#Sorry to get so sappy on you guys lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joosthead · 4 months ago

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touch tank || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 16S) the classic “oh, let me help you put some sunscreen on” but then the little massage turns into something more

part 2 of just too soft for all of it — this is a standalone fic but both of these are set in the same universe if you want some more : )

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, gets referred to as joost’s girlfriend. notfamous!reader. if you are a person who does not tan/burns—pretend that you can tan easily for this fic😭 exploration into joost and normal!reader’s dynamic. little bit opposite aesthetic reader

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 7.7k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (oily massage, f!receiving oral+eating from back, unprotected piv, outdoors [but still private] sex, creampie), perfect world w perfect temperatures and pools, quite sappy lol didn’t know i could top jtsfaoi but here we are, google translate dutch. note: ice lolly/popsicle in mind. yes this is important. idk if they have these in nl but they do now < 3

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “touch tank” by quinnie, “love is strange” by mickey & sylvia, “pink in the night” by mitski

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i really wanted to combine this with prompt 14 but i couldn't make it work : ( i do have requests for that that i’ll fulfill so stay tuned teehee !! sorry this took so long, i am a perfectionist and absolutely adore this prompt so—here you guys go !! enjoy : 3

₊˚⊹⋆translation: "Kun je me hier voelen, diep in je?" - "Can you feel me here, deep in you?"

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

Because your life is so perfect, the day after your meltdown and subsequent putting back together (courtesy of Joost), your area gets hit with the worst heatwave of the summer.

You guess that this is some cruel tactic of the universe to make its stars align for you in any way it can. The unbearable beams of sunlight beaming down upon you the moment you exit Joost and your shared home into the backyard. “Are you sure we should have a day outside?” you call back behind you, putting on your sunglasses. “Shouldn’t we just chill inside and watch something?”

Joost comes up behind you, arm snaking around your waist, lips planted on your cheek in a second. “Some sunlight will be very good for you, you’re always holed up in the office or library,” he mumbles into your shoulder, covered by the baby-blue cotton fabric of one of his button ups. “You can bear it.”

You shake your head, but keep walking forward down the steps anyways, sandals slapping against the small wood deck. “I think the heat might kill me.”

“It won’t—I won't let it!” Joost exclaims proudly, letting you go and going ahead of you. Even without seeing his face, you know how big of a smile he’s got on his lips.

The pool sloshes on its own, the aqua blue water spilling over the sides and darkening the gray pavement next to it. On one of your loungers, Joost sets down the tote bag he prepared of towels, sunscreen, the change of clothes you’ll wear when you go back inside. You woke up to it this morning, along with a butcher paper wrapped breakfast sandwich and a glass of water. A text accompanied it—he would be out back, taking the cover off the pool and setting everything up.

Usually, you're the one setting everything up, preferring to have it your own specific way, but—you chose peace last night, going straight to bed after taking that bath together After these few years together, Joost may not be as Type A as you, but he can certainly hold his own now around the household.

Your backyard is a quaint sight: the fence lined with various flower bushes, clean cut grass all around. A tree stands in the corner, roots surrounded by a ring of decorative rocks and pink carnations—there isn’t much either of you have done to upkeep any of it, but somehow, they bloom year after year. Your loungers are baby blue, covered in the towels that Joost has set out, the tote bag spilling over on the left one.

It's almost like you’ve taken an outing to the beach and you're not in the little old house you’ve lived in for the past few years. Any day with Joost is that extravagant, he makes it that way. Already, you can relax, your shoulders lowering as you sit down on the edge of your lounger and watch as Joost squats, running his fingers along the surface of the water in silence.

Low on his hips, Joost’s swim trunks are black and needlessly designer, just the way he likes them. He’s shirtless, the expanse of his back to you—his own name is tattooed on his right shoulder in some sans-serif script he must’ve liked before he ever met you, and in this sunlight, you wish in secret to see your own next to it.

“You’re staring, lieverd,” Joost remarks over his shoulder, giving the water one final splash as he stands up and you smile.

“How could I not?”

“I’m just too beautiful, aren’t I?” He comes over to you, standing in front of you and shielding you from the sun. “You ready to get in the pool?”

Behind your sunglasses, you squint up at him and nod. “Put on some music and I’ll go.”

