a drink, which turned into a couple, which turned into a concerning amount where the waitstaff kicked him out routinely from how intoxicated he was and causing a scene.

You didn’t have to know about the brutal nature of his job, he preferred it like that.

In spite of that, you began to nag and itch at him for every fucking thing. Asking too many questions for your own good, and lingering with that pitiful expression that made his skin crawl.

He could barely look at you.

And now you were cowering, fingers twitching at your side as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Saying how you couldn’t recognize him anymore.

It made him sick.

But, in truth, deep down, in the grotesque depths of his gut, twisting in shame and contrite, he couldn’t recognize himself either.

He’d wash his hands of sticky, still warm blood in some cheap motel, wringing his compression shirt of any evidence before staring at himself in the mirror for hours. He wasn’t quite sure who was staring back at him.

At some point in his wrath, he’d lost himself.

And he was beginning to lose you, too.

So why delay the inevitable?

“You stick ‘round me ‘cause I’m your new charity case,” he slurred out with malice, eyes red-rimmed as he gripped the headrest of the couch until his knuckles paled. “You pity me. I fuckin’ see it every morning when I wake up, and every night.”

You scowled, a fresh set of tears flowing down your heated cheeks. “So you’re saying all the time I’ve spent loving you was because… because–” You threw your hands into the air, chest heaving as you swallowed a thick lump akin to a rock in your throat, body rigid and shoulders tensed. “That this was all because I felt bad for you?”

Your pinched face and frigid features unlike your soft demeanor made his body run cold despite the rising heat in the room. But Toji was conscientious. He left no ends untied. He always finished what he started, even if it killed him to do so in the act.

“Or to feed that savior complex of yours. You see anything broken, you’d crawl to the depths of hell to mend it,” he asserted, eyes narrowing like slits as he gave you a once-over short of nothing offended, repulsed. 

But he wasn’t done, not yet. He took a sharp inhale, hoping his knees would buckle and the world would swallow him whole before his misplaced anger spoke for him.

“Easy for your consciousness to make you forget just how screwed your life’s always been.”

The nail in the coffin. 

Your body went stiff as cardboard, breath hitching as your blurry eyes went wide.

Fushiguro Toji, the sole person in your life you knew you could rely on after all of these years, used the one thing he knew to hurt you. To slide the knife deeper.

You’d always been fragile when it came to your shaky upbringing, and you’d only opened up to him when you felt vulnerable with him and knew for a fact he wouldn’t judge you for your past.

And he hadn’t. He’d held you in his arms, whispering and muttering endearments and praises of just how strong you’d been despite it all. Initially, he even felt empathy as he could relate. You were one of the few people he could relate to in that sense.

Yet somewhere along the way, his mind had become such a muddled mess of his emotions. He was no longer rational. He couldn’t see straight.

But Toji emanated no regret, no remorse, not a sliver of empathy. He just stood there, his body stock, still save for his heaving chest, a prominent, smug grin on his mouth, like he was fucking proud of himself.

Your breaths quickened, the edges of your vision darkening as a horrible sense of dread washed over you.

You needed to get out of here.

Looking back, you couldn’t remember much, how you scrambled to shove your things into a small duffel bag and the loud sobs that left your lips as you did so.

You didn’t remember to grab your toothbrush or any underwear.

Didn’t grab a single photo to keep with you.

All you could make out of that night was the way Toji didn’t move from where he stood. He was like a statue, feet planted in stone behind the couch, imbued in the very ground below him. Not sparing even a glance in your direction.

He became a ghost in his own home.

You didn’t care that it was freezing outside. Nothing could rival the icy chill in your bones.

Didn’t care that the motel that you checked into probably scammed you in your frantic state.

Didn’t bother changing out of your clothing littered with your tears and snot.

Didn’t bother sliding beneath the blanket, the itchy linen would do nothing of comfort for you now.

You just curled up, a pillow in your arms as your eyes became dry wells, empty and staring blankly ahead.

There were some things with Toji you could forgive, like his spending habits or snarky attitude, but this was too simply too much.

You knew his words had now torn the already frayed edges of your psyche. You were inconsolable, and left to mend the shattered pieces of yourself all on your own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You weren’t sure how many days you’d now spent at the motel. In truth, you didn’t care if it drained your savings.

There was nowhere else for you to stay, no second home you could go to to get back on your feet. You’d managed to leave your personal documents back at your place with Toji, but you’d be damned if you took a step inside of there right now, a home haunted by memories with the person you thought you’d be buried beside.

So you went to work. A bleary job at the convenience store around the corner. Selling cheap cigarettes, gum, beer and gas for hours on end. Mind mushed and eyes puffy and blank as you punched something into the screen you weren’t quite registering.

Small talk was stifling, like a vice to your throat. 

You felt like you’d been submerged in ice water–your head just beneath the surface as everything dulled to a murmur, your body settled in a consistent, stabbing chill. You were slowly suffocating, the one thing that made it easy to breathe now wrapped around your ankle and tugging you deeper.

You took on extra shifts, terrified to go back to the motel alone and stare at the wall, nothing to distract you from the ache in your chest.

Your manager asked if you were alright after eyeing your withered state. You gave them feigned reassurance and a smile that hurt your cheeks.

Your appetite was practically nonexistent. You’d pick at the reheated pasta you attempted to shove down your throat the previous night before tossing it out.

Sleep was of no evasion–restless nights spent tossing and turning, sweat like a second skin, as you replayed moments and were unsure if you’d made them up or if they were true.

You began to shuffle through life, enduring one day after another as they blended depressingly into each other, a montage of gloomy moments strung together.

Until something out of the ordinary fizzled into your reality–your detached mind wasn’t quite sure if you were dreaming or not. An issue you’d become familiar with as of late.

You ignored it, walking past it without a second glance and shut the motel door behind you before dragging your heavy limbs towards the shower.

But then there it was again. Same place, but it looked different, new clothing.

You squinted your eyes, clearing your hoarse throat, then stared blankly ahead at your door before stepping in your room and locking the door.

Then, on the third day, they walked towards you and wrapped a firm, familiar hand around your wrist and pulled you towards them. You couldn’t make it out, their voice muffled as you were still in the depths of that lake, before your vision cleared and you deciphered their face.

Your heart rate quickened as your eyes went owly, pulling away from his grip. But he held fast, still speaking but you weren’t hearing a word of it. Like a Chinese finger trap, each wringing movement only made him tighten his grasp.

“Let go,” you coughed out, mouth desert dry as you hadn’t had a lick of water in days. You were too weak to free yourself from his unrelenting grip from days of not taking care of yourself.

His forearms that looked to be cut from marble, flexed when he saw how you trembled in his grasp, bile tasting on his tongue as he made it known to himself exactly whose fault it was that made you like this.

You were unrecognizable, that gleam in your eyes he’d seen when he first met you, the fire in your eyes snuffed out.

You fought against him, strangled shouts of demanding he release you, face coiled in anger with something fractured just simmering beneath the surface, your cries broken and shrill.

He couldn’t meet your eyes, nor could you meet his.

He averted his gaze, his composure faltering by each passing second, his tongue a thick wad of muscle resting in his mouth. He was far too ashamed to utter anything to you.

The sky was now tempestuous, a deep and dark grey that held heavy above your heads, mocking the turmoil coiling between the two of you.

Toji was too ashamed of an admission that if he could take it all back, he would. That he desperately needed you, not the other way around. That he’d been pulverised to something he couldn’t recognize in your absence.

That the one thing that remained true was that you didn’t pity him, but he pitied himself to accept such unconditional love. He was so deeply insecure that he pushed away anything when it got too hard, when it began to puncture the bubble of safety he’d wrapped so carefully around himself over the years.

Your fists pounded into his chest, and he wanted to claw at the ache in his chest that seemed to grow with each passing second.

In your flailing state, a man of such formidable strength could easily have subdued you.

But Toji was weak when it came to you–you’d stripped him bare to his smallest, most repulsive layers and still loved him when you held them in your palm.

His teeth gritted against each other each moment he recalled just how spineless he’d been when you were simply reaching out. Toji couldn’t even reach you halfway, no. He sliced any tether that held the two of you together.

But he’d rather meet an early demise than not have you in his life. He was going to work at it, every single day, until he could hold you in his arms as his again. Until he could pepper kisses against the column of your neck in a way that made you squirm, until he could trace the dips and curves along your form, until he could watch the expressions you made as you unraveled beneath him, whining and exposed to your rawest nature as he pushed into you.

Your body began to tremble as you exhausted your efforts, out of breath and muttering cries to yourself under your breath mixed with curses condemning Toji to hell.

Until your tears worked their way up again, your body weakening as you convulsed in his tight hold of your arms. Until you collapsed against his chest.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket, face digging into his chest like you’d done thousands of times before, pleading to Toji something neither of you could understand.

Did you want him to free you from this hellish torment? Spare you from any more of his hurt? Or for him to hold you like his again?

For the first time Toji could count, his hands trembled. They wavered above your back with reluctance. Your tears stained his shirt, wetting the skin beneath and burning him. Reminders that these were tears he caused.

He felt like he couldn’t breath, his lungs stuffed with cotton. His legs were rendered useless as he could barely take a step forward, or backward.

He needed to move. He knew it, he repeated it over and over in his blank-slated mind until he was able to will himself to do so.

The two of you had yet to notice the drops of water that sprinkled onto the pavement, slicking the ground.

With apprehension, his hand brushed against your back, a warmth suddenly heating his palm, calloused from years of strain. He began to question if he even deserved such an act, rendering him foolish as he started to skim his fingers through your hair.

He had been so catty and abrasive with you, pouring anything good he had with you down the drain with a couple sentences of words to hit you where it hurt. 

He tugged his bruised bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the same spot he’d been doing for days. The difference was he tasted copper on his tongue now.

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there, bodies drenched from the rain, hair matted with water, clothing that clung uncomfortably to you.

A hiccup left your lip well after your sobs died down. 

Toji slipped a hand into your pocket, pulling your motel keys from them before lifting you into his arms.

You didn’t fight him this time, resigned to your exhaustion and something else you didn’t want to address.

He kicked the door shut after stepping in, expression sober as he walked straight for the bathroom, not even caring about all of the mud and rainwater he’d tracked in.

He sat you on the counter, then turned the shower faucet on.

You sat limp, nose stuffed and sniffling, skin paled.

He began to undress you carefully, tugging your top over your head and slipping your jeans off along with your panties. He unclasped your soaked bra and tossed it on the pile on the ground, then began to undress himself.

You weren’t entirely focused on all of his movements, something akin to familiarity wrenching in your chest.

He pulled you off of the counter and carried you into the shower before letting you settle on your own two feet.

He grabbed the measly bottle of motel shampoo and began to work it through your hair, the hot temperature he’d always shower with scalding your skin.

You stood there, letting him work the suds off before he began to scrub away at your body.

Toji had always been a rough-handed man, but the way he tended to you so delicately, like you were a prized piece of China he held in his palm, afraid to crack it with his brute, made you nauseous.

You stood there as he cleaned himself off.

The air was steamy and suffocating, a humid temperature billowing before he shut the water off.

The two of you smelled of the same soap.

He wrapped you in an abundance of towels, making sure to wipe away any lingering tears. His feather-light touch made you shiver as he dried you off.

He propped a window open, before making the bed.

Sifting through the cabinets, he found a hairdryer and did his best to figure out how exactly they worked before ruffling it through your hair.

You shut your eyes, for a moment pretending like everything in the world wasn’t wrong when it was starting to feel right.

His meaty fingers attempted to braid your hair back, but it looked disheveled and disarrayed.

You didn’t care.

He lifted you up once again, the both of your bare skins grazing against each other in a matter so intimate you could feel your heart sinking to the depths of your gut.

He lifted the sheets, before laying you down.

Then he laid beside you.

Without a moment of hesitation, like it was second nature, he pulled you against his chest, his bulky arms engulfing you in his large form.

Your breath stilled as his breaths began to pick up, his heartbeat quickening beside your ear.

You felt something wet touch your scalp.

He cradled you like a dove.

And then he began to whisper your name out, heady and abject. His voice was swimming with repentance as it started to crack.

He apologized profusely, in a hushed tone for only you to hear. Swore on you like you were his salvation. In his misery, he beseeched you to curse him, a promise that he’d never forget, whispered in the night.

Nothing was fixed, not right now. You weren’t sure if it ever would be.

You weren’t sure how to describe the gnawing feeling in your gut.

Toji could barely rest without your forgiveness, but for now, this would have to do. Your breaths synced, chests rising and falling in tandem, as slumber took the both of you.

[animamii]

lockedup!Toji calling you out of the blue after a few months of radio silence.

It's a random number, not the Corrections number or anything like that. So honestly, you're confused as hell since you don't give your number out to anybody but friends or family.

"Hello? Who's this?" You ask hesitantly as soon as you pick up.

"It's me, princess. Who else?" His voice is raspy, and you can hear him exhaling like he's smoking.

"Toji??" You already know it's him, no one else's voice has that drawl to it. No one else's voice could make your blood rush like his.

"The one and only, baby." Oh, you could melt at that if you weren't so damn mad and confused.

"This isn't the prison number... Whose phone are you calling from?" You check the number; it has the same area code but it's a regular cell number.

"This is my number. Save it. Preferably under 'daddy' with one of those cute lil emojis you use," he chuckles, and you could just imagine that little side smirk he does.

"You got a cell phone in prison?" Last time you heard from him he was locked up after a small armed robbery.

"Actually, I've been out for two months now," his voice is casual as if he didn't just admit to being fucking free for two whole months now.

"Two months?" Your voice is more incredulous than questioning. "You mean to tell me you've been released for two months?"

"Yup," he gives you a once word response. Ohhhh that just set fire to your ass. Your cheeks are red hot, hand balling into a fist.

"And you're now just calling??" A hand goes to your hip, a scowl on your face which you wish he could see.

"Yeah. I got a new bed, wanted to know if you wanna help me break it in," you just know he has the biggest grin on his face as he so flirtatiously asks you that, not even caring how shocked or mad you are at him.

"What the fuck did you just ask me??" Now you were seeing red.

"I got my own place now. It's in a shitty neighborhood but one of those recidivism reduction programs set me up with a cool lil spot. Got a new bed. Wanted to see if you wanted to break it in with me, if you know what I mean."

"It took you two months to call me, and this is what you ask me??" Another incredulous scoff leaves your lips.

"Hey, I wanted to get back on my feet by myself this time," he spits on the concrete as he leans against the front of his shabby apartment, "Show ya that I can do it on my own. I hate that I always have to rely on you, ya know? Wanted to prove myself, ma," his tone is a little more serious, none of that playful, flirtatious bullshit he always does with you.

A soft exhale leaves your lungs, you were always so empathetic towards Toji, and couldn't help but try to understand where he was coming from. "Fine." You finally say after a beat of silence, "I'll go see you but I'm not breaking in no damn bed, got it?"

"Mmmm got it, princess. Whatever you say," he drawls out in that gravelly tone. He already knows that your thighs are pressed together in excitement. No matter how much you try to pretend you don't want him, that bed is getting broke in.

✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖

Honestlyyy this is based on a conversation I had with my Madre lol one of her coworkers said her baby daddy got out of prison and called her to tell her he got a new bed and that's it. She didn't even know he was released it reminded me of locked up Toji so muchhh. I'm rewriting this as a smut though, so be on the lookout for that soon xoxo love y'all bebecitas

[sl-ut]

the bottom

PART ONE | the line

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel’s new in jackson and tries to take his younger brother’s advice to fit in; keep your head low and work hard. however, while settling into his routine, he does exactly the opposite.

warnings: takes place between season one and two, unspecified age gap (joel is canon age/reader is mentioned to be mid-20s in beginning but the exact amount of time that’s passed is left to the imagination), reader has hair long enough to be braided, reader is a dv survivor, crazy exes, swearing, drinking, slight grumpy x sunshine but reader has layers she’s not just happy all the time, not a whole lot of joel x reader this chapter but it’s coming i swear.

words: 2.4K

date posted: 5/5/25

series masterlist | next part

Joel truly could not have asked for a better deal. He and Ellie were safe within the walls of Jackson, the Fireflies were gone and he’d made sure there was no one left in the hospital to follow them back, he’d found his brother after years apart, and he could finally sleep easy at night. He no longer had to worry about rolling onto his left side throughout the night (though, it was still a habit he’d failed to break when he settled out of survival mode), and he could actually prove to be useful to the community, something he hadn’t exactly shown much of in the past twenty-odd years aside from using brute force. Patrols kept him active, allowing him to maintain at least some of those survival instincts he’d relied on for so long, but it was the internal efforts that he surprisingly enjoyed the most. Plus, Tommy’s advice had seemed easy enough to follow; lay low and work hard. These people are welcoming, but you’ll still have to earn their respect. 

Tommy and a few other men had already been in the process of reinforcing the walls around Jackson when he and Ellie had returned from Salt Lake, and it seemed that they’d been in the process of figuring out some other larger renovations around the city that Tommy had yet to get around to. But now that they had a spare contractor, Joel was able to take over a few projects at a time and the city was being fixed up at twice the pace that they had initially expected and earning Joel that respect quicker than he’d hoped.

Laying low had been pretty easy, too. Joel had earned their respect, sure, but he’d also rather stick to himself whenever he could. He went to work every morning, was friendly enough with the others–but made sure to upkeep his reputation as the town’s resident grump, and spend his evenings either with Ellie, Tommy, or on his own. In the first three weeks since they’d arrived there, he’d made no effort to interact with many of the others outside of work or to trade and only learned the names of no more than two dozen people. 

Maria had finally taken a stand against this, insisting that Tommy and Joel each take the day off of their jobs so that Tommy could show his older brother around the city and properly introduce him to everyone. They’d made their rounds, bringing a list of errands made up by Maria to force them to go into a few places and interact with others, and Joel had been pleasantly surprised that he didn’t absolutely hate all of them–just a handful. 

“See, I told you that you’d get along just fine. Doesn’t matter who they were before they came inside these walls, they got two options; play by our rules or get the fuck out.” Tommy told him as they exited the bakery, each carrying a large brown paper bag in their hands with a selection of baked goods, “These are good people who live here–well, most of ‘em anyway. You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Tommy veered off to the right, headed down a side street at a quick pace. Joel followed behind, brow furrowed as he followed close behind, “Tommy, wha–”

“Hey Elias,” he called out, catching the attention of a tall, wiry man, his shoulder-length hair tied back in a bun at the base of his skull and body holding a slight tremor under the layers of clothing he wore; it all seemed to be nicer than what most wore, leading Joel to assume that he was some sort of higher-up around the place (despite the fact that Jackson had been built on the prospect of communism), “You need something in there, man? Thought you were supposed to be in the clinic today.”

The man turned and glared at Tommy, jaw set as if he had already been expecting the confrontation. He placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the pair of brothers as he shifted one hand to point towards one of the buildings just off of the main street, “That’s my wife in there, Tommy. I’m sick and tired of you people telling me where I can and can’t go around here. It’s none of your goddamn business.”

Tommy rolled his own eyes, “Is she, though? Last I recall, she doesn’t wanna be married to you anymore. So if you’re going in there just to bug her after she, Maria, and myself have told you to stay away, I think it is my business.”

“I’m not fuckin’ buggin’ her, Tommy,” the man sneered, closing the distance between them to shove his finger into his face, “you stop me from goin’ to my fuckin’ house, schedulin’ me on these godawful shifts in the fuckin’ clinic, who the fuck do you think you are?”

Tommy turned his face away in disgust, “Yeah, from the stink of you it would seem you’ve been workin’ hard all day, huh? C’mon man, you smell like you’ve been bathing in booze. Let’s not make a scene here, make it easier on all of us.”

“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?” He turned his gaze down and spat at Tommy’s feet, “thought we were all a bunch of commies now, huh? All of us being equals and whatnot?”

“We’re all equal until one of us lays hands on their wife, Elias. You know that.”

Joel felt a surge of rage through him at this. Initially, he thought that the man had just been a drunk who’d skipped out of work to come and beg for his wife to come back to him, but now there was no denying the fact that the man was nothing more than a dirtbag wife beater. Truthfully, Joel was mostly shocked due to the fact that Tommy would even allow someone like him to even continue staying there. He couldn’t even count the amount of times that Tommy had gotten in trouble for picking a fight with men who even looked at women the wrong way; he could hardly imagine his brother having any sympathy towards a man who actually beat his wife, even if the punishment was an inadvertent death sentence by exiling him from the city. 

“It was none of your fuckin’ business to begin with. If that bitch hadn’t been running around on me then–”

“You and I both know that’s not true, man. She’s a good woman, and she’s made a whole lotta progress since she finally smartened up and left your ass.”

The man curled his lip in anger, but seemed to be backing down from the challenge, “Fuck this. That whore ain’t even worth it.”

He bumped both Tommy and Joel’s shoulders on his way past, but neither of the brothers made an effort to fight back against him, simply just glad that he had willingly left without forcing them to make a scene. Tommy stayed in his place for a moment, hands falling to his hips as he shook his head, finally turning back to his brother with an exasperated yet slightly sheepish expression.

“Do me a favour and keep this between you and me. Others know they’re split up but most don’t know why. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Joel scoffed, “You’re tellin’ me you’ve got good people here, and yet you’re harbourin’ a man who beats his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Tommy corrected, “And it’s not like that. She left him, begged us to let him stay so long as he left her alone.” 

“I don’t know what sounds more fuckin’ stupid, that she wanted him to stay, or that you let him.”

Tommy shook his head, “It’s not just up to me. We’ve got a council, and unless I told ‘em exactly what happened, they’re not willing to give the boot to anyone for just bein’ an asshole, especially when he’s the only fuckin’ doctor we have.”

“Anyone can take the first aid training, Tommy.”

“No, Joel, he’s a surgeon. He was a resident before shit went south, and there’s been a few times where things woulda cost us a lot of good people if it weren’t for him. I can tell you right now that if she came clean about what he–” Tommy paused, taking a short breath to better compose himself, “We’d have a majority vote, and she knows that. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have let him go that night.”

He watched his brother closely; his teeth gritted together, brow furrowed, and eyes wide and glassy. Tommy had clearly been affected by what had transpired between that man–Elias and his wife, so much that he couldn’t even seem to think about it without losing it. Joel grunted in response, nodding his head slowly. 

He couldn’t decide if he would have done the same thing in that situation, but then he thought back to Tommy’s words, I wouldn’t have let him go that night. Tommy had had his own hands on him, probably ready to kill him. Something about the situation made him sober up through the rage and make the decision to let the man go, to let him live. Joel knew he would not have had the same restraint if it had been him instead. 

Over the next few days, he repeatedly cursed himself for not demanding that his brother tell him the woman’s name. He spent the days that followed in a state of constant discomfort, always glancing over his shoulder in public to watch for Elias around town, taking note of where he went, who he spoke to, and to what anyone had to say about him. He’d begun taking on a leadership role around town, people flocked to him for help, following his orders on patrols, and looked to him for answers. He wasn’t the one to make those decisions on his own–hell, his opinions did nothing but occasionally influence the council, but people seemed to trust that he had the town’s best interest at heart. 

He’d been an official patrol captain for all of a week when Tommy met him in the stable early one morning, helping a young woman saddle up a dark chestnut coloured horse. She was bundled up in a thick wool sweater under a long green raincoat and a navy baseball cap over her neatly braided hair, ready to face whatever chill and rain early spring weather would throw their way. 

“Mornin’ old man,” Tommy grinned, turning to nod at the woman next to him, introducing her to his brother, “she’s gonna be joining you on patrol. You know this route by heart now, and she’s only been out a handful of times.”

Joel turned his gaze back over to her, taking in her features. He’d seen her around town before; she seemed to have taken on a new job every day and he could never anticipate when or where he might spot her. They had exchanged smiles and polite greetings as they passed by, just as everyone else did, though they had yet to interact any further. She was the kind of pretty that made him often struggle to pull his gaze away when he spotted her in a crowd, but she was also just young enough that made him feel guilty for it. She couldn’t be any older than her mid-twenties, but like everyone in Jackson, she looked like she had seen her fair share of loss and hardship. 

“Hi,” the woman beamed, holding her hand out to him eagerly, “I may be a rookie but I’m a pretty good shot so I think that makes up for it.” 

Joel shook her hand gingerly, “Yeah, hopefully you won’t gotta put that to use. This route’s usually pretty clear of infected.”

“Great,” she nodded, “because I was lying. I’m just okay.”

Joel scoffed, glancing over at his brother who seemed unfazed by the woman’s behaviour but amused at Joel’s reaction. She was exactly the type of person that Joel worked to avoid; far too peppy and a tendency to ramble. From the moment that they had mounted their horses until the moment that they returned from patrol almost three hours later, she hardly let more than a few moments of silence pass before she would be asking a dozen more questions. But for some odd reason, Joel didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. 

It was sort of nice to have someone actually ask him about his day to day life without pressing too much into his past. He liked that she didn’t feel privy to his life before Jackson aside from asking where he was from and where he lived before Jackson. At some points, he was reminded of Ellie when they were travelling across the country in the way that she was able to come up with and ask such random questions off the top of his head, but it made patrol go by much faster than it usually did. And after, when she strutted off in the direction of the meal hall, he felt a flicker of regret for rejecting her invitation to join her. 

He felt an almost instantaneous connection to the younger woman, but he could not help but notice the line in the sand between developing feelings for the world and feeling like a disgusting older man preying on a younger woman; the line between denying himself of what could lead to happiness he hadn’t felt in decades and throwing himself head first into it. She was kind when she spoke to him, but Joel was not the sort of man to mistake kindness for flirting, but there was some sort of familiarity in her eyes when they met with his own–an understanding, leading to that already thin line growing even thinner. 

But what he hadn’t known at the time was that the moment they had set out on patrol that morning, he had started that dangerous walk along that narrow line, completely unsure of what side he was going to end up on.

[cryptidcasanova]

Charcoal Smudges

Robert "Bob" Reynolds/The Void x Reader

Summary: Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved. 

Warnings: Angst, cannon level violence, mutual pining. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

Words: 5k

I've been foaming at the mouth. Someone sedate me.

The Watchtower was spacious. It was a beacon of hope where the Avengers once stood. But you felt you were drowning.

The missions weren’t going as smoothly as the team had hoped. When it came to news headlines, everybody was catching strays. Everyone was a critic.

Bob may have had a point all along. It did feel like a void.

Your myriad of thoughts was dark, expansive, and all-consuming. You were helping people, sure, but you were tired…not that you would tell anyone. You didn’t push it down the same way Yelena did, nor did you have wild outbursts like John.

But on difficult nights, you would pull out an old tobacco tin from under your bed. Your dad used to make the prettiest charcoal pictures. But you took time to try and recreate his old drawings from memory, and it kept the demons at bay. Sometimes, you kept at it until your eyes burned, until you were slumped over the old sketchbook.

You weren’t any good at it. The lines were too dark, and the pictures were smudged in the wrong places. But you kept trying. The cleaner your hands, the better the day. But some nights were real bad, and the charcoal would dig into your fingerprints and smear across your cheek. What you were trying to scrub away, you wouldn’t name.

On those nights, you could swear the shadows in your room were darker.

You made an effort to participate with the group. You joined in on late-night movies where Alexi was bound to burn the popcorn. You guided Ava through technical documents, relaying the best ways to bypass encrypted files and store copies of data without the risk of frying the system. Even Bob, who was careful and reserved, offered to help pick up the latest take-out order. You would be a monster not to accept his help.

Even with Valentina keeping the group in the spotlight, you preferred the old Buick for late-night errands. You had a hard time breaking out of keeping a low profile. Bob was still skittish. His memory teeter-tottered on a knife’s edge, and even in those uncertain times, you could rely on the careful smiles and quiet observations. Bob was sincere. He was kind.

“Drawing anything good?” he whispered from the passenger seat.

Bob’s eyes flitted to your hands before settling on the old tape player. You took a moment to look at your hand on the steering wheel as you peeled through a green light. You hadn’t had the time to think about washing up before your late-night run. A sad smile stole at your lips.

“I don’t remember,” you offered just as quietly.

And truly, you didn’t. Overwhelmed with the week as a whole, you were blindly drawing lines and sketching in dark spaces. Everyone had their nightmares. Everyone had their battles, and you tried to relax your shoulders. Little drawings couldn’t harm you. You shrugged as you pulled up to the curb.

“Just feeling it out. Maybe one day I’ll have a masterpiece to show you.”

“Oh. R-right, yeah,” Bob muttered.

But you missed the hint of something in his eye as he turned away, his hands tugging at the lap belt. And you missed it again while you handed him the box of fried rice, your fingers brushing against his.

It was a bad night. You remembered dozing off while laying on your belly and drawing on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the midnight snacks and fucked up sleep schedule gave you bad dreams.

Well, not bad dreams. Just one. One dream that made your insides ache. You were lost and in the dark, the pitch black cocooning you. There was no place for light or peace; all you had were your lonely thoughts. You could reach out and touch, but there was nothing there. Your hands were shaking as you clasped them together. There was no point in walking around, no point in calling out. You were alone. Helpless.

Maybe you were meant to be. That thought stayed with you.

You were enveloped in the darkness, fatigue tugging at you even in your dreams. And then, right when you were on the cusp of oblivion, you heard the rustling of fabric.

It was in your head. You were finally losing it. You were all alone-

Until the weight of a cloak dropped around your shoulders.

An empty feeling lingered for days.

Bad guys were busted, justice was served, and you were on autopilot. You offered to hang back on the next mission and thought it would be the perfect time for redecorating. Something to distract yourself.

“You mean, like painting?” Bob asked, stopping his pacing in the kitchen. He had been looking for a box of Wheaties you knew John threw out the night before. “We…we can do that?”

The owlish tilt of his head caught your attention. Your nose scrunched with mild amusement. You had been noticing those little mannerisms of his more and more.

“Hmm?” You hummed, the hint of a question in your tone. “Well, it’s not like anyone can stop us.”

Bob stood there for a moment, almost mumbling under his breath. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

And a lightbulb flashed.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a flicker of color in his cheeks. “Oh, uh, you don’t have to. I mean -”

But your growing smile and unwavering gaze pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Bob finally pushed his hair back, taking a steadying breath.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And that’s how you two ended up comparing paint swatches at the hardware store. Shoulder to shoulder, you debated the fundamental differences between cream and eggshell.

You noticed how Bob kept gravitating to a stormy blue. Funny. It was akin to how his eyes looked after long days of staring out the Watchtower. Not that you had noticed.

But you could see anxiety rippling through him as he looked at the tape, different primers, and finishes on the paint. You could see the compounding impact it had on him in real-time.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he whispered with a frown. “It’s - it’s too much.”

You stepped forward, letting your paint swatches scatter to the ground.

“Hey,” you urged, reaching for his shoulder. “We can just pick a color.” Bob’s shoulders were rounded in, and his head dropped slightly. He was warm, probably warmer still with a sweatshirt on. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

And his eyes danced from one of yours to the other. Oh. And the storm in his eyes was uncanny.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” He repeated at last.

You hummed out a sigh of relief.

“In fact,” you urged, “I hope it’s not perfect. Then we can come back here and try again. It’ll be fun.” You shrugged. Bob thought about it, debating with a question long enough for you to notice his fingers twitching.

“You want to come back here?” he thought. “With me?”

His eyes drifted down to the toothy smile you offered. His look was like you had unlocked some secret treasure. You didn’t hesitate to seize the moment.

“Who else would I invite? Alexi has no taste. He’s been wearing the same red suit for decades.”

Bob huffed out a hint of a laugh at that. You almost forgot about the aching, empty feeling in your chest. A moment of quiet passed between you, glancing down at the stack of swatches covering the ground and the disgruntled sales associate walking your way.

“You good?” You thought to ask.

Your hand was warm-no, he was warm. Noticing you were still holding to him, you let your hand slip down his arm before letting go. You cleared your throat. He watched the movement before taking his own tentative step back.

“Yeah,” he assured. There was a hint of color in his cheeks. “All good.”

Blue paint was speckled all over your clothes. It was on your arms. Hell, it was probably in your hair. And in the quiet, you listened to an album that Bob put on while pushing all his furniture to the middle of the room. It was a trainwreck, an absolute disaster. You should have had supervision. And you were having the best time.

And you two painted in silence, listening to the rock tunes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at some point, but you waved it off.

“I don’t mind,” you hummed, pulling a rogue paint bristle off the wall. “I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.”

And Bob didn’t quite know how to show his appreciation. In his head, it was loud enough already.

That night, you didn’t have to reach for the sticks of charcoal under the bed. There were no demons to keep at bay. Your paint cans lie abandoned in a pile next to the door, with an unspoken promise behind who would help you paint your room.

It was inevitable that your light-night thoughts drifted back to careful eyes and brown curls.

The dream came back.

Dread didn’t tug at the corners of your mind this time. Shame didn’t grab root and drag you into despair. But the darkness was welcome, a quiet, constant companion. This time, you didn’t fear what you couldn’t see. You stood, feet on solid ground, and started walking around in the vast bleakness. At first, your strides were careful. You didn’t know what you would run into. But there was nothing. In the dark, there was nothing. There was nothing to fear.

Silent steps turned brave. Brave strides turned to running, wanting to feel the burn in your lungs. And you ran until - until you couldn’t touch the floor anymore. That, too, was gone, and walking was meaningless. There was no point, no need to waste your stamina.

Were your eyes open? Closed? Did it matter?

You were suspended in nothing. You were nothing.

And…and it was okay. It was alright. There was a tugging feeling even, and you reached out, not expecting something to reach back.