Goofy as always, he salutes to you and marches away like some Supreme swim trunk clad soldier. As he sets up the speaker on the far side of the pool, you unbutton your shirt, get ready to slip off your flip flops, but in your pocket, your phone vibrates.

You check it—it’s an email from your supervisor, asking you to look over a few files for her. Regardless of your big day out taking up your time…it’s a Saturday. And yet you still find yourself about to respond, about to start typing when Joost places his big hand over your phone screen, saying, “We can look at that later, yeah?” Your grip on the phone loosens; he’s right, you can look at that later. There’s still a part of you that wants to reply, scared of what the consequences will be if you don’t, but—“Today will be great.” Taking your face in his hands, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Come, now.”

You stand up and he slips off your button up for you, dropping it on the deck chair. You adjust the strings of your bikini; white and blue and flowery, patterned like a delicate porcelain vase, so pretty on you and Joost tells you such.

Turning to him, you hold your hands out to the side, showing yourself off. Joost’s hand comes up to your collarbone to fidget with the matching necklaces you both have that you wear now—pearl pendants in dainty silver cages attached to short chains and these green and tarnished (“well-loved,” Joost calls them) old halves of a “BEST FRIENDS FOREVER” heart-shaped necklace from a Claire’s you both visited on a trip to America. He wears them both today, too, chains intertwined and tangled as always.

“Do you realize how pretty you are? Zo mooi mijn liefste,” Joost says, taking your hand and twirling you around for a better look—he wolf whistles, and it makes you laugh, cheeks warming with his eyes on you.

“With how much you tell me, I think I’m starting to realize it.”

“Very glad,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell you more then.”

Grinning, you pull away and make for the pool steps, but not before Joost taps you on the ass; you act scandalized, dropping your mouth open, narrowing your eyes at him, but it’s lighthearted, and just makes you want to finish what you started last night. “Smokeshow!” he whisper yells through his cupped hands around his mouth as you walk forward and to the side of the pool—it’s still morning, and your neighbours are weird about noise. This is his version of being considerate of that. Too bad for them that you moved Joost Klein into your once quiet home.

Dipping a toe into the water, you immediately suck in a breath through your teeth at how cold it is. Even with the tarp and the sun shining down upon it for hours, the water still nips at your skin, something in your brain perceiving it to be freezing and impossible to step into. “Ew,” you mutter, and Joost snickers from behind you.

“Baby can’t handle it?” he teases.

“Not true,” you mumble, going down the second step, ankle deep, and immediately scrambling out of the water. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck?”

“You’re surprised that water is supposed to be cool?”

“It’s not supposed to be that cool.”

“Come here.” You turn around, walk right up to him. Even without shoes, you still have to look up at Joost, and he smiles right down at you—you know that’s going to happen. “C’mon. Jump, schatje,” he says, tapping the backs of your thighs, so you do—he can carry you with ease, all the times he’s brought you upstairs this way, all the drunken piggybacks he’s given you. You wrap your arms around his neck, wrap your legs around him tightly, while he has his hands under your ass. “Good, baby.”

He takes the opportunity to press a kiss to your neck, then starts forward down the pool steps, slowly so you can adjust. “Agh!” you yelp softly as he moves further into the pool, the cold water coming up around your body, engulfing you. The temperature is a shock to your system, though the way it cools your hot skin is so, so welcome. It isn’t as cold like this.

“Is it okay?”

“I’m okay,” you say, though you hug him closer to get any sort of warmth on you.

“Are you sure?” he laughs, and you nod, still clinging onto him like a little bear. “You’re so cute. I think I deserve a kiss for that.”

“One for carrying me,” you say, kissing him on his soft lips. “Another for setting all of this up.” You kiss him again, and Joost deepens it, somehow squeezing your body even tighter to his, tongue teasing at your mouth as he squeezes your ass, as you rest your hands on his chest. “Have we ever done it in a pool?” you ask once you pull away.

“Never.” Joost gives you one last peck, one last kiss on the jaw as he smiles at you. “Do you think today is the day?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

—

After around an hour of wading around—you’ve both decided that today is not the day to do it in a pool. It’s too hot, even with the cold water you’re situated in. Not even your house or the tree in the corner of the yard provides good shade for the water as the day gets later, the sun beating down on your shoulders; it would turn into a burn if you were that unlucky, but you, however, are not.