But something did. Fingers entwining with your own, grasping firmly but not too tight. Your eyes searching, but not seeing. And finally, the fall of a breath. Low, quiet even in the dark. Golden eyes peering back at you.

You woke up with your face pressed against the page of the sketchbook. A piece of charcoal was loose in your grasp, your hand darkened with markings. And you felt…well, you felt like you were missing something.

The rasp of a soft knock at your door stole your attention. After a moment, you pulled yourself up, shuffling to the door with a yawn.

“H-hey.” Bob smiled as the door swung open. And a curious expression lingered on his face as he took you in. “Did you just get up?”

“Good morning,” you replied, a sleepy grin on your cheeks. He noted it, his lazy grin threatening to reel you in.

“I was gonna see if you wanted lunch. I making sandwiches. Didn’t know if you like bologna. Uh. Do you?”

You pulled the door open wider, leaning against the frame. Bob’s eyes moved away from you, tilting his head into view of your room.

“I don’t know the last time I’ve had bologna.” You thought, rubbing your eyes. Was it already lunchtime? You couldn’t remember the last time you slept in so late. It felt like you had been hit by a truck.

“Oh, it’s awful,” Bob warned, but it was with a smile. Charming. He was charming. “But I grew up with it, so it’s something of a comfort food…And I might have already made you one.” He admitted, sheepishly pulling one hand through his hair. The other, which had been cleverly hidden behind his back, pulled forward a plate with two sandwiches. “B-but I can come back later, you know. So it’s no big -”

“I’d love one.”

It was quick, more to yourself than to him, but he heard it all the same.

You were more embarrassed to think it was because Bob liked it. He liked it, and he thought of you while making it. Was it getting warm in here? Clearing your throat, you pulled back.

“Come on in,” you offered. “I’ll clean this up,” you put your palms up to show off the crime scene before pointing your thumb toward the bathroom. “And I’ll be right out.”

You stepped away and closer to the bathroom before you could embarrass yourself further. No, no. You were fine. Everything was fine.

But everything was not fine.

Because you couldn’t see the delicate way Bob stepped into your room, his heart fluttering. You didn’t see his hands clench up or watch his eyes scan over the open sketchbook on your bed. And you didn’t see the dark reflection staring back at him, practically jumping off the page. The subtle glow of gold in his eyes wasn’t so subtle now. Something was happening.

And Bob was…well, Bob did what he did best. He panicked.

He was long gone when you turned off the sink and left the bathroom. You let the towel in your hands drop. The only things that remained were the untouched sandwiches and a sketch smeared into nothing.

Little did you know it was the start of something much bigger.

Bob avoided you. Like the plague. He kept to himself and his books. He was talking to himself again.

He ignored you until the others returned, basking in their loud, abrasive attitudes. The ache in your belly only grew as you watched him walk by you, skirting around you while you tried to say hi.

Did you have the heart to confront him? Had you done something wrong?

“Give him time,” Yelena offered one night. “He is like a wet cat now. No use trying to capture him.”

Not that it made you feel any better.

It didn’t help that you knew that everyone else knew. How could they not with your rag-tag bunch? And no one felt qualified enough to intervene.

Bob…he didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t know what to do. He hung around Ava and John more, handling their snarky digs and half-assed attempts at including him because it was easier than admitting he felt something he shouldn’t. He felt something he couldn’t afford.

And you were the collateral damage.

He didn’t mean for it to cause you to throw yourself back into your work. And he didn’t mean for it to get you captured.

“Bob?” Yelena yelled, bursting into his room in the middle of the night. He jumped from a dead sleep, foggy as he came to. “Bob!”

“What’s - is there a fire?” He mumbled with those doe eyes.

Why else would she be so alarmed? He could hear the commotion outside his room, hear the shuffling of gear. What time was it?

“No fire. There’s no fire.” Yelena shushed him, but he was more distraught by the different voices talking over each other in the hall. Something was thrown. “Here, shush. Listen -” She persisted, pulling herself over to him to keep him calm.

But it was too late. Bob heard your name among the ruckus. Your recon mission with Ava fell apart; Ava was the only one who checked in. Something about being outnumbered. Something about being all alone. And that’s all he could hear.

You were all alone.

And he pulled himself up, only for Yelena to push him back down again.

“Hey, hey,” she snapped. “It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna find her.” Her voice was softer.

But Bob knew a lie when he heard one.

“W-where?” He panicked. Adrenaline spiked, his blood turning to ice. “Where are they?”

“What?” Yelena asked harshly.

“Where?”

“The check-in was somewhere outside Vegas-” And her words fell short, not realizing the change in his cadence.

His eyes were...well, she wasn’t looking at Bob anymore. And in a blink, she wasn’t looking at anything anymore.

And all that was left behind was the imprint of a shadow fading into the sheets.

You didn’t think twice about pushing Ghost outside when the sirens went off. Her powers would be useless if she got too close to the noise. But it meant she was locked outside the gated campus, and you were locked inside.

You could still hear the sirens as the door closed in front of you. But Ava had the data, and dammit, you were proud that she was able to collapse their network from the inside. She really was listening to your advice.

The smuggler’s den was crude, but they were tough.  They brought in all kinds of military-grade equipment and gear from outside the states. And you could hear footsteps closing in.

You were locked in. Trapped.

Time to get going.  Leveling your gun, you scoured the hallway for another exit strategy. There were so many rooms, a puzzle of pathways and ventilation tunnels if you could just -

“We’ll smoke her out.”

“No, we need her alive. Get the lights.”

No. Shit -  you took to the closest room when the building went dark. You bashed your thigh against a table and stopped. There were no emergency lights overhead and no red exit signs. This place was definitely not up to code.

But it was familiar to you in its way.

In the dark, you had found bitter solitude and unspeakable fear. You had felt an overwhelming peace and notion of comfort. It was calming, like the strokes of charcoal against the page. Filling in the empty space with shadows.

But now, all you felt was anger. This was different. The darkness was an adversary, and you could hear the clunk of footsteps coming down the hall. In the dark, you were trapped like a mouse in a cage, waiting for the cat - heavily armed smugglers - to strike you down.

Cowards.

You were out in the open. Feeling around blindly, you scowled at the obstacles. Chairs lined a long table, and there were cabinets against the walls. Nothing big enough to climb in. Nowhere to hide. But you kept searching, feeling around. And when you felt another door at your back, you turned the handle before hearing voices at the other end of the room.

“We have a visual -”

And stumbling through the door, you made a blind run for it. And you were frustrated, bashing into more chairs and tripping over your feet.

When footsteps rushed in, you blindly shot out in the direction of the noise before more shots echoed through the room. And your heart ached. You couldn’t go down without a fight, not now. Not against some brutes with shipping data. Not after everything you had done.

Not when this was your idea - when you needed to get as far away from the Watchtower as possible.

Not when - a renegade shot struck your shoulder, reeling you back. You were frantic, emptying your gun into the dark. The bastards.

But even with your aim and your anger, the thugs could see with their night vision goggles. And you couldn’t. You heard it over the roar of your own breathing; one man got too close. You lunged on instinct, rolling around and landing a punch to his throat, feral for escape, before being pulled off.

“No!” One man commanded. “Alive - we need her alive.”

But the man you hit was angry. In a cowardly display, the man charged, coughing and staggering, landing a hit to your stomach. You struggled for breath, clawing back and fighting for footing.

“Alive!” The other man ordered.

There were too many of them. There were too many of them, and a fear bubbled up your throat.

This was your idea. It was your idea to throw yourself into the mission and distract yourself from...Well, there was no use in denying it now.

Your belly ached. Your heart was in ribbons. You did this to try to forget how desperately you missed Bob. You missed the scrunch of his nose and the meticulous way he ate popcorn one kernel at a time. You missed his bad jokes and the clumsy way he filled the dishwasher. You missed the smell of his mahogany shampoo and the underlying ozone that wouldn’t wash away.

Goddammit.

You couldn’t die down here.

But your spiraling thoughts had to come to a messy halt. In this case, it was in the form of the building shaking all around you, like it had been struck by a meteor shower. The men called out with fright, then screamed.

You knew this part. The lights would come on, and Ava would come barreling in at any moment. So you waited. And waited.

But it never came. The screams stopped mid-breath. The handprints digging into your arms were gone in a flash. The heavy breaths and stomping steps disappeared. Perking up with a groan, you dragged your feet forward. What was this?

And then déjà vu jolted through you.

You were dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe been knocked out cold.

You were in the dark, but you weren’t alone.

“Where are you?” You called out bravely, squaring your shoulders. You knew what was lurking in the shadows. “Show yourself!”

But the emptiness stretched on. You stepped around in a circle. Your feet were still firmly planted on the ground. This was your dream. This was your attachment latching into the hooks of your subconscious. You were losing it.

“You’re reckless.”

It was a simple observation. One you dared laugh at.

“Reckless,” you mirrored with a snicker. “Hopeless. Delusional. Desperate. Isn't that why you're here? Isn't that what you feed on?”

Listing off your inner thoughts, feelings you wouldn’t admit when awake. You were comfortable, too comfortable. Engaging now wouldn’t make any difference.

“No.” It was a warning. “I feel it.”

The slow timber of words carried a weight all their own. Each syllable was intentional, pronounced. But feel it? Feel what? You turned in the dark.

“I’m not naïve to what he feels.” But this wasn’t Bob. It was the other closing in.

“Oh, Robert. He has hero dreams. Dreams of pushing me away. Thinking you could forget about me.”

His words were tormenting, chastising his counterpart.

In your dreams, this monster never spoke to you. You were used to quiet, lingering touches. You were used to watching from the rafters. And then there was a firm pause. Your fingers flexed. The reverberations of his words in your head were heavy.

“He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.” he continued.

He was riling you up, and the proximity was not lost on you.

“Your shame is harrowing. Ongoing. Buried, deep in your subconscious.” The swish of fabric behind you was intentional. He was urging you to tilt your head. He was close now, hovering right over your shoulder. And then a whisper. “It’s precious. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Goosebumps littered up your arms.

No.

“You do.” He coaxed.

No.

“You know. You already know why I can’t leave,” and feeling hot under the collar, uncomfortable at the bluntness, you gave in. Tilting your chin up, two pinpricks stared back. Unblinking. Unfazed.

He was frightening.

“You care for him,” he pressed. You couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. “All of him. And that means you care for -”

“Void.” Your call was a warning.

Raising your hand defensively, you turned to face him head-on. And where your hand should have caught nothing but air, it rested against the hard expanse of his abdomen. You took a sobering breath. It was too close, too human.

He closed his eyes briefly, satisfied, before finding yours again. There was no heartbeat. But there was a flex of movement, of his silhouette under your fingertips.

“And why wouldn’t you?” He tormented. “When my name is so sweet from your lips. You're reckless," he reminded. "You care.”

And shame zipped up your spine. That was it; he was your shame.

“You hurt him.” You deflected, thinking of Bob.

“We hurt each other.” Void acknowledged carefully, head tilting ever so slightly. Then, shifting closer, added, “But I am not the one who left you.”

And it felt like another jab. You were waiting for the pin to drop, for you to wake up from this dream. There was no other explanation for it. It wasn’t real.

You pulled your hand back, embarrassed and nervous, only to be stopped as his grip clasped over yours. He wasn’t warm, not like Bob. He wasn’t cold, like the ice in your veins. Your eyes looked where you could imagine his hands were before letting them drift up.

Gold light peered back. Where a face should be. Too human. And your free hand carefully reached up, grasping where you could imagine the curve of a jaw. Your breath caught in your throat when you found it. The touch was grounding.

“And he is not the one who found you.”

Silence.

“Then why are you here?” You challenged, prodding for an answer. “You could have left me in the dark.”

Pinhole eyes narrowed.

“You called for me. Not him,” The admission held a heavy weight. “You called. For me.”

Your cheeks were warm. He spoke it like it was a siren's call. And it was dangerous.

“You care.” You realized, whispering now. “You feel.”

“What I feel is irrelevant.”

But that wasn’t true. You were convinced he could see your smug expression even in the pitch-black room.

“You’re bleeding.”

Ah. Deflecting again. You knew that game but were through with the charade.

“Fine,” you conceded. “I do care. You win. I care about Bob. I care about his fucked up mind. So sure, I care about you - even if you destroy and create loathing and shame. Perhaps that’s my shame.” You admitted, pulling your hand away from his face.

It wasn’t real.

And it was time to wake up.

“This has been nice,” you admitted. “But if I’m going to die alone in the desert, I better face it.”

The Void offered no words of comfort. You weren’t expecting any. And as you stepped back and out of his hold, the cold seeped in.

Your breathing was uneasy, and the dull ache in your shoulder bloomed into hot pain. You were bleeding. The lights flickered on. The lights…

And he was still there, a dark figure in an empty room. Where there had been men, dark shadows cast along the ground. There was a tick in your jaw. You felt seasick.

And you realized then that it wasn’t a dream. Stoic and observant, the Void was still. His curled hair and the shape of his nose were too uncanny. Pinhole eyes stared back at you even then.

You hiccupped out an uneasy breath. Emotion pummeled into you. Fear. Abandonment. Solitude. Pain. Hope. No. NO.

He didn’t make a move, but observed. And then, at last, the low call of your name had you buckling at the knees.

He had been there all along, skirting around your mind. He met you in the dark, draping his cape around you and holding you in the quiet moments between sleep and wakefulness.

The Void was real. A tangible threat. Bob knew it. And then it clicked; that was why he pushed you away.

A hand reached out.

You had borne witness to the destruction and affliction it caused, and yet…

“You’re bleeding.”

And as you looked down from where his hand extended, red blossomed from the top of your shoulder down to your navel. Oh god.

“Let me,” He stopped, grounding the words. “Let me in.”

It was an offer of help, and you didn't think. You didn’t look up as you nodded. The movement was slow, slight, but deliberate. And he took action before you could blink.

A firm hand to the wound was all it took, the other wrapping around your hip to keep you planted. And in front of your eyes, inky tendrils replaced the bloodied stain. Where the Void’s touch lingered, it mimicked the charcoal smudges from your sketches.

He was your bad dreams and late nights. He was there the whole time, carving a hole for himself. And it left behind an imprint for you to remember.

He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.

But now you could read between the lines.

“You can’t keep me safe either.” You whispered. He was no hero. No savior - he said it himself.

The grip tightened at your hip, his hair clouding your peripheral vision. He was pulling closer, the hand at your shoulder moving to hook under your chin. He was forcing your attention on him. Bob might have put up a fight, but the Void was inevitable. He wasn’t going anywhere.

And as he drew closer, you smelled it.

Mahogany and ozone. Bob was there, too. The visage changed.

In front of your eyes, the Void flickered in and out of focus. You could see all of them like frames in a set of photos.

The Void. Bob Reynolds. Sentry. Powerful blue eyes, golden eyes, and pinhole eyes locked in. They were drawing closer still until you were a breath apart. And before you were swept under the current, the three of their voices overlapped in unison.

It was not a kiss, but just on the cusp. It was a promise.

“You don’t know what I am capable of.”

[pretty-side-of-the-moon]

This is my first time writing smut please be nice 🙏🙏

Anyways! Luke x reader, pretty much no plot I fear.. and breeding! I really jumped right it with this one 😀

---

"You gonna take it for me, huh pretty? Yeah?"

You babbled something and nodded, thought he really couldn't have expected you to talk when he was pouting into you like he was.

Though, honesty, it was your fault you were here.

You wanted to suprise Luke. To do something sweet for your boyfriend - and you were going to the mall anyways so.. that pretty matching set at Victoria's secret was perfect...

And it really was perfect.

He came to your cabin a little past curfew, like always, and froze.

You, with your pretty little lacy bra, all blushy and cute for him - he couldn't not fuck you.

You sat there, just a tiny bit worried. But of course, he would like it - you took one more breath as the door creeked open.

He didn't look away for a long moment. It was like he was studying you. Like he would have to recall every detail for a grade, like his whole future relied on not forgetting this.

He groaned, like really groaned, "fuck.. Pretty.."

And then his hands were on you, and you were on your back, and his lips were on yours.

It was a contrast from the luke you knew. He always treated you like a piece of glass, keeping you safe and protected. Borderline babying- But suddenly, it was like he wanted, needed, to watch you crack and break. For the soul reason that he would be the one who made you shatter.

His lips didn't leave yours for a long moment. And when they did, it was only for him to start kissing down your neck.

"S'this all for me?" He mumbled, voice slightly strained as he made his way to you collar bones.

You nodded, "All for you.." You managed to whisper, "D'ya like it..?"

"Fuckin' love it, pretty."

Chills ran down your spine as he pressed kisses to the lacy top of your bra, and you really had to stop yourself from whimpering.

His teeth scraped down over your bra, still not removing the fabric from your body, making you squirm against him. That, of course, wouldn't do much. His hands were firmly planted on your waist, and his legs had long since pinned yours down.

He kept pressing kisses to your skin, nipping and sucking more as he went along. He kissed down the softness of your tummy and to the lace of your panties.

Your breath caught in your throat, and Luke was convinced he was truly gonna lose it. God's, he was obsessed with all your little reactions.

And then he kisses your clit thought your underwear and you really can't help the little whine that escapes your throat!!

And he's grinning because, of course, he is - when you act like this, he can't help it!

And your already ruined when he started sucking your clit though your panties... and he's holding you down so nice so you can't even squirm properly :(

You couldn't really be sure how long you stayed like that. You'd say hours - Luke would say you're dramatic.

But finally after he was done, and he didn't even bother to take off your panties as he pulled crawled off you, unzipping his jeans and stripping off his shirt- fuck.

His boxers were the last thing on, and then they were gone too.

He pushed your legs up and climbed between them, resting them on hid shoulders as he rubbed his cock a few times.

"Ready, pretty?"

You mumbled somthing that vaguely sounded like a yes. He grinned. Then your pretty new panties were pushed to the side..

You took a breath as he lined himself up, and held it till he was all the way in.

"You alright, pretty?" He whispered, voice strained.

"M..mhm.." but then your babbling was cut off when he started moving.

Fast and desperate and hungry.

He clenched your things closer to him as he fucked into you. Normally, he would watch your tits bounce, but watching them strapped down in lace was almost as nice.

It really was embarrassing how quickly you got close- but you tried your best to hold on just a little longer! Too bad Luke was just soo good for you..

He must've notice you were close, you really couldn't think of another reason why he started driving into you even faster.

Your back arched, making him groan. And quickly, you came.

He helped you ride it out, thrusts going just a bit slower, and just a bit deeper.

By the time you were done, he had already started cursing.

"Fuckk.. gonna cum..You gonna take it for me, huh pretty? Yeah?"

You nodded, and whimpered. You couldn't quiet make words, but he got the point.

Finally, his hips stilled deep in you, and unloaded. Your breath hitched and your legs twitched but you took it.

"Mm...so good for me yeah?"

You nodded, already looking up at him all tried...

"You sleepy, pretty..?"

"Mhm.."

"Mm..that's really too bad. We're not done yet."

[mercurial-chuckles]

Don't Flip your Wig, Steve

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Summary: Steve and you time travel. Your Steve is not happy meeting his older self because he shows interest in you. Warnings: My attempts at 40s slang | Unabashedly jealous husband | Fluff | Your Steve being annoyed by the old-era Steve | Not so accurate time travel depiction | I benched all my science logic in this | No existence for Peggy ('Coz why even) | Language | Lemme know if I missed anything. A/N: This is a part of Steve Rogers Bingo Round 3 | @steverogersbingo |Prompt | D4: Steve Variant(s) | Modern Steve referred as Your Steve or husband Steve. 40s Steve as old-era Steve. That's all I can think. | I'm a fairly new writer here! So, Reblogs would be great! Follows would be fantastic! Thank you! :) Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! GIF credits to the creator. Thank you :) Divider credits to me. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Steve Rogers was testing your bloody patience.

It was a bad idea to bring him here, except Bucky was a bit too beaten up after his last mission and couldn't join you in the mission as he was the only other person from the era who could navigate you to Howard without any suspicion.

Tony said the mission was easy peasy. As if.

It had been more than two days now. Some things went south, like the machine you were here for, which apparently had gone into repair a week ago. So, Howard was fixing it before you took it home.

The issue you mostly predicted was the difficulty explaining to Howard Stark that Steve and you quantum jumped, but to your surprise, that went far better than you imagined.

However, the major predicament came in the form of the 6' 2" golden boy Rogers of that era, who came to Howard for some help. When he saw himself standing before him, he straight-up beat Your Steve without a second thought. Your Steve defended, and did his best not to punch back his older self. He simply held him down until Howard drugged him to calm the poor man's nerves.

Steve Rogers of that era was not accustomed to the convoluted possibilities of science, so it took him a great deal of effort and time to gauge the situation. Were you in his position, you'd have scoffed if someone said they traveled time! Plus, at that time, there was not much material or cinema for the common man to rely on familiarity with traveling through time and space. Maybe if older Steve had read 'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court,' he'd have been a bit familiar. But, you knew, as a matter of fact, that your Steve did not read a lot of fiction back then.

So, Steve, old-era Steve, thought it must be Hydra's gimmicks, which seemed less bizarre.

That whole fiasco was two days ago. Since then, old-era Steve had been nothing but hospitable to you both, helping you sneak in and out and arranging food and shelter. Everything was good, except he started showing great interest in you and got a bit awkward around you.

Your Steve tried his best to distance you from him. It was very hilarious, to be honest, and you were having a ton of fun.

When the machine was finally here, you all gathered at Howard's lab. Howard was setting up the machine, and you were standing near the table with your Steve. Steve approached you to the annoyance of your Steve.

"Who are you...to me?" he asked curiously.

That era Steve wore trousers and a checkered grey shirt very similar to your Steve, who sported black trousers and a sky blue shirt and looked slightly more appealingly rogueish than the innocent-looking blond. Still, hands down, he had always been handsome, irrespective of the beard or length of hair. He looked truly fucking gorgeous and aged like a luxury wine you couldn't afford without dipping into savings.

"Umm, I'm..." you hesitated, surprised by the question and worried about how he'd take it.

"She's my wife," your husband flung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.

Old-era Steve's eyes widened as he looked from his future self to you.

"No gobbledygook?" He chuckled in awe. "Our wife, huh?" he exclaimed in utter astonishment.

Gobbley…what now?

Your Steve stepped in front of you, a bit closer to his older self, ready to punch.

"My. Wife," your husband pronounced, sneering at the man.

You don't want to be a part of this discussion. It was giving you a headache.

"Steve," you chastised your husband, pulling him aside.

"Excuse us," you mumbled at the other Steve, and he looked at you amused.

"What?" your husband frowned when you walked him to the corner of the huge lab. He stood defiantly, hands folded on his chest.

"Don't give me the attitude, mister. I'm gonna beat your ass," your reprimands went to deaf ears as his frown grew deeper.

"I don't like him," he exclaimed in anger.

"What?" Your surprised laugh caught Howard's attention as he looked from where he was working. You simply smiled, giving him a thumbs up to ease his worry.

Your husband shrugged.

"Are you hearing yourself? He's you," You poked his chest, whisper shouting.

Placing his hands around your waist, Steve pulled you towards him. Winding his hand around you, he held you there, kissing your lips passionately in a surprising urgency. Steve Rogers was a private man, though he always held onto your hand and kissed your cheek or forehead, but he never kiss kissed you.

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but his lips consumed you. Your heart skipped a beat as he deepened the kiss once you yielded.

Somewhere in the corner of your still-working logical mind, you understood that Steve's insecurities were showing. All this time travel definitely made him nostalgic, especially vulnerable. When you broke away from the kiss, you embraced him tightly.

You felt like you were looking at a much younger Steve, a lanky Brooklyn man at that moment. You sometimes forget that the version of Steve was always lurking at the surface of his insecurities. Technically, he had only been with you his entire life, his one true love, his only girlfriend, and his wife.

"You know that I love you, no matter what," you whispered, smiling softly at your man.

"I just... I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I love you."

"It's okay, let's get what we are here for, and go home, Okay?" You looked up at him expectantly.

"Can't wait. He is annoying, and he is showing way too much interest in you," he snickered in distaste.

You placed a kiss on his chest, which usually calmed him.

You broke apart when Howard motioned you to come closer to show the workings of the machine and the technicalities.

Your husband walked closer to you; old Steve stood beside him, a bit amused having heard your conversation, what with his enhanced hearing and all.

Steve Rogers couldn't wait for his future, whatever it held in it, he was sure he would meet you one day. That rejoiced him, and until you both traveled back to your home, he couldn't help but poke fun at his future self.

Okay, if you were wondering ...🤭

Gobbledygook: talking gibberish or nonsense Flip your wig: losing composure or control

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

Tags: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

[toiletclown]

reciprocation.

spencer agnew x f!reader, enemies to lovers for anon.

mostly fluff, but there is angst (in my opinion)

summary: it started innocuous. a well-meaning question from your best friend. it all spiraled from there.

there are some things in life that are universally true and agreed upon. the sky is blue. the grass is green. and you and spencer agnew hate each other. when your closest friends grow tired of this nonsense, they hatch a plan. it's unlikely, silly, even. but it works.

word count: 13.6k (yes i'm posting this as a one-shot, not multi-chaptered, sorry lol)

────୨ৎ────

"does the whole 'hating spencer' schtick ever get tired to you?" angela asked one day, while the two of you were out to lunch.

it was a sunny day, as usual, and you started sweating through your tank top just a little harder. perhaps the sun came out from behind a stray cloud.

"i'm sorry?" was your response, followed by a forkful of pasta.

"y'know, this weird bit you guys have going on." ang stared at you, analyzing your face, looking for a reaction.

all she saw was confusion. "i'm not... sure what you mean? we don't have 'a bit'. we aren't friends. kind of hard to have an inside joke when you only spend time together on camera. and half the time i drown him out anyway," you shrugged. neither of you liked each other, and that was fine. you were used to it, and the familiarity was nice. smosh was a very busy and ever-changing job. being able to rely on that was kind of nice. you were never a fan of change, anyway.

"wait, so you and spencer actually dislike each other? like, for real?" your best friend looked genuinely taken aback. you weren't sure why, you had thought it was fairly obvious that the two of you didn't get along.

"yes, we actually dislike each other 'like, for real', angela. i thought that was clear, you've seen the way we interact." you were gathering up another forkful of pasta, and angela started laughing. "why the fuck are you laughing?"

"because it's comical? i thought it was a bit! i thought you two were friends and it was just, like, a long, drawn-out joke, honestly."

"why on earth would you think that it was a bit, ang? i'm a good comedian but i'm not that great of a liar. i wouldn't be able to keep up a conspiracy like that. i fear that’s too much work for me." you ate your forkful finally. angela was still looking at you in disbelief, a few small cackles escaping her now and then.

"yeah, that's fair. crazy bit to commit so hard to, i guess. wait, so why don't you like him?" the brunette had abandoned her pasta at this point, bowl pushed slightly out of the way so she can gesticulate with freedom. "and why doesn't he like you? are you secretly middle school rivals? rivals in some niche video game scene? did he outbid you on a guitar on ebay and now you've vowed to ruin his life?"

you rolled your eyes, lovingly. your favorite thing about angela was how far she could take a joke. picked it up and ran with it. you leaned in, your voice barely audible. "you want to know a secret?"

her eyes widened, leaning in and matching your whisper, "yes, please spill!"

you shifted your eyes from left to right, as though looking for someone who could overhear and ruin your life. you took a deep breath in, preparing to spill… the truth.

"i don't actually know why we hate each other," you whispered, shrugging before sitting back in your chair with an air of finality.

"what?!"

"shh, oh my god, shut the fuck up--"

"what do you mean you don't know?" angela was moving her arms wildly at this point, "why do you still hate him then? does he know? what the fuck?"

"babe, i need you to calm down, we are still very much in a public restaurant--"

"and? spill, bitch, or you're paying the full bill."

"fine! god. i genuinely cannot tell you why we hate each other. yes, we do really hate each other. yes, he knows i hate him, and yes, i know he hates me. that has been the only thing we have ever agreed upon in our entire time at smosh. no, we aren't secretly hate fucking. no, i don't have his number, we only talk at and about work so we use slack. no, i don't know why the hate is mutual, i just know that it is. no, i don't plan on trying to change that any time soon. happy?"

before she could respond with what was likely another barrage of questions, your server came to the table and sat the bill down in front of angela.

"they always assume that i'm paying, what the hell?"

you were glad for the distraction.

✰ .ᐟ

"hello and welcome to you posted that? you posted that is a show where we embarrass our guests with their old, cringy, insane social media posts!" the room filled with cheers as ian intro'd the show, and you were so excited to finally be on it. but you also were nervous to see what they dug from the depths of your twitter.

"joining us today..." ian faked a drumroll on the podium, "our first guest is trevor evarts!"

"please don't bring up any of my rhett and link tweets," he said with a wave.

ian drumrolled again, "second up, we have shayne topp!"

"glad to be here, steve."

"and last but not least, y/n!"

"i am terrified." you said, being sure to stare down the camera, a look of anxiety on your face. you were playing it up, but it was definitely real to a degree. you had said a lot of cringy shit in your younger years. not to mention the not-so-uncommon complaints about a certain coworker. ian wouldn’t do that to you, though. right?

"terrified?” ian scanned the contestant's faces. “is anyone else feeling terrified?"

"not really, steve. i'm proud of what i've done and said and i'll stand by it no matter what. if i don't stand up for myself, who will, you know?" shayne said, clearly doing a character. a slightly intoxicated, far too excited game show contestant. you kind of loved it.

"my name is ian, and i think you know that, shayne. why are you terrified, y/n?" ian turned to you, egging you on.

"i was a shit head as a kid, i don't know how far back you dug!"

"alright then, let's get into the first round." ian explained the rules of the round, and each of you listened intently despite knowing them well.

"trevor. you tweeted, 'my two [blank] need to [blank] before i [blank blank blank].’ and i will give you a hint, this was a tweet from about a year ago."

"why does he get a hint right away!" you called out.

"he's not very bright, y/n, i'm sure you understand." ian replied, prompting trevor to make a few noises.

"be nice to me?"

ian turned back to trevor, mischievous glint in his eye. "y/n's not very bright, trev, i'm sure you understand."

"be nice to me?" you all started laughing, and once it died down trevor made his guess.

"okay, i'll take 'my two coworkers need to fuck before i explode them both' for five points, alex!"

"i remain ian, but let's reveal that tweet!"

"holy fuck," you said under your breath, realizing he got it right on the money. "how did you manage to remember the exact wording? i don't remember what i had for breakfast yesterday. oh my god, i'm gonna lose so hard at this!" you weren’t even playing it up now, you were actually getting worried. you were going to lose, and by a lot. hopefully you can attribute your lack of skill to the now-infamous gas leak.

"because these two coworkers still haven't fucked and i still want to explode them, honestly," trevor breathed out, seemingly annoyed at the two coworkers in question.

ian giggled behind the podium, a strangely worrisome sound, and you and shayne glanced at each other in shared horror. "trevor,” ian paused, multiplying the level of suspense you were already feeling. “for an extra fifty points, do you want to tell us who the coworkers are? we'll bleep it."

"fifty points?!" shayne yelled, playfully incensed by this rule breaking.

"just take me out back like ol yeller, i beg." you set you head on the podium, which wasn't exactly a comfortable angle, but this wasn't going to be as fun as you thought if ian was going to play dirty the whole game.

the room erupted in laughter as trevor pondered his choice. "no, i won't. i don't want to start anything, fifty points is nothin' compared to my pals at smosh!"

you all booed him, lovingly, and ian giggled again. "shayne, for an extra fifty points, can you guess the coworkers trevor's tweet is about?"

"do you know who it's about?" shayne asked, confused.

"oh, i think everyone in this room does," ian's grin was devilish, relishing in the chaos he was causing. he's been watching too much game changer.

"okay, i'll guess for fifty points. is it angela and amanda?" the room erupted once more, angela's laugh heard loud and clear on every mic.

"incorrect! okay, let's see your post, shayne!"

"wait, i don't get to guess?" you cut in, feeling a little bit excluded from the joke.

"would you like to?" ian asked, earnest, though that devilish smile was still fixed to his mug.

you thought about it for a second. "actually, i'm good. i think my choices are too controversial. y'all aren't ready for my vision."

everyone laughed, and the game moved on.

"shayne. your tweet says: '[blank] is overrated. [blank] is cooler.'"

shayne's silence dragged on, and ian asked if he had a guess. after a beat, shayne stood stock straight up, ready to answer.

"steve, my answer is. 'steak is overrated. chicken is cooler.' for five points."

"let's see..."

ian revealed the next slide, and a slide whistle sound effect played. “oh, that’s too bad shayne. the correct answer was ‘penis is overrated. dick is cooler.’ so close, so close. alright, y/n, it’s your turn!”

you were feeling a little better now that shayne had gotten his wrong. maybe trevor would win, but it didn’t have to be a huge blowout, right?

“y/n, your tweet says ‘i need [blank] to [blank blank] or i will [blank] in [blank blank].’ this seems evil, y/n, if i’m being honest.” ian’s wicked smirk was still firmly planted; he was playing dirtier than you ever thought him capable of. 

“what’s genuinely crazy is i’ve been so worried that i would not remember anything i’ve ever tweeted, but i actually do remember this one!” you laughed hard and loud, but then you remembered you did in fact have to tell everyone what it said. you could lie, but they’d just reveal it after anyway, and you had made a big stink about knowing it now… all you could do was fill in the damn blanks. “okay, it says ‘i need noomf–”

“you need what?” shayne asked, incredulous.