In the morning when you first stepped out, the pool was still shaded and you and Joost could do whatever you wanted: breath holding contests, Joost trying (and failing) to do a handstand underwater, racing each other across and back several times like this was some backyard Olympics. After a bit, you floated on your backs together, laughing about what the water feels like in your ears, laughing about how terrible he is at floating. Finally, you felt all of the worries from the past month melt away and into the water as you gazed up at the blue sky above you.

You heard it before it came—Joost swiping the surface of the water, making a large splash that drenched your face as you floated. You exclaimed, “You dick!” and freed yourself from your float to splash him back in the face hard, then he feigned the hurt and sorrow that fills one’s heart after chlorine fills their waterlines, rubbing at his eyes—you weren’t not going to come over and dote on him, but then he splashed you back as you looked over his red eyes, and it made you splash him back even more.

Noise be damned, you were both laughing and shrieking and splashing for around an hour—in the midst of your splash war, you noticed how pink Joost’s shoulders were, the beginnings of a nasty sunburn afoot with the afternoon sun shining down on both of you. You shooed him out of the pool and into the refuge of the umbrella covering your lounge chairs, and started to rummage in the bag before he sprung up from his seat.

“Wait, wait, wait! Before I forget—” Joost exclaims, running back up the stairs and into your house. A minute or two passes, and he comes back with his hands behind his back, closing the sliding door shut with his foot. In front of him, he holds out a twin popsicle—two sticks encapsulated by sweet red syrup and already melting in its package. “Ijslolly!” He presents it to you as he comes down the stairs, then bows to you deeply and dramatically, which makes you laugh. “Here you go, m’lady,” he says, then tips his imaginary fedora to you because. Because of course he would—anyone else, it would make you cringe, but it’s Joost. Perfectly goofy, perfectly sweet, perfectly Joost.

You laugh as he opens the wrapper and splits the popsicle in two—one for him, one for you. “Thank you, kind sir,” you giggle, playing along. “Where’d you even get this?” you ask, taking your half and licking at the melting syrup already dripping onto your hand.

“I went to the store while you were sleeping,” Joost says proudly, biting into the popsicle. “It’s strawberry, do you like?”

Walking forward, you nod and get up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I love.”

He beams at you, sits down, chomps at his popsicle while you eat yours; he puts his hat and sunglasses back on and you do the same, and you sit together as the music plays for you.

A new Charli xcx song, Joost and Käärijä’s recent collaboration, an incredibly sexual recent Ski Aggu release that you make a note of texting him “???” about later.

Before you know it, you’re left with a red-stained stick, a red-stained mouth, a satisfied sweet tooth. “Okay, Joosty. Sunscreen time.” He gives you an exaggerated grumble but sits down at the edge of the lounger nonetheless, and you stand between his legs, taking the sunscreen from behind him and uncapping it. “You need it more than I do.”

“Shush,” he says, but lets you take out two fingers worth of sunscreen, lets you take off his sunglasses and spread the sunscreen on his cheeks, rubbing it in. You can’t resist him and his pretty face, dusted pink cheeks, ocean blue eyes looking up at you through long blonde eyelashes.

You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t pay attention to where you’re going—“Oops,” you giggle. “I got sunscreen on your mustache.”

“Oops,” he repeats. “I don’t mind.”

Hands on the backs of your thighs, Joost pulls you close by them and presses a kiss to your stomach, then hugs you tight around your waist. Automatically, your hands come up to play with his hair, combing your fingers through the strands. “All of your sunscreen is going on my stomach, Joost.”

“Don’t care. You think if I lay out in the sun for long enough, it’ll bleach my hair more?”

You snicker, “The heat will singe you to pieces before it can even bleach your hair.”

Sighing, he presses another kiss to your stomach. “You’re lucky. You get to tan today.”

“I ran out of my oil in Cuba, Joosty, I can’t.” A couple’s vacation with Appie and Alanis in Havana, feels like so long ago even though it’s only been two months. Fruity cocktails on the beach (and in your hotel room, and at the bar, and in the club, and…), running down hallways, fussing over Joost’s sunburned cheeks, Joost ogling you sunbathing but unable to do anything out of respect for your friends right next to you. You should have picked up another tub, but you weren’t exactly expecting to be tanning back in Amsterdam anyways.