“noomf, it means ‘not one of my followers’ instead of oomf, which is ‘one of my followers’. anyway, ‘i need noomf to fuck off or i will piss in his kickstart’.” you covered your face with your hands, genuinely embarrassed. this would all be a good laugh after shooting wrapped, but in the moment you just wanted to scream a bit.

ian decided to go full little shit mode and not even make a comment, just click to the next slide showing that you were correct. every word. “five points for y/n!”

“oh, fuck, i forgot i was getting points for that. i’ll stop moping now!” you laughed, pushing yourself back into your camera persona, bright and light and happy. you could feel spencer’s daggers in the back of your skull all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

everyone broke for lunch after the finishing the shoot, and angela and courtney were the first to harass you. 

“bro, you tweeted that you would piss in his kickstart?” courtney started. 

“you guys don’t follow each other on socials?” angela then asked. 

court took another turn next, “do you guys not talk outside of work at all?” 

“no! they only talk about work so they always talk through slack!” angela was kind enough to explain your point from lunch the other day.

you stood there, tapping your foot. a bit comical, but a flair for the dramatic never hurt anybody, especially not in this industry. “are we done here? can i go get my food now?” you asked, no venom. “here, let’s just eat together and you can ask all your silly little questions. can’t promise i’ll have an answer for everything, but i’ll do what i can.”

you all lined up at the catering tables and grabbed some food, then found your way to an empty table to start this awful discussion.

you decided some rules needed to be put in place, because as much as you loved angela and courtney, you really didn’t want this to blow up into some ‘big thing’. coworker feuds happen in every office setting, it’s inevitable. it doesn’t need to be a whole situation, in your opinion.

“okay, before we start i’m going to lay some ground rules. you can ask whatever questions you want, but i’m allowed to not answer certain ones. whatever is said at this table, remains at this table, forever. and finally, i beg y’all to speak at a normal volume and not freak out for no reason. i do not need the whole company knowing my business. i’m sure you understand.”

they both nodded, and you decided to get courtney up to speed in case they had a question angela had asked you at lunch the other day, which was likely. now that you thought about it, angela was the only person you had really talked about it with. no one else you worked with seemed to mind, or care, so you didn’t think you’d ever need to answer any questions about it.

“court, before we start, angela actually ambushed me about this the other day so i do already have a few frequently asked questions answered. no, it isn’t a bit. we don’t have any friendship at all. we do not speak outside of work. i’ve never seen him outside of work. we do not have each other’s numbers. we do not follow each other on social media. we aren’t secretly dating. yes, we do hate each other, and, yes, it’s mutual. but… no, i don’t have a reason why.” you were fairly out of breath by the end of your rant, and courtney gave you a moment to catch back up.

“you don’t have a reason why? how can you both hate each other for no reason?” their voice was soft, caring. it burned.

a sigh escaped you. “as far as i know, neither me nor spencer have a ‘reason’ for hating each other. but it’s just a truth at this point. we hate each other, so we don’t interact outside of work. we play nice for the camera, but only because it wouldn’t really be entertaining if we didn’t. some truths are just truths. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and me and spencer hate each other.” you took a few bites of the salad you grabbed from the line, surprised at how good the dressing was. “holy shit, this dressing is fantastic,” you mumbled, hoping, in vain, to prompt a conversation change.

“like i said, i thought the bickering you guys did on camera was an inside joke. i didn’t know there was real anger behind it,” angela said, seeming a bit sad at this revelation.

you realized once again that you hadn’t actually had an honest conversation about this with anyone. you had never taken the time to flesh out this charade you were playing. “i’m not even sure the anger is real.” you said solemnly, quiet as a mouse. “i think it started as a bit. i’m not sure when it turned real, but it is. i guess.”

angela put her arm around you, sensing your mood drop. “hey, hey. it’s alright. you going to be okay, babe?”

courtney put their hand on yours, which you held. you felt like you were naked on a stage – feeling too vulnerable all too suddenly. after a second longer, you pulled yourself away from both of them. “i’m okay, it’s okay. can we change the topic, though? i… guess i’m not ready to talk about it, or something.”

you zoned out for the rest of the conversation.

✰ .ᐟ

when the day had finally ended, you felt the most immense relief you’ve felt in all your damn life.

finally. time to go home and dick around on your guitar. today provided a lot of feelings for a hopeful writing session. 

everyone at smosh knew you played guitar, but no one knew you wrote original music too. it was the easiest way to process what you were feeling. and if it sounded bad, then it sounded bad. at least you felt better afterwards. you never recorded anything you wrote, because it was a form of therapy for you. you let it all out, you cry, you scream, whatever. then you worked on healing. this was your process, and you loved it.

you were planning out some verses mentally when shayne caught up to you on the way to your car. “hey, y/n! i have a strange question.”

you turned, surprised by his appearance. “sure, shayne. what’s up?” 

“are you seeing anyone right now?”

“why, are you and courtney looking for a third?” you raised an eyebrow, which had shayne giggling. you continued, “no, i’m single. why?” 

“no reason!” shayne yelled, and promptly sprinted away.

“okay, see you tomorrow, i guess!” you shouted after him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you. for such a small man he had a seemingly large stride. he was already halfway across the parking lot when you finished your sentence. “what the hell is this job, anyway?” you muttered, trying to find the melody you had thought of earlier in the day as you drove home in blissful silence.

✰ .ᐟ

alex: yoooo

spencer: what’s up?

alex: kiana’s friend is so your type it’s criminal

spencer: ok?

alex: i’m serious dude she’s like your dream girl!!

spencer: ok?

alex: hi spencer this is your best friend kiana, you have a date with my friend tomorrow at 7pm at our fav chili’s, ok love you!

spencer: i’d rather not

alex: she said shut up and be there or she’s dumping your kickstart stash

spencer: you are both evil.

alex: <3

✰ .ᐟ

you slept like shit last night. again. the past few nights were just not kind to you, and you could tell it was obvious.

“whoa, y/n… do you need to borrow some concealer?” courtney asked upon seeing you in the kitchen this morning. “i’m sure someone has a shade match in the building.”

“gee, thanks, court.” you laughed weakly to yourself, knowing she had nothing but good intentions. “i’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, not sure what’s going on.” you turned around and sighed into your coffee mug, exhausted. “maybe my body is trying to tell me something.”

courtney smiled, then came to lean against the counter next to you.

“you’re single, right?” they questioned, eyes bright.

you sighed again. “yes, just like i told your husband yesterday, i am single.”

“do you have plans tonight?” 

“other than sitting on my couch with my guitar, probably not. perhaps i’ll watch a movie. who’s to say? the world is my oyster.” 

they rolled their eyes at you, but leaned in closer to whisper. “our favorite chili’s, tonight, 7pm. you’re going on a blind date with someone i know very personally, who is perfect for you.”

she was out of the kitchen before you could pick your jaw up off the floor to protest.

✰ .ᐟ

you stood in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. what the hell was going on. courtney had sent you a text fifteen minutes ago, a reminder of why you were standing in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. you had a blind date at chili’s in 45 minutes. what the hell was going on. 

if you were in an alternate universe, perhaps all the dots you were connecting in your brain would turn out to be correct. you felt like that bit in buzzfeed unsolved. 

i’ve connected the dots. 

you haven’t connected shit! 

in an alternate universe, your friends beating the truth out of you about your feud with spencer, then turning around and orchestrating a blind date for you would mean something. and it would mean they were setting you up with spencer. just for a moment, just a sliver of a second, you imagined that universe.

you imagine it all working out.

but then you pull yourself out of it, and start actually getting ready for your date. 

he was probably just another improv actor with a nose ring. and he was probably nice. cute, even. but you couldn’t stop thinking about brown curly hair, piercing eyes, a hydroflask full of kickstart. 

a green smosh hat. a carhartt jacket. stubble. glasses. you loved his glasses, and secretly cursed him when he would wear his contacts. spencer.

your phone vibrated against the counter, painfully reuniting you with reality. “shit.”

you fumbled to answer the call, still feeling lost in the syrupy haze of that alternate universe of yours. “hey, court.” 

“are you on your way? find my friends says you’re still at your place!” they rushed out, and you pulled your phone away from your face to see you had less than 15 minutes to be ready and out the door.

“shit! sorry, i didn’t realize how late it got. i’m finishing up now, i’ll be on my way before you know it.” the silence on the other end was deafening. “i promise! but i have to get off the phone to get ready, okay?” 

“fine. please send me a photo of your outfit before you leave. i love you! bye!” courtney ended the call, and you sighed.

“let’s get this over with.” you mumbled to your empty bathroom.

✰ .ᐟ

spencer was pissed. if his friends didn’t suddenly decide to meddle in his love life, he wouldn’t be on a random side street, a mere three miles from chili’s, replacing his flat fire. at 7:08 pm. he didn’t even want to go on this date, but he also didn’t want to be a dick and show up late. alex and kiana didn’t share any info about this mystery girl so he couldn’t text her to let her know. he decided to call alex as he was getting ready to hoist the spare tire out of his trunk. 

“aren’t you on a date right now?!” alex shouted down the phone, no greeting. spencer rolled his eyes.

“chill, i got a flat tire. i’m down the road, like eight minutes max if traffic is kind to me. can you please let my date know i’m not standing her up, i just have to throw the donut on my car really quick.” he was fiddling with the tire iron while he spoke, suddenly nervous and upset at the prospect of hurting this mystery girl’s feelings. he shoved the emotion down and nestled the phone between his ear and shoulder, a smidge tighter than before. “please just let her know.”

“okay, okay.” alex took a breath in, and spencer could tell they’re relieved that the date isn’t a disaster, but only getting there kind of is. “i’ll let her know.”

they said goodbye, and spencer got back to work on the tire. 

elsewhere, alex texted courtney. 

alex: hey spencer got a flat tire. should be there in like 10-15

courtney: ok i’ll let y/n know!

alex: he called me and i nearly shat my pants

courtney: understandable lol if she called me 10 mins in i’d also be panicking

alex then texted kiana.

alex: spencer is late bc he got a flat tire i’m gonna bomb him

kiana: now, now!! it will work out in the end, grasshopper

alex: dont be weird

kiana: says u

✰ .ᐟ

you looked at your phone again. 7:20. you were on your second glass of water, munching on your chips and salsa and sighing. people were starting to stare at you. look at that poor girl, sipping her water, waiting for someone who isn’t showing up. surely she knows, they thought, surely she knows he’s isn’t coming.

unfortunately, you were still holding out hope. for some reason. you didn’t even want this, your friends just dropped it on you. but now that you were here, you felt hopeful. 

most people who know you wouldn’t exactly call you a romantic, but somewhere buried deep inside you, you longed for companionship. everyone did, to some degree – it was human nature. so you decided that at 7:30, you’d leave. 

even if tearing yourself from the booth would burn like wildfire.

you looked at your phone once more. 7:22. you’d been brooding in silence, alone at this table, and alone in this world. a vibration startled you out of it.

courtney: hey he’s almost there!!! he got a flat tire he should be there in about five mins, ok?? i’m so sorry and so is he!!

your heart rate picked up, that hope reigniting and spreading a warm fire throughout your body. you weren’t being stood up. good.

y/n: ok! thank you for updating me <3

courtney: of course bb i love you sm! have fun! text me all the deets!

as you smiled and steadied your fingers to type a reply, an all too familiar voice rang out. “are you being stood up at chili’s?” it asks.

you involuntarily rolled your eyes, all too easily sliding into this role you play. no one could say you weren’t a good actor. because here you were, slipping under that mask that fit so comfortably. playing a character. because an hour ago, you were hoping it would be him. you wanted it to be him. but now, he was here. which meant you had a role to play, and you would play it well. you’d give him an oscar award-winning performance. 

“please explain how my activities outside of the office are any of your business, spencer.” you deadpanned. it didn’t hit like you wanted it to. “he’s late.”

“scoot. i’m hungry.” he says, and you stare at him.

“i’m sorry?” you admonished.

“scootch over. have you ordered yet?” he asks, casual as all get out. like this was normal, or reasonable. 

you both know your roles. you know your lines. you’ve been off-book for years. what was he doing? he was going so far off script, ad-libbing, completely disregarding the words written for you, the ones you’d both studied and memorized. you were an improv comedian, and yes and-ing was never something you struggled with. but this wasn’t supposed to be improv. this was scripted. heavily. this was not reality tv, this was not whose line, this was a 40-minute sitcom with strict character archetypes, and you both knew your roles. 

while you waited in vain for the non-existent director to yell ‘cut!’, you found yourself moving over and letting him slide into the booth. it didn’t occur to you to just tell him to sit on the opposite side, which was empty. 

despite the warmth of the evening and the restaurant, you felt a shiver up and down your spine.

your server, carissa, came back to the table, and she looked relieved that your ‘date’ had finally arrived. she was probably about 20 years old, and her whole vibe said, “if he doesn’t show up, i’ll kill him for you.” 

“took you long enough, dude,” was her greeting of choice. spencer looked surprised, which caused a laugh to escape you. “what would you like to drink?”

spencer seemed a bit lost for words, but managed to say “just a water, please,” after a not-entirely inaudible swallow.

carissa turned her attention back to you, “did you want to order now? or does mister late as fuck need some more time?” she gestured at spencer with her pen, her voice full of humor. it was entirely opposite of the darker voice she used on spencer.

you loved this girl. “easy on him, carissa. i’m sure he has a good reason.”

spencer looked at you, and you realized you probably should have specified that he actually wasn’t the person you were waiting on. your mind drifts back to that slice of an alternate universe, the one you wanted to slot yourself into for longer than just a fleeting moment. your heart quickened its pace once more, and you silently willed it to calm down.

he doesn’t like you, you thought, solemnly. he likes chili’s. he’s probably here to meet kiana or something. the thought of kiana joining you at dinner was a happy one, usually. you loved her. she was bright and bubbly and she was incredibly smart. you loved listening to her talk. but right now, it almost felt like that little alternate universe and the universe you’re currently stuck in were overlapping for a moment. you wanted to keep this feeling. hold it close.

you zoned back in when spencer started talking, both of you unsure how long you had been looking at each other for. it might have been the first time you both really looked at each other. the glancing and the glaring around the office was short lived. never more than a few seconds. this look felt like it stretched on for years, unending. this wasn’t just the first time you both looked at each other, it might also be the first time you really saw each other.

and, if you were just a bit more unhinged, you’d have said that it felt like home.

“i had a flat tire. i was right down the road but i had to put the spare on, so i’m much later than i wanted to be. i try to be early to dates, but it seems like the world was betting against me tonight.” spencer looked at his lap, sheepish, all of the sudden. it was cute. a soft expression you had no clue he was even capable of. it suited him, emotion. or, emotions other than anger.

“see? that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse,” you replied, which prompted a gasp from spencer. 

you find the roles shifting, no longer are you and spencer coworkers trapped in an office, glaring at each other and attempting niceties on camera. now, you were stepping into the roles of love interests in a rom-com with 80s flair. the quiet, misunderstood girl, and the edgy yet likeable boy. fake dating for some reason or another, only to fall in love for real in the end. the it was always you trope.

you could play this character just as easily as you could play the hateful coworker. maybe this role would win you a sag award. you set it next to your academy award on your imaginary awards shelf.

“it’s not an excuse! it’s a reason. an explanation, if you will.” spencer said, faux-horror in his voice.

“and i will.” you shot back, playing into it. you could fit so comfortably here.

carissa faked a yawn, and you ask her for a triple dipper – mozzarella sticks, big mouth bites, and chicken tenders. spencer had no comment on this, which made you quite happy, oddly enough. 

once carissa had walked away, spencer turned his body to face you a little more, and you felt closed in in the best way possible. he was suffocating you with his presence, but it felt good. safe, even.

you settled into the booth, a little taken aback by his sudden attention. honestly, you paid more attention to him around the office than you would ever admit to anyone. you both had desks in the same pod so you were in proximity at all times, and you looked. a lot. and maybe you pined. maybe… just maybe, you had been pining this whole time. 

“what’s goin’ on up there?” spencer asked, nodding toward you.

“i don’t know,” you replied. it was the truth. you weren’t sure what was going on in your brain, just that you had no urge to stop it. more like an urge to give in.

carissa reappeared with a glass of ice water for spencer. he whispered a soft “thank you” in her direction, but his eyes never left yours. she walked away without a response.

“y’know, i was actually supposed to meet someone here tonight. i should probably tell alex what’s going on.”

your ears perked up at the mention of alex. “why would you tell alex?”

“they’re my best friend?” spencer said, eyes now on his phone. “also, it was a blind date. i don’t have her number,” he explained, frowning. “or her name.” his thumbs were flying across the keyboard, and you watched in silence. you were suddenly enraptured by his hands. 

then, it clicked. “oh my fucking god!” you groaned, which caused spencer to turn his focus back on you. 

“what? what’s wrong?” there was genuine concern in his voice, something you had never heard from him. it stoked the fire inside you, pulling it back up to a dangerous roar. this chili’s would erupt in flames if this continued on for much longer.

in lieu of a response, you simply grabbed your phone off the table, calling courtney and putting the call on speaker.