“You can't, or you won't? Look in the bag,” Joost mumbles into your tummy. You lean over behind him and reach into the tote—most of the other things have already spilled out and onto the lounger behind him: your sunglasses, two droom groot caps, the wrapper of your popsicle, a cheap film camera, and…a brand new tub of coconut oil. Your favourite brand. He must’ve picked it up on his trip to the store this morning, and you laugh, “You're so sweet.”

“Mm-mm,” Joost hums. “That’s you, lieverd. You should lie down, I’ll put the oil so you can tan your back.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you snort, “Feels like you have something up your sleeve, Klein.”

He grins a toothy smile up at you—“Maybe I do.”

Joost gets up and moves all of the things to the other lounger, allowing you to lie on it on your stomach. You wiggle around a little on it, settling into the soft cushion, your back already stretching with your position.

“I will be a great masseuse, schatje, don’t you worry. “ Careful not to put too much weight on you, Joost straddles the backs of your thighs.

“Should I be worried?”

“No.”

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“Don’t be.” From behind you, he gets up, and you turn around to see what he’s doing—he gets your/his button up from the other chair and slips it on. “No more burning today for me.”

You nod as he settles back on you, and you hear the sound of your little coconut oil tub being opened, the safety seal being ripped off, the clicking of his tongue at it ripping off unevenly. The air is a comfortable blanket of warmth upon you now, your worries melting away with it as you wait for Joost.

“Can you untie the string around my back?” you ask before you forget.

A few beats of silence pass until Joost finally says—“What?”

“Is there a problem?”

“Why untie?”

Joost’s voice has deepened an octave—almost grave, the tone of his voice is, because all of the possibilities in his mind floating around. Just your bare back and its expanse in front of him.

“I don’t want a tan line,” you explain. “Untie it and I won’t get one.”

“Okay,” he affirms, though sounding uneasy as he undoes the tight strings of your halter top, the strings around your torso. He swipes them out of his way, and you assume the pause in his movement is to dip his fingers in the coconut oil and warm it up for you.

Your assumption is right. In a minute or so, Joost’s big hands smooth across your back, firm yet gentle—he knows exactly how to handle you. The oil provides a lovely glide for his palms against your skin, and it smells so great; the pressure he’s applying is perfect on you, and you let out a little mewl of pleasure. The knots in your back are melting away with every swipe of his hands across it and you have to ask—“Where’d you learn to give such a great massage, Joost?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Even if you tried, you couldn’t deduce how he learned to do this; maybe you’re just super tired from the last month (very likely) or he was a masseuse in his past life, but you’re already less tense with his hands on you. He digs his thumbs into the small of your back and rubs circles into it as you sigh in contentment at how it feels.

“I like this song,” Joost mumbles as it changes to this one you found years ago, some song about baby blue shirts, how pretty he looks going down on you.

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Seems very appropriate for the situation, right?” Eyes closed, you smile with his fingertips hovering just above your skin, a pause now in his treatment for you. “Can I…you know…” with his finger, Joost writes a small J, one, two, three times, on your back and sliding with the oil waiting for your response.

“Massage me for a little more, I’ll think about it.”

“Fine,” he breathes, then gets back to work.

Joost smoothes his hands over your back muscles; first over the top, over your trapezius, then up to your shoulders. He pinches a little around the shoulders, gliding over the smooth skin there. Hands sticky with oil, the solid melts with the sun-warmed dip of your spine, the valley of your back before him. The dip is perfect to smell, perfect to kiss; perfect to put a light hand on in public and a harsher grip on in private. With every movement of his hands, it smells more like coconut, smells less like you, and Joost has to resist the urge to bend down and nose at it to get your scent back. Every movement is accompanied by a little—a little breath. A little happy sigh from you, and it makes him go insane with every press of his hands against you.

You’re much more refined than he is, more able to keep it together; if Joost was in your position, he knows he’d be a mess under you, quick and fast and easy. You’re his favourite person—the wave of your hand could bring him to his knees. Taking care of you comes so easily to him, even if he’s so commonly doted upon by other people. This feeling—no wonder you like taking care of him as much as you do.

Today is so happy, a day that’ll get him through weeks and shows to come without you, long days on the tour bus wishing you could be by his side. Joost got through yesterday, his flight, the ride home using the prospect of you, seeing you, to get by. Then he got home, and seeing you was all he could look forward to after being away for what felt like forever, and he finally did, and he was so overjoyed and then—then you were crying, and he felt so sad that all he could do was hold you. He wants badly to understand why.

“Can I ask…can I ask why you cried yesterday, lieverd?” Joost adds in a soft voice, still running his hands firmly over your sore muscles, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand. But I’d like to know sometime, so we can help you feel better.”

You’ve known since the moment you started crying that you’d have to talk about it sometime. Sharing everything with each other is the way your relationship is, how it always has been—you thought about it in the bath with him, his chest against your back, deep and tired voice reverberating with it. How to word it as he played the first track on the new album, so crazy experimental and unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before. Thought about it in the pool, thinking about it now.

“I just…I’m probably the most mundane part of your life. There’s this little voice in my head, maybe it’s what I think people are saying about me—‘You’re telling me Joost Klein couldn’t find someone more interesting?’” You think back to an offhand Tweet you saw come up on your timeline, 10 angry quote tweets already defending you, no likes, but it still sticks to the back of your mind like some aggravating super glue: “‘His girlfriend doesn’t even do music or anything special and she still can't show up for him.’ I don’t travel like you do, I’m not always making music or doing things. And still, I couldn’t be there for you.

I watch you at your shows and you’re this…enigma, you’re amazing. I want to be as good as you, I wanna show you off like you show me off. But there’s always something in the way. My schedule, or university, or work.” It’s truly difficult now not to feel like you overshared, dumped something on him that maybe you weren’t prepared to dump on him—a cloud shadows the sun, just at the right moment, and the parts of your skin not already touched by the umbrella’s shade are cooled momentarily. “Or maybe I’m just not trying hard enough for you.”

“I’m not flashy,” you say softly, settling on your forearms. “My way of being flashy is the way I love you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever think it compares to how you do it. I feel bad, that’s all. Like I could be doing more for you in every way.” Whatever it is, whether or not you were prepared to say it—it’s out now. “‘Cause you deserve it, you always do.” Blindly, you reach behind you and hold your hand out for him to hold, and he does, squeezing it tightly. Your cheeks warm, and it’s certainly not because of the temperature outside anymore. “I’m sorry I killed the vibe.”

From behind you, you hear a sniffle, and you raise your head and look back, alarmed. Joost wipes a tear away with his other hand, laughs a sniffly laugh as you laugh, “Joooost. You’re gonna make me cry.”

“No, no, no vibe killing in this house.” You crane your head back again, pursing your lips, and he leans forward so he can kiss you, then peppers kisses until your shoulder, mumbling, “I should be comforting you, lieverd.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Don’t really need to be comforted, just need to get it through my head that it’s not like that. I’m just sad that you’re sad.”

Joost rubs your back, though it seems like he needs that more than you do if you’re judging by his sniffles and wavery voice alone. “I never knew you felt that way.”

He wraps his arms around your torso, hugging you close and continues, “If it’s any consolation, which I hope it is—you could never be careless. You set out my favourite sleep clothes for when I got back, favourite snacks, plushies on the bed, a place in the dresser for new stuff.” You have to admit—you were pretty proud of that last idea when you came up with it. “You’re thoughtful, and you’re kind, and I’m so lucky to have you. I love you, I love you. I love you.”

With every “I love you” is a kiss upon your skin that you can’t see, but feel wholeheartedly anyways. “My muse, my saviour,” he says, and you have to laugh a little. “I mean it, you know I mean it.” And you do, you know it—how could you not when it comes from Joost? “You’re the most extraordinary part of my life, schat. Every show, your presence is there with me, even if you feel you aren’t.”

“Not true,” you say, voice teasing. “That would be impossible, wouldn’t it?”

You can feel the roll in his eyes from here, even though you can’t see it. “Yeah, yeah. But you know what I mean, right? Best friends forever, that’s what our necklaces say. Always there for each other. You’re always there with me.”

He kisses your shoulder. The oil is strange on his lips, but he doesn’t mind—it’s you. “Nothing compares to you, everything we have together…I hope you know how I feel now.” Pausing, Joost rests his forehead on the back of your head, breathes you in. “I’m obsessed with you, I think,” he whispers into the nape of your neck, then kisses it, and you laugh with the tickle of his lips, his facial hair against your sunwarmed skin.