“hey! how’s it going?” courtney asked, speech stilted with nerves.

“what’s my blind date’s name, courtney?”

you heard spencer mutter something under his breath.

“you’ll know him when you see him! like i said, he had a flat tire. wait, it’s been, like, forty minutes, why isn’t he there yet?” their sentence got quieter as they moved through it, processing in real time.

spencer leaned in, clearly only getting closer to the mic so courtney could hear him, but you’d like to think he wanted to be closer to you, too.

“i’m here, courtney.” was all he said.

“neither of you sound happy…” they moped.

you rolled your eyes affectionately. they meant well, and you said as much. “i know you meant well, honey, but me and spencer have absolutely no chemistry.” there it was again. you switched back to your original role, the one you had spent far too much time in, the one that was closer to home. “this wasn’t a good idea and i think you know that.”

you dared to peek at spencer, who was looking right at you, forlorn. “yeah, court. i appreciate the team effort, but unfortunately me and y/n are just not compatible.” his voice was tight. angry. and just like that, spencer was also back in his original role. perhaps it felt like home to him too, and he also didn’t care for change. some things are just true. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and you and spencer agnew hate each other.

for once, you found yourself wishing it wasn't true.

✰ .ᐟ

once you and courtney hung up, you asked carissa for the triple dipper to be to-go, and you and spencer went your separate ways. the whole drive home, the car was silent and so was your brain. normally you’d be crafting melodies and writing bridges, ever the artist. but tonight your brain was turned off. you had to keep it that way, purposefully silencing the thoughts that threatened to burst through. you couldn’t think about the looks spencer gave you. you couldn’t think about the smell of his cologne when he leaned close to talk to courtney. you couldn’t think about the way he apologized. 

i’m sorry about this, y/n. i know that we don’t like each other but i wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

this?

the whole, blind-date-with-my-enemy thing. 

spencer, why are we enemies?

i don’t know, y/n. but i think we both know it needs to stay that way.

it seemed like he had been mentally policing his word choice. careful, stoic. there was emotion in his voice, but not in his face. his jaw was tight. spencer felt bad. despite it all, he didn’t want to hurt you. this was a rejection, plain and simple, but he was being merciful. though, it also felt forced. like this isn’t what he really wants, but it’s how things have to be. a law of the universe, at this point. an intrinsic truth. we can’t be anything other than coworkers and enemies. anything else would be disastrous.

you felt silly, catastrophizing like this. 

as you turned your key in the lock of your front door, your guitar called to you from the corner of the living room.

let it out, it seemed to say, feel your feelings, so you can move on.

and so you did. you changed into some sweatpants and an old crewneck, sat yourself on the floor of your apartment, and got to writing. 

perhaps you would one day add a grammy to your little imaginary awards shelf. an academy award for your coworker enemy character, the breakout role. the sag award for your little lovesick puppy character you got to play tonight, at chili’s. and a grammy. for you. no character, no facade, just you.

but you’d have to record yourself to achieve that. and now wasn't the time for bravery, now was the time for processing and moving on. 

✰ .ᐟ

the next morning, you woke up to a small barrage of messages. mostly courtney apologizing. an apology from shayne as well. a text from ang asking if you were okay. alex, kiana, and amanda also messaged you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to keep scrolling. until your eyes caught on something new. an unsaved number, who had texted you a mere minute before you woke up.

unsaved: hey. sorry again about last night. 

your heart leapt into your throat, and that fire under your skin was back. you put your phone face down on your nightstand and promptly took a shower.

upon your arrival at work, you were reminded of how fucking gossipy this damn office was. people were throwing you apologetic looks all day, clearly informed on the situation. thirty minutes before your first shoot, ian pulled you to the side.

“hey, y/n. um, is there anything you wanted to talk about? or let me know about?” ian asked, clearly uncomfortable.

you looked at him in confusion, head tilted to the side. “i… don’t think so?” you said it like a question, because it kind of was one. surely one blind date arranged by other coworkers that didn’t even result in a relationship wasn’t cause for concern, right?

“okay, i’ll just ask then. are you and spencer in a relationship? it’s okay, if so, but there’s a lot of paper–”

you cut him off, astounded he even thought to ask such an insane question. “whoa, whoa, whoa. me and spencer are not dating. why on earth gave you that idea?”

ian blushed, and it was quite cute. he clearly felt a little out of his depth, which is silly considering the amount of coworker relationships at smosh. he’s done this at least three times, you think he’d be better at it.

“well i've heard whisperings around the office that you two went on a date last night,” he said.

“and you thought that a date between us would end well?” you asked, a bit astounded. “i'm not even sure why court and them even set it up, it's fairly well known that we don't like each other in the slightest.” internally, you were thinking about the low tone spencer had when he was next to you. boxing you in, commanding your attention. maybe you had been pining this whole time. but that was not anyone else’s business, so you would continue to keep those feelings behind a quadruple-padlocked door, far in the back corner of your brain.

“y/n, can i talk to you as a friend and not as a boss or coworker?” ian dropped his voice, a soft smile on his face.

“of course, ian.”

“i think you know damn well that you and spencer are made for each other.”

“i–”

he cuts you off. “you might have everyone else fooled, and you might even have yourself fooled. but to a degree, i think there’s a part of you that wants that. and it’s okay to want that. to want spencer. it’s okay to want. but if you ask me–”

“i didn’t–”

“but if you ask me,” he bulldozes, committing to saying his piece. “i think it’s also okay to have. it’s right in front of you for the taking, and as much as you can deny it, i think you also know that.”

you were quietly stunned by this emotional, introspective, hopeless romantic version of ian. “i know i can want, ian. i know more than well enough what wanting feels like.” a sigh escapes you, suddenly exhausted. “but i can’t have. not this time, not this one. i can have something else, later down the road. but i can’t have this. i’m not allowed to have this.”

“why not?”

you stayed silent. you hadn’t thought about the why not of it all. it was another one of those things. spencer was an enemy. spencer was off limits. he was forbidden. prohibited. a thing you could want, but never, ever have.

“i just can’t, ian.” you sighed, resigned. you were getting tired of fighting this battle, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

“okay, y/n.” his voice is soft, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “well, when you can, i’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”

“i’d never ask that of him.”

“you don’t have to.” ian wrapped you in a hug, and then walked back to whichever office he came from, leaving you in a pile of emotions at the end of the hall.

“what the fuck is happening,” you whispered to yourself. the world was turning upside down, and you were starting to get quite motion sick.

you sat down on a nearby sofa, checking the time. you had to get your mic pack set up in about five minutes, so you tried to use that time to regulate your breathing. in, two, three, four. out, two, three, four. you knew you were shooting a pit video, but you couldn’t remember what it was or who was going to be in it with you. was it a reddit stories today? no, that was thursday… 

“y/n?” erin dougal called. your head snapped up, your thoughts finally simmering to a normal volume. a distraction was welcome, and erin was always up to something.

“yeah, what’s up?” you replied, hoping for some sort of insane tiktok pitch that tommy dreamt up, or some gossip about the caterer she had a thing for. 

“ready for the shoot?” right, your job. guess those five minutes passed faster than you thought. at least you had calmed down substantially.

“oh. yeah, sorry. what are we shooting again?” you hoped she wouldn't rag on you too much for forgetting your shoot schedule. surely she was aware of your current goings-on.

she gaped at you in response. “seriously? we've only been gearing up for this shoot for, like, two months.” 

fuck. today was courtney’s hide and seek shoot. fuck. you had been so wrapped up in the bullshit of this week you had forgotten to even plan a place to hide. 

“oh! right, sorry. not sure how i forgot that.” you stood up, trying to collect yourself, embarrassed.

you followed erin into the small parking lot right outside the office, where everyone was waiting to be let inside. she debriefed you on the general rules, which have been the same since the first hide and seek video. you nodded along, and tried to figure out where the hell you were going to hide.

before you knew it, everyone was rushing inside. you decided to go up into the weird little attic space duran usually hides in, knowing he wasn't set to be in the video. it was a guaranteed easy find, and you didn't really want to be alone with your thoughts for very long. you had a history of being found extremely early on, and you weren’t planning to break that streak. especially not when you had so many other things to deal with right now.

but the universe was never on your side. you climbed up the slightly unstable ladder, using your phone’s flashlight to look for a spot, when you saw him. spencer was already up here, because of course he was.

“no.” was all he said.

“c’mon, this week has been shitty enough. i don't have any other ideas.” you whispered, knowing there wasn't much time left. “i can't find another spot, there's only, like, 20 seconds left.”

“no, y/n.” he was firm in his answer, but you were just as stubborn.

you gathered a bit of courage, and made your way over to him, ducking in the tight space. you sat down right next to him, a fraction of a fraction of a centimeter between you. “yes.”

he rolled his eyes and rested his head on the painted cinder block wall behind him, lids fluttered closed, too tired to fight. you understood that feeling all too well. “fine.”

✰ .ᐟ

turns out, courtney miller is exceptionally terrible at hide and seek. you’d both been waiting in silence to be found for over thirty minutes. if you had known how long you’d have to sit in such close proximity to spencer, you’d have made several different choices. starting with calling out of work today. 

“jesus, court.” you whispered. then, turning to spencer, you spoke just a tad louder. “we’re supposed be recording confessionals, you know.”

“i'm aware,” spencer said. no malice in his voice, though you could tell he tried. his mask was slipping.

you pulled out your phone and clipped your little selfie light onto it. “hey guys, y/n and spencer here. it’s been over thirty minutes at this point, and i don't think courtney’s even entered the kitchen, let alone this fuckass room.”

“fuckass is crazy,” spencer says, in that giggly, drawn out way he always does. you always liked when he did that. it made your stomach do somersaults, for a reason you could never pinpoint.

“are we allowed to hide together? i know lisa and jeremy technically did in shayne’s hide and seek video.” you ask, purely for the content of it all. you couldn’t care less about any of the rules right now. you were next to spencer, and it felt right. fuck the rules. 

“i'm not sur–” a noise erupted from the kitchen, and spencer paused. “they’re hereeee,” he singsonged. he was disgustingly cute.

“gotta go!” you said, quickly ending the recording and putting your phone away. 

spencer looked at you, and you looked at him. faces mere inches apart. you both heard the door to the kitchen closing, signifying courtney’s exit. you were both safe, for now. no need to stay quiet. but neither of you spoke. 

the silence carried on, seconds to minutes. you started to really look at spencer, dissecting his beauty.

the shine in his eyes, even in this dim, unflattering light. the ghost of a smile on his face. he's the first to turn away.

“y/n,” spencer near begged. “please.”

“what?” you asked, genuine.

he looked back at you. then he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath when he spoke again. “you're killing me, y/n. you know what you're doing.”

you angled your face, just so, closer than you've been to anyone in a long time. closer than you've ever been to spencer agnew. “oh? what am i doing, spencer?” you batted your eyelashes at him.

he inched closer, prompting your noses to touch. it sent a shooting pulse of sparks through your blood. “tell me to stop, y/n.” he whispered, borderline tremulous.

“why?” you didn’t retreat, and you certainly didn’t oblige him.

“please, tell me to stop.” he was still staring into you, through your eyes and deep into that corner of your mind. the quadruple-padlocked door. he held every key, and you could see it all play out: him unlocking every single one with ease. blatant disregard for the consequences of his reckless actions.

you let him. no, you encouraged him. “why can't you stop yourself, spencer?” 

you knew full well courtney could burst in at any moment. you're acutely aware that you're both at work right now, in the middle of a shoot. you couldn’t seem to find the strength to give a fuck.

“because you're in charge, y/n. you always have been. i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.” 

you moved your eyes to his lips, finally tearing away from that gaze. “go,” you whispered.

that was all he needed to crash his lips into yours.

it’s not a great kiss. it never is when you're both this pent up. it's either too aggressive or too soft, never exactly what you're expecting, or wanting. but it enveloped you in that now familiar fire, and you didn’t even care. this could be the worst kiss of your life and you would still think of it fondly years down the line. because it's spencer. and you wanted spencer. and he, seemingly, wanted you too. so you want. and you have. just for a moment.

your brain finally rebooted and you immediately started kissing back, forceful. spencer’s hands found your body, and they wandered. he set them on your hips, then moved one to your neck. then one in your hair and the other on your face. you only pulled back from lack of oxygen. out of pure necessity.

as you both sat there, foreheads pressed against each other, chests heaving, you started to think about what you've done. he didn't just unlock that door, he blew it off the hinges. you weren’t sure you could ever deny yourself the feeling of kissing spencer agnew. not anymore, not now. you've become addicted on the very first hit, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

a loud bang on the opposite side of the wall had both of you separating. only an inch or so between the two of you, knowing you're about to be caught. you willed your heart rate down. trying to breathe slow, deep breaths. “time to be found i guess,” you whispered. 

spencer’s head finds its place on the back wall again. he seemed defeated. tired. but happy. “yeah.”

✰ .ᐟ

two months passed and neither you nor spencer spoke about what happened during courtney’s hide and seek shoot. there's still animosity all around, and you expect that your oscar will be stripped away due to your performance. it’s exhausting, keeping this fucking thing going. you had the one thing you always denied yourself, for just a moment, and that’s all you’ll ever have. you’re well aware of this, and were doing what you could to fully come to terms with it.

but spencer. he seemed so unbothered. like it was nothing to him, like you were nothing to him, like this was all just an elaborate prank. cut the fucking cameras.

tell me to stop, y/n. please. 

christ. your alarm had been turned off five minutes ago, but you remained in bed, under the covers. showing up at work was never a thing you dreaded. you fucking loved your job. and all your coworkers, who were now your friends and your family. you even loved the fans, deranged as they are.

but these days, it was weighing on you. getting up, going in and pretending you don’t know the taste and rhythm of spencer agnew’s sinful fucking mouth. it was hell. you wanted more, and he wanted nothing to do with you. and maybe you should have expected that. maybe this was all on you, for getting your hopes up for even a moment. 

you’re in charge, y/n. you always have been.

you pulled yourself out of bed and into the shower. you turned the water as hot as it could go, grateful to experience a different kind of pain for even a few minutes.

i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.

once your skin had been sufficiently burned, and your actual shower duties were complete, you decided to dress a little nicer today. even though you knew the only plan you had was answering emails, editing scripts, and some social media stuff. 

the shower really helped. the day seemed different, brighter. you felt a little less trepidation about work. you weren’t sure what magic was doled out by your rinky dink shower head, but you were thankful for it all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

pretty much every cast member greeted you at the door. suddenly, that trepidation was back. “what’s going on?” 

“did you not check your phone?” shayne asked, a laugh tumbling out of him.

you thought about it. you hadn’t, actually. you turned your alarm off, showered in silence for the first time in a long time, then drove to work in silence as well. “i guess not. why? is everything okay?” 

angela let out a gleeful scream. “you and spencer have the fandom in a tizzy!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with joy.

your brain went all fuzzy. “me and… spencer?” your mind drifted back to the kiss, and you felt the heat rising on your face. that was embarrassing. everyone was here, and they were all looking at you, and you knew that your blush was violently visible. 

“from the hide and seek video!” chanse added, as though there were any other point of reference.

you started to get a bit light-headed, and you sat down. “i’m confused.”

“why?” courtney asks, coming to sit next to you. it seemed everyone could sense your discomfort, so they dissipated, leaving courtney to work their magic.

“why would anyone care about me and spencer?” you asked. in your defense, you hadn’t watched the video. you couldn’t. you didn’t even watch back the single confessional you recorded, just sent it over to andre. you didn’t delete it though. it sat in your camera roll, heavy on your mind, and taunting you every time you opened your photos app.

they laughed, a soft sound, reassuring. “babe, i need you to watch the video.”

you groaned in response, feeling like a petulant child. like you were going to stomp your feet and cry if you didn’t get your way.  “i don’t want to, courtney. i don’t need to see how fucking red was my face was. i don’t need to see how pathetic i look.”

you hadn’t told a single soul what happened in that little attic crawl space. you didn’t want to – it was a blissful secret. it was easier to hold it in, the truth that you kissed him and it felt like flying and dying and living and breathing and everything all at the same exact time. because if you ever admitted that out loud, you think you’d pass away from the sheer amount of love in your voice when you say it. he was turning you into a hopeless romantic, and you’d barely said seven words to the man since he completely ruined your life.

because that’s what he had done, wasn’t it? you were ruined for anyone else. how could you move on, how could you kiss someone else when spencer agnew made alpha centauri appear behind your eyes. a star system, exploding to life. and you knew, somewhere inside, that that was the only time in your life you’d ever be able to feel something like that. you weren’t even sure you’d want to feel it again. it’s been nothing short of agonizing.

“y/n, can i ask you something?” they questioned, ever patient.

“yes.”

“why do you keep denying yourself good things?” her hand was on your thigh, a soft comfort to offset the sting of her question. “please, i'll show you the clip right here, and i’ll be next to you the whole time. if you want me to turn it off, i will. but will you try for me? please?”

you had never struggled with watching the videos you were in. granted, you usually could just focus on someone else in the shot. this was just you, and spencer. courtney would be there in the background, maybe brennan. but mostly it was you and spencer. and if you didn’t look at yourself, you’d look at him. you weren’t sure which was worse, but you agreed. 

“rip the fucking band-aid off already, i beg of you.” 

she let out a small squeal of excitement, opening her phone. you were only mildly surprised to see the clip was already pulled up. 

courtney pressed play on the video, and they handed you the phone. you watched, captivated. you decided to look at yourself. your blush was evident, and once you noticed that, you couldn’t bear to look any longer, so you looked at spencer. he was staring at you, while you stared ahead, giggling at whatever courtney said. his eyes were fixed on your profile, a smile bursting at the seams of his mouth, threatening a chelsea grin. he was smiling. he begged you to stop him, to stop this. spencer begged you not to feed the fire, but you had thrown gasoline right into it.

the thought… excited you.

“oh, hey,” courtney chirped happily, causing you to tear your eyes away from the screen of her phone. she paused the video and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “i’ll leave you to it,” they stood from their chair, pushing it in and giving you a look of hopefulness. you smiled back, halfheartedly.

“hi, spencer.” you murmured, finally meeting his eyes.

“hi, y/n.” he parroted, walking slowly toward you. he seemed hesitant, but… hopeful? maybe you felt the same way. “can i talk to you for a moment?” he gestured to the recently vacated chair on your left, and you nodded. you couldn’t trust yourself to talk at the moment.

he sat down next to you, entirely too casual. he’s slouched in the chair, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “seems like we did a number on a few people, huh?” he started. still too casual. you braced yourself for impact: we still can’t do this, though. we’re not friends. let alone lovers. 

what he actually said, though, hit you harder than 400 asteroids. “you certainly did a fucking number on me.”

“uh, what?” is all you could muster, confused, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

he sat back up, then leaned into your space. again. he likes to do that. normally, you’d feel too caged, too claustrophobic. but for some reason, it felt like a blessing. a near-familiar comfort in this whirlwind you were caught up in. “y/n, do you remember our first date?” 

your defense mechanism, sarcasm, clicked on in your brain. “if you call that a date, i’m embarrassed for you, spencer.” 

“so you do remember it.”

“yes, spencer. i remember when you accosted me at chili’s.”

he laughed, and you know that it’s such a beautiful sound, but it still hurt. “and do you remember what i told you at the end of the night?”

“you said you didn’t know why we were enemies, but that we both knew it needed to stay that way.”

“exactly. y/n, do you know why i refuse to sit next to you in videos? or why i very frequently cut you off when you’re talking? or why we’ve never been the guests on reddit stories together?”

“no,” you breathe out, honest. “no, i don’t know why.”

“it’s because of what happened in that godforsaken hide and seek video. because i knew, given the proximity, i’d do that. i’d stare at you, zoned out of whatever conversation was happening around me. smiling like a fucking idiot.”

you didn’t speak, feeling overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

“i have a cool guy persona that i try quite hard to keep up, and i didn’t want millions of people seeing me, fucking, splayed out like that. all my feelings on display in 4k. since the day you walked in that fucking door, i’ve been forcing myself to hate you, forcing myself to be your ‘enemy’, playing along with this stupid fucking charade we both seemingly crafted out of nowhere. being that close to you, it makes that whole game a lot harder to play.”

“spencer,” you said, attempting to alleviate some pressure. “you don’t have to–”

“i’m serious, y/n. i’m not mad, i’m not even upset. frankly, i’m relieved. it’s out there, people have seen it, and i’m happy about it. i’m tired of this stupid cat and mouse game, y/n. this shit makes me feel like sisyphus. i’m tired of pushing the stupid fake hatred boulder up the mountain. and i think you are, too. i’ve seen it. i’ve felt it.” he whispered the last part, like it was meant just for him. he was thinking about the kiss. reliving it, the tension, the heat, the closeness. his lips on yours, his hands in your hair. he was thinking about it, and he wasn’t thinking it was embarrassing or gross. he didn’t regret it. he didn’t regret you.

you leaned into him, bringing your nose right up to his, face closer than need be for a conversation between two people who claim to hate each other. “tell me to stop, spencer,” you tried.

he looked at you, eyes wide and shining again. his gaze flickered down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “fuck it,” he stated, and then his lips were on you. 

you were once again kissing spencer agnew, and you were once again doing it at the fucking office. but you didn’t care about that, couldn’t care about that, because he was kissing you, and this time it was different. it wasn’t nearly as clumsy, or aggressive. the angle was perfect, and his hand was resting on the back of your neck, a soft cradle. your brain didn’t need to time to load, or reboot, and for once it didn’t even blue screen. you immediately kissed spencer back, with more fervor than you thought you had in you.

a small moan slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t care about that either. you knew your coworkers were probably watching you both from around the corner, phones out to record the momentous occasion, hushes being thrown at others who dared to speak. 

but right now, the only thing you cared about was making sure spencer knew you weren’t going to play this fucking godawful game anymore. you kissed him like you were serious about it, because you were. you were serious about spencer agnew. as serious as a heart attack, which you felt like you were on the verge of.

you attempted to pull back for a moment, but spencer wouldn’t let you go. he’s starving, and you are a delicacy he intends to gorge himself on, gluttonous. you gave in, and continued to kiss him back. it’s the most blissful feeling, reciprocation.

no more games. no more lies. no more feuds.

no more enemies, or hatred.

some things in life are universal truths. the grass is green, the sky is blue, and you and spencer agnew loved each other. you always had, and both of you were equally tired of pretending otherwise. pushing back against the universe was always a losing game. 

so you both gave in.

and it was heavenly.

“please, y/n,” spencer pined, pulling back but still staying close. “don’t make me wait another two months to do that again.”

a laugh surged out of you, loud and honest. “have you been thinking about doing it again?”

“constantly. it’s a problem.”

you bit your bottom lip, unsure of how you got here. “oh my god,” you put your head in your hands, remembering your first tweet from you posted that. “i’m sorry i threatened to piss in your kickstart.”

this time, spencer was the one who laughed. hard and loud, honest, just like you, a moment ago. like you were still doing, because hearing spencer laugh made you laugh. a contagious happiness pouring from his lips, filling your very atoms.

“it’s okay, i understand. i wanted to piss in your lattes.” he set his forehead against yours, a form of intimacy he seemed to love. just like two months ago, he was invading your space and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“i’m sorry it took so long to get my head out of my ass,” he spilled, remorse heavy in his voice. “to think we could have been doing this so long ago…” his sentence faded away, and you couldn’t help but smile even harder.

“hey, my head was also up my ass. it’s okay. we have time.”

“yeah, we do.”

✰ .ᐟ

the remainder of the week went off without incident. you told ian you would fill out any and all paperwork, but not until you and spencer were ready. not until he formally asked you to be his girlfriend. it was still the very early days, and while you were beyond happy, you didn’t want to jinx it. watching this love grow was a privilege, not a right, and you intended to keep it. 

you both graced the infamous white reddit stories couch, the episode themed around coworker drama. it was nice to be able to laugh with him openly, and it was nice to hear his thoughts on the stories. spencer was incredibly well articulated when he wanted to be, and it was incredibly sexy to watch him be so emotionally mature and vulnerable. he was more understanding than you would have ever expected, and it only made you want him more.

you hadn’t had a real, formal date yet. that was tonight, once shooting wrapped. he refused to tell you anything about it, just insisted you dress comfortably.

and you were comfortable, here on this couch, with spencer. you both had to be reminded not to sit so close together, several times now. shayne and courtney ragged on you a bit, but they promised to give you tips on hiding the relationship if that was what you chose to do. that was a conversation for another time, but it was nice to know everyone at smosh would always be in your corner.

you pulled yourself out of your head to concentrate on shayne’s voice, and you even threw in a few comments mid-narration. you didn’t like doing that often, it felt rude to interrupt. but hearing spencer break out in a fit of giggles at a shitty joke you made only pushed you to be more confident. 

✰ .ᐟ

“where the fuck are going, spencer?” you questioned for approximately the fifteenth time. once shooting had wrapped, everyone bid you and spencer farewell and good luck on your first official date. you went to the bathroom to change into your favorite sweatpants and an old hoodie, and when you reappeared spencer was holding a blindfold in his hand.

without thinking, you had popped the first joke that came into your head. “oh, we’re already getting freaky?”

he had laughed, and insisted it wasn’t anything like that. “but it can be, eventually.” he raised an eyebrow, suggestive and suave.

well, fuck.

as spencer directed you through the office – presumably to take you to one of the stages? – you let the lack of sight relax you. he wanted to surprise you, which means that he planned something. or set something up. you were rapidly falling in love with this man, and you weren’t sure if that was scary or exciting. probably both. you were free falling out of a fucking airplane, the cords on your parachute stuck, but it felt good. 

“okay, you can remove your blindfold,” you heard his voice from behind you, as he finally brought you to a stop.

you slowly reached up to pull the blindfold off, and you couldn’t stop the tears that started to form.

spencer had set up a place for you to record music. he had moved a bunch of props and furniture around on the games stage, and set up a tiny little nook with pillows and blankets and bean bags. somehow, your guitar was there, propped next to an amp. there were several pedals splayed out, a wide array of effects for you to choose from. it was all hooked up to your macbook, which had fl studio pulled up on it.

“spencer…” you whined. the tears were silent, but they fell in waves. 

he moved to stand in front of you, and you knew you would never get tired of being able to be this close to him whenever you wanted. he was yours to hold. 

you tried to stop the tears, tried to speak, tried to thank him and apologize. all you could do was let the small, silent sobs wrack your body. 

“y/n, please please tell me that these are happy tears,” spencer pleaded with you. his hand wiping a tear away from your cheek.

you nodded furiously, and found your voice again. “y-yes. yes. they are happy tears.” you took a deep breath in, stinging in the best way. “thank you so fucking much, spencer. i don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“i know that you write music, but i know you never record it. i didn’t know if that was because you were worried about it not being good enough, or if it was simply the inability to record. either way, i can keep all of this set up here for you. whenever you want, as long as the stage isn’t needed, of course. i was hoping we could have a little jam sesh.” spencer laughed, light and airy.

you surged forward, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. “thank you,” you said again.

✰ .ᐟ

you and spencer spent three hours holed up on the games stage, playing around with different effects pedals and different fl studio presets. the time flew by, and you hadn’t even actually recorded anything, but you didn’t need to. you’d remember every second of this night for the rest of your life. you didn’t show spencer any of the songs you’d written these past few weeks, all of them about him. you would one day, when you were ready, but right now all you wanted was to be in this moment with him.

“it’s crazy how far we’ve come in such little time,” spencer said quietly, once the instruments had been retired and you were both stretched out on the extra large bean bag.

you smiled, agreeing. “yeah. it sucks that we lost out on so much time, but i’m grateful that i get to have you at all.” it was more vulnerable than you had meant to be, but spencer didn’t let it linger in the air too long.

“you have me for as long as you want, babe. i’m not leaving until you kick me out.”

a soft laugh, “i can’t imagine a world where i’d ever kick you out, spencer.”

“it’s like i told you. you’re the one in charge, y/n. i’ll follow your lead wherever it takes me.”

“even if it takes you off a cliff?” you japed, adding some levity to this conversation you weren’t quite ready for.

“yes,” spencer replied, no hesitation or thought. “wherever you go, i’d like to be with you. if you’d have me.” 

you turned fully onto your side so you could look at him again. his hair had gotten so long, and you were hoping he wouldn’t cut it yet. you liked how wild and windswept it looked at this length. you also wanted to pull it.

“what are you saying, spencer?” you were egging him on.

“will you be my girlfriend, y/n? we can go as slow or as fast as you’d like, we can do it all at your pace. we have time,” he assured you. “i know this is only our first date, and normally this might seem like jumping the gun a little bit.” spencer sighed, but it was wistful, not sad. “but i’ve been sure about you for years now, and now that you’re finally giving me the chance, i don’t want to wait. i don’t want it to slip out of my hands.”

you let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding. this side of spencer – no, just spencer – you were so unaware of him and everything he had the capacity to be and do and feel just a few months ago. sure, you’d been pining for awhile, and you’d been watching him for a bit. not in a creepy way, just observing him when he wasn’t putting up the goddamn shield he always forced up around you. seeing spencer for who he was, as he was. you had no idea that he could be so eloquent, so romantic, so fucking perfect.

“christ, you’re going to kill me, charles spencer agnew.”

“is that a yes, y/n? don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already!” spencer laughed again, and you realized just how often you made him laugh. almost like your specific brand of comedy was tailor made for him. maybe it was. 

“yes, spencer, i will be your girlfriend.” you smiled at him, a toothy. unabashed grin. “thank you for this.” you gestured around the nook. “seriously, this is so fucking sweet of you. i really, truly appreciate it.” most people didn’t put so much effort into the first date. this would, normally, be a fifth date kind of thing, probably. not that you had much practice. but it was your first real date, and spencer did all this work just to spend a few hours making shitty hyperpop mixes out of the silliest guitar sounds you could manage.

“don’t get used to it, this was a lot of work.”

your smile dropped instantly, a cold rush hitting you. fuck, was he making fun of you? you felt tears well up again, this time decidedly unhappy tears.

spencer shot up in an instant. “hey, hey. it’s okay, love. can i touch you?”

you cried harder, realizing that not only was spencer not making fun of you, but that he was listening. he always was, he always had been. because he knew not to touch you when you were crying, he knew to ask. and you had never told him that.

you had said it in a reddit stories video once. the story had to do with panic attacks, and you felt like you had to give your two cents, daring to be vulnerable on beyoncé’s internet.

“i actually hate being touched when i’m upset. people always jump straight to hugging me or patting my head or some shit. bro, i’m fucking freaking out, please do not touch me!” 

courtney laughed, agreeing with your sentiment. “no, exactly! like, i’m crying all over myself and i’m snotty and gross. please get your hands off me. you can clearly see i’m overwhelmed, why is your first thought to add to that?” 

it was refreshing to be understood by someone. 

“i have never once seen someone in emotional distress and thought, ‘hmm, i should hug them super tight! that’ll help!’ like, what the fuck are we doing, guys? however, i do remember one time i started having a panic attack, and my friend looked at me and held her hands up, then asked ‘can i touch you?’ which, like, just broke me out of it. i was so thankful that she asked to touch me instead of just doing it that i was immediately calmed down. she’s great.”

the emotions were a sudden flood, and you shook your head no. spencer sat still in his spot, respecting your decision. for some reason, this only prompted you to cry harder.

basic respect had you sobbing. this was fucking embarrassing. 

“i’m so sorry,” you said through tears, trying to explain yourself.

spencer was patient, and you knew he would wait for you to collect yourself. it was a small gesture but it really did mean the world to you. this meant not only did he listen to you when you were talking on set, but also that he watches the videos that you’re in. he wasn’t on that shoot, he had a con to go to. he wasn’t even in the state of california when you had said that. you had said that nearly a year ago, and he had watched the video when it came out. then committed that piece of you to memory.

“spencer?” you let out softly. “i have a question.”

your voice was small, almost upsettingly so. you didn’t mean to sound so timid, but projecting your voice when you’re feeling this many emotions was something you could only do in front of a camera or a live audience.

“yes?”

“how long have you known that you didn't… y’know. hate me?” you sighed, glad to have the weight of the question off of your shoulders, but worried about how heavy the answer might weigh on you. 

“i never hated you. i never even disliked you, y/n. i thought you were smart enough to figure that out.”

“are you negging me, babe?” you asked him, trying out the pet name. it felt nice, especially because you meant it. and because this time, you knew he wasn't being mean. he was just being spencer.

once again, spencer’s laugh graced your eardrums, and you knew you’d never tire of the way it made you feel. unstoppable. like if you could make spencer agnew laugh like this, you could do anything in the world. maybe even be brave.

“can i show you something that i've been working on?” you asked, your eyes trailing up to meet his, which were already fixated on you. as always. 

“of course.”

you grabbed your guitar, turning ever so slightly to the side. you didn't want to hide, but you also didn't want to be on full display. spencer understood your movement immediately; he looked down at his hands for a moment, silently reassuring you that it was okay, that you were safe.

it was refreshing to be understood by someone.

you plucked the chords you had burned into your brain at this point. you had written this song the evening of the hide and seek incident (trademark pending).

you let your eyes fall shut, playing from memory, as easy as 1-2-3. as you began the first verse, you dared to glance at spencer. he was looking at you, but through his periphery. still trying to give you that space, but unable to deny himself. it made you burn bright with pure, radiant joy. 

you glided into the chorus, your eyes fully open at this point. spencer had long since abandoned his resolve, and he was watching you intently. instead of being scared, or nervous, or overwhelmed, you just felt seen.

in every sense, you felt seen. he was looking at you, into you, and not through you. he was seeing your heart on your sleeve, stitched permanently on every cardigan you owned. he was seeing all of your emotions, all the anger, all the sadness. and he understood your emotions, because he had felt them, too. he had gone through it all, too.

how lucky you were, to be loved by someone so observant. and maybe it wasn't love yet, but you knew the potential was there. you knew, as you finished up the bridge and moved on to the outro, that the seed had been planted. you would be sure to water it diligently.

“can i kiss you?” spencer blurted out, as soon as the final note finished ringing out in the otherwise silent stage.

“always.” you met spencer halfway, another crashing, aching kiss. his hands immediately found your hair, as they always did. your arms fell around his shoulders, a loose hold. 

after a moment the kiss was less crashing and danger and speed, slowing naturally to a sensual pace. lightly pulling and pushing, his hands now gripping your hips. not angry, not painful. it was a tight grip, but it wasn't mean. it felt scared, almost, like if spencer didn't hold on to you, you’d be gone. 

you think you liked that feeling. the feeling that your partner wanted you all the time. 

you spent another hour lazily kissing, and ended up falling into a blissful sleep.

✰ .ᐟ

you woke up about an hour after you had crashed. you hadn't meant to, you were just so fucking relaxed and happy. with the way your sleep had been, you weren’t going to turn down a nap. 

spencer mumbled something, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the fact you were still in the office. you groaned, unintentionally.

“you okay, y/n?” your boyfriend – you loved that – asked, his voice soft and scratchy from the nap.

you smiled down at him. “yeah, sorry. i just realized we've only ever kissed at the office.”

you watched in amusement as the cogs turned in his head. “oh, jeez. well, that’s just unacceptable. hey, apropos of nothing, i'm out of kickstart. do you want to run to the corner store with me?” 

spencer held out a hand, as if to say ‘join me on this adventure?’ and you weren’t sure how you could decline his offer. 

♡

[couch-house]

If you've been following me for a while you already know I'm going to tell you to vote for @themetalvirus's Egghog AU in @sonic-au-collision. You know I love drawing those funny little guys. But I think it might be a good idea to actually get into why I find them so compelling! I think any good AU is in conversation with canon,and egghogs is a certified Yapper.

Let's start with our hero, Amy!

Our canon Amy can be characterized by her deep compassion and optimism. As well as how Sonic has inspired her hero crush and motivated her to go out and put that compassion to work herself!* Egghog Amy has that same compassion, but what if she had no choice in being the hero? She had no one to look up to and inspire her, just the crushing weight of necessity. An Amy put in canon Sonic's position, who relies on unceasing and perhaps inappropriate optimism, but is still worn down by the weight of the world. I like this take on her, an exploration of where "toxic positivity" can get you.

*I think the classic IDW Amy characterization is a good example of this. As well as Fleetway Amys origin story heehee

Despite the stress of it all, she still has the optimism to see the best in people and believe they can change for the better. Like, for example, her crush: Egghog Sonic.

Just like canon Sonic, Eggy is a headstrong hedgehog defined by his own moral compass and his need to have a pretty good time. But while canon Sonic is defined by his love of freedom, independence, and by his "coolness," Egghog Sonic has been raised in Eggman's trap of control. He's just as headstrong, but in the opposite direction. His adoptive family is just as important to him as canon Sonic's friends, but in opposition to the good of the world. Where canon Sonic is personally reckless to protect others, Eggy is careless with the safety of others in service to his and his family's needs. Canon Sonic is capricious and relaxed, even in the face of danger, while Eggy is restrained, emotionally stunted, and stressed at all times.

Personally, I think that Egghog Sonic's fighting style being based in ballet--associated with control, restraint, and exclusivity by wealth--opposed to canon Sonic's fighting evoking breakdancing--a sport associated with creativity, play, and its origins as an urban art--does a great job on its own of juxtaposing the two Sonics.

But as I mentioned, even with his morals and freedom in opposition to canon, Egghog Sonic still has that essential connection to the people he cares about: his close-knit (read: highly controlled) family.

Egghog Sonic's younger brother Silver has all of canon Silver's accidental dickishness and ruthlessness, but without the humbling experience of surviving in a ruined future to keep him in check. Born and raised with a silver (ha) spoon in his mouth, Eggy Silver would be killed instantly by canon Silver's upbringing. All his worst qualities have been encouraged (as opposed to canon silver facing consequences for and learning from his flaws) and Eggy Silver is a huge fucking bitch. You know when Silver mugged Tails in Rivals? Okay now imagine if he was raised to do that as a child soldier. Now imagine he gets anything he wants whenever he asks. Thats Egghog Silver. When Silver defects from the Eggpire, we see that appreciation for the world and its history grow back where it belongs. It gives a better appreciation to what motivates canon Silver's view of the world, and recreates it in a new way.

Also the irony of Mr. I Must Fight For The Future's fucked up AU version of himself being part of the cause of the ruined future.... its delicious.

Finally, the oldest brother (by like a couple months...). We all know canon Shadow's had a rough time of it RE: mind control, manipulation, having a whole game where he is asked to be everyones gofer... This is Egghog Shadow's life for a full 15 years. Gerald doesn't finish cooking Egghog, and Eggman is the one to dump him out of the tube and raise him to be the perfect chaos-weilding soldier. He makes liberal use of his ability to physically manipulate Shadow's artificial mind to keep him in line as an endlessly obedient servant. Of course, any Shadow meaningfully based in canon won't stay that way. Just as his canon counterpart breaks free from the demands of those around him to forge his own path, so does Eggy Shadow. Even in the fucking miseries, even without a Maria, Shadow is still will make the choice to walk his own path.

Well, not just his own path. Because while Shadow (esp post-06 Shadow) can be uncompromisingly independent at times, he is still often defined by his friendships. Specifically, his relationship to Rouge is given focus in this AU, being his one reprieve from the empire and ultimately his way out. Canon Shadow had Rouge and Omega by his side during some of his darkest moments and arguably that made all the difference to his arc. Their presence (yes, Omega is here too) during Eggy Shadow's suffering is all the more essential and highlights their roles in canon.

But of course, with greater miseries comes greater struggle to heal. Canon Shadow's neat freak nature gets reinterpreted as a trauma response--maladaptive perfectionism and OCD. (tbc, in the same way fan works often recognize that canon Shadow likely lives with PTSD as a result of his experiences, Egghog Shadow's OCD is presented as an appropriate consequence of the stressful environment he's been raised in.) I like this as an exploration of how Shadow handles stress and trauma, how it might change in different circumstances.

All that to say, Egghog AU is just done in such a compelling way that really grabs me and facilitates Rambling about The Parallels and such. And that I think makes for a GREAT AU. The exploration of Sonic's strong personal morals and headstrong...ness, the benefits and flaws of Amy's intense optimism and compassion, Silver's ruthlessness and meaner side, and Shadow's tendency to introspection and overcorrection... Again I say, a good AU is one that is in conversation with canon, and Egghogs is constantly talking about the fascinating conflicts created by these characters. And thats why you should vote #Egghogs4Eggver

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `catcall, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: sam protects you when you're vulnerable. word count: 747 pairing: sam winchester x fem!reader warnings: touching without consent, light sexual assault

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Your friend asks, hesitation in their voice. You nod. “Yeah, go. It’s two minutes away.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’ll call you when I’m home.” You show them a warm, assuring smile. You’re thankful for them. Not everybody can say they have people they can rely on, even if it’s waiting with you for two minutes for a taxi.

They smile back at you, walking down the path, disappearing into the hustle and bustle.

Town is busy, more-so than normal. You keep your bag clutched under your shoulder and your phone tight to your chest. You glance down at your phone, keeping your head low. The last thing you want is some weirdo approaching you.

“Nice boots.”

The voice makes your stomach drop. You look up. A guy, maybe 5’10”, blonde with a cocky smirk spread across his face. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate.

“Bet they’d look nice laying on my shoulders.”

Your throat tightens. Your words snare, catching like prey in a spider’s web. “What?” You spit, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion and disgust. He stops in his tracks, his friend chuckling behind him. Like this is funny. Like it’s a joke.

“What’re you gonna do?” He asks, the words lingering like an underlying threat. There’s no one else here to back you up, no one to protect you in case something happened. You move back toward the wall behind you.

“No one’s here.” He begins, “No one’s here to protect you.”

He’s sly. The tone in his voice rough and harsh, his body almost flush against yours. Your pulse pounds in your ears, a cold wave runs down your back. Your brain is screaming at you to do something—anything—

But the words tangle in your throat.

His fingertips trace up the side of your thigh, the lace of your dress lifting as he moves higher, higher—

“Get off me, you fucking prick.” You retort, staring at him dead in his eyes. He gazes at you as if it’s your fault. But he doesn’t move.

“I fucking said,” you repeat, “get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.” You threaten, but your body doesn’t budge. It’s like you’re still frozen in place, trapped behind an ice wall.

“Hey,” another voice greets to your left. Terrific. You look over. A mammoth sized man walks up to you, a red Stanford hoodie frames his broad shoulders and messy mousey brown hair covers his brows. He points to the guy hovering over you. “You know him?” He asks, smirking ever so slightly. “N-no, I-”

And that’s enough for him to square him in the jaw. His friend tumbles backwards, in shock at what’s just happened. He stands there as the guy in the hoodie shoves him hard, sending him to the ground. You stand there in terror, as he lays a couple more punches on his face, causing him to bleed. You can’t help but watch, though, as this is exactly what these kinds of sons of bitches deserve. The hoodie guy stands up, wiping a small splatter of blood from his cheek. The mark stays there and he pushes his hair out of his face.

“You okay?” He asks you, and you nod profusely. “Y-yeah, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.”

You look up at him, a gentle smile appears on his face, his eyes glossy as if he’s either drunk or having a tough night, too.

“Don’t mention it.” He grins, holding out his hand. You shake it. “Sam.”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How’re you getting home?” He questions, and you look to your right, noticing your taxi had been there this whole time. The driver looks a little off-guard, but who wouldn’t be after seeing a fight?

“That’s my taxi.” You point over to it, and he walks with you. The friend of the guy is assisting him in standing up, but the other is wafting him away.

Sam walks you over to your taxi and opens up your door. “Get home safe, yeah?”

“I will. Thank you.”

Sam glances at you once more, before shutting the door behind you. The taxi sets off.

“You know that guy?” He asks you, looking at you through the rear-view mirror.

“That’s Sam. I just met him.” You reply, glancing back at the driver.

“Good kid. We need more of him.”

You look down at your thighs, still clutching your phone in your hand.

Yeah, and fewer bystanders like you.

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a nate bargatze sketch

Eddie’s least favorite thing people say when they find out he’s gay and married to a man is when they ask who the “man” of their house is, because…it’s fucking stupid and wouldn’t be funny even if it didn’t rely on patriarchal bullshit that Eddie didn’t buy into even before he and Steve had three daughters.

The thing is though…there definitely is a man of their house, and it’s Steve.

And if Steve isn’t home, it’s their oldest daughter, Moe.

Eddie knows this is true because there’s someone coming to their house to work on…something. All Eddie caught when Steve brought it up was, “We’ve been in this house for almost twenty years. I’d rather deal with it now than wait until it’s causing problems.”

So it’s either the roof, the water heater, or the furnace.

(He thinks).

Every once in a while Eddie gets frustrated enough about this to want to get more involved – he helped Wayne out with this shit all the time when he was a teenager, and he worked as a mechanic well into his twenties (up until he got his first book deal and was able to quit and write full-time). It’s not that Eddie can’t understand all that stuff – no, it’s Steve insisting that he take on all that kind of stuff in their life together so that Eddie didn’t have to that did it, and now it’s been so long since he exercised that part of his brain that it’s basically gone dormant.

The nail in the coffin is when Steve says, “If he shows up before I get back – do not engage. Get Moe. She knows what this is all about.”

She totally does, is the thing, so Eddie just replies, “Got it,” and prays that Steve gets home from the hardware store before the contractor arrives (is he a contractor? Eddie doesn’t think he even knows what a contractor is).

Naturally, not even five minutes after Steve pulls out of the driveway, a dark blue van pulls in.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie mumbles, and then he calls upstairs, “Moe. The guy Pop was talking about is here.”

Moe calls something incomprehensible back (hopefully it’s I’ll be down in a second) because by the looks of it this guy is already halfway to the front door.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Moe is not down in a second and he ends up in a conversation about water heaters with…not a contractor, he’s pretty sure. A plumber, maybe? Doesn’t matter – just a guy who’s gonna fix – or maybe it’s replace? – their water heater…for some reason.

“So where’s the heater?” the not-contractor-maybe-plumber asks.

“Uhh…” Eddie hesitates, and thank Christ, Moe appears at the top of the stairs.

“Basement,” she says, “Anode rod was replaced three years ago but the rest of it’s been there since we moved here in ‘04.”

The guy launches into a whole water heater spiel, and Eddie realizes halfway through he’s not trying to engage with Moe at all. He’s directing it all at Eddie as if Eddie is hearing anything more than Charlie Brown-esque phone call mumbling. He concludes with a question about…something related to tanks maybe? Or maybe it was tankless. Eddie has no idea. Moe answers it because she knows what the hell this guy is talking about, but still this asshole is looking at Eddie for confirmation.

“Dude, I dunno why you're looking at me,” Eddie tells him, and then he points at Moe, “My daughter works on airplanes. I write books. I'm telling you – you're better off listening to her.”

[salfishermustdie]

sal fisher headcanons

i've literally never been so horrendously down bad for a character before.. so i HAD to share my head canons for sal :3

CW: NSFW AHEAD!!

fluff <3

♡ he would try to teach you guitar, even if you arent very good at it...

♡ if you have sh scars, he'd kiss them over and over and over again, no matter where they are

♡ blushes over everything you do, any little touch you give him, he gets flustered over

♡ "ummmmm... uhh- i- well.. umm"

♡ he loves giving you things. for whatever reason, he's always gifting you small trinkets to show his love for you. his favorite excuse for buying you something is "it reminded me of you!"

♡ not the kinda guy who goes for looks. no matter how 'ugly' you think you are, he'll wholeheartedly see you as the most beautiful person in the world.

♡ with that being said.. he'd definitely stop in his tracks if he saw a cutie :3

♡ (IT'S YOU, YOU'RE THE CUTIE. EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU IS HIS TYPE. GOD, HOW ARE YOU SO PERFECT FOR HIM??)

♡ if you ever mention something in a conversation (a band you like, a cool movie you just watched or a book you read, etc.) he's definitely going home and learning all he can about it.

♡ wholesome romance like those in the romcom movies

♡ "i love everybody because i love you" /ref /ly

♡ would totally let you paint his nails, do his hair, anything like that. he loves when you make him feel pretty <3

♡ doesn't want anyone to know this, but he loves wearing your clothes. like, you know the whole "wearing you bf's jacket/hoodie" thing? that's what he wants, but with your clothes.

♡ obviously he won't deny you his hoodie, but deep down he's waiting for you to give him yours

♡ LOVES giving long, deep, passionate hugs. hugs and cuddle sessions that can go on for an hour. he loves squeezing you against him, it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside; being so close to someone he loves so much

♡ he WILL sniff you. he can't get enough of your scent. at first he was scared you would think it was weird, but now he does it freely. he's a very sensual person, and because of his disability (possibly impaired sight?), he often relies on his other senses to soak up every little piece of you.

♡ he loves wrapping you in his arms, cradling and comforting you if he knows you need it.

♡ he's excellent at reading you. he feels like he knows you best. despite being someone who can't really show his emotions through his expressions, he's amazing at reading yours.

♡ you don't even have to tell him anythings wrong. he knows when you need a hug.

nsfw :3

♡ definitely has a mommy kink. argue with the wall.

♡ it just slipped out one day.. you were riding him, making him feel good and warm, and all of a sudden he let out a small "m-mommy..!"

♡ that being said, he LOVES having you on top of him

♡ while you're straddling him, he grabs you by your hips to make sure you're not going anywhere

♡ very shy + whimpering mess

♡ the kind to not know where to put his hands

♡ that doesn't mean he sometimes doesn't have a dom side to him...

♡ he's definitely a giver. he prioritizes your pleasure before his own

♡ he's insecure about his ability to turn you on, make you cum, etc. he always tries his hardest to make you feel good, and lets just say it always works :3

♡ jerks off to the thought of you more than he would like to admit

♡ has a VERY vivid imagination.

♡ oh god the things he thinks about doing to you are almost to embarrassing for him to admit

♡ very sweet and loving the whole time. he's huge on praise, and would rather die than ever make you uncomfortable. your sessions are filled with millions of

"are you liking that?" "you're doing so good for me." "are you okay with this?" "you feel amazing (y/n)"

♡ he needs 100% confirmation on your dirty suggestions. you could make a hint, but won't act on it until he's absolutely sure you mean it (obviously you always do, but god is this boy insecure.)

♡ doesn't seem like it, but will fuck you like a rabbit. it's always the quiet, sweet boys who are the dirtiest behind closed doors :3

♡ likes being bitten. idk. idc. IDGAF.