“You are? I didn’t know,” you tease, perking your ass up against Joost on top of you because—somewhere in your conversation, he’s gotten hard, and it’s poking against your thigh now, making you bite your lip. Stroking each other’s egos has gotten you both excited, it seems. “What’s up with that, hm?”

“You should know. I’m telling you right now, I’m obsessed with you. And this?” Joost grinds his crotch against you just lightly, kissing the side of your neck as he lowers his voice, “This, I like talking about you too much. You can’t blame me for it, you’re gorgeous.”

“I don’t think I know how obsessed with me you are yet. Tell me more?”

“Do I have to tell you, schat?” he says, gentle and low, fingering the delicate ties on your sides and the sensitive skin of your hips under them. His fingers drag down the column of your spine, tease at the edge of your bikini. “I don’t think I have to tell you, right? That I love you, need you?”

“You don’t? Have to tell me?”

“I’ll show you.”

You imagine what he looks like behind you—burnt shoulders, rosy cheeks, dark sunglasses, chlorine dried blonde hair all messy and the tips dripping with water still upon the billowy cotton of his button up. Those blue eyes, blown out at the sight of you underneath him, wandering every lovely curve of your body. Slowly, he unravels the ties that hold both sides of your bottoms together, the nylon springing back against your skin, and you fight the urge to smile in anticipation of Joost all over you soon.

“You don’t want any tan lines down here?” he asks, fingers already underneath the damp fabric of your swimsuit bottoms. You shake your head no. “Ok, then no tan lines.”

Joost slips the fabric off of your skin; the dampness makes it cling to you still, though it’s easy enough to take off completely. You hike your leg up for easier access, turn your head so you can get a good look at him. In a sort of headband, his sunglasses are perched atop his head; the button up wrinkled and a bit stained with oil; rightfully, his eyes are half-lidded with want, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his trunks.

“What do you want to do?” Teasing him, you run a finger down his bulge and he smiles at you. Truly, you haven’t a single idea about what Joost wants to do with you next, and it looks like he doesn’t either—until his eyes light up, and you figure that tugging gently at his trunks for him can help expedite the process.

“Can I try something?”

“Go right ahead.”

You lie in wait as Joost lowers his shorts, erection springing out and his hand coming to wrap around it and give it a few pumps—you reach behind, running a finger down the slit, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he strokes himself, then settles his cock on the soft cleft of your ass and glides it against, between it.

You laugh, “You’re such a dog, Joost,” but as he ruts gently against you—the little moans he’s doing in your ear, already rambling about how good you feel and he’s not even inside yet, one hand gripping your hip and keeping his cock in place and the other on the back of the lounger so he can keep his balance; this is your personal paradise.

“Fuck,” Joost whispers, biting his lip. You love a show, and he’s ever the showman—but you’re outside, he’s outside, he’s very aware of your cranky old neighbours, and he loves you and your house. One day, you’ll share the lease together, so he tries and stays quiet for the sake of that dream, so you both won’t get kicked out for verbal indecency today.

“I know how much you like it, Joost,” you purr from under him, voice muffled by your arms. “You can tell me.”

From Joost’s point of view, you look like a line in his song, the notes in the margin crafting and tailoring the work to his perfect vision; you look like the fully realized final draft of something he’s been working on for months, trying to find the sound of for years.

If he could write something about this moment, it would probably result in entire sagas, but for now—keeping you like this close to his chest is a gift only he has.

“I can’t be eloquent like this,” he laughs, and you have to agree; whatever goes on in that head, he short circuits before he can say it in this state of pleasure.

Joost pauses his small thrusts, catches his breath. “Go on,” you encourage, but he breathes a quiet, “No. If I go any more, I’ll cum early and that would be so lame, schat.”

“Not lame. I would personally love to see it.”

“Mm-mm. We are not doing that today,” he laughs, and the sound makes your heart warm.

“Put it in,” you say softly, trying to convince him to keep going—it’s so cute how far gone he is already, how hard he’s trying for you.

“No, no, no. Let me taste you first.”

You cannot argue with that.

In an instant, you abandon your bikini top, abandon the bottoms too in a crumpled mess on the ground laying on your sandals and his flip flops. “Hands and knees, lieverd,” Joost says, and you follow his direction, settling so you’re on your elbows and your ass is hiked in the air.

A few moments pass as Joost sits behind you, and you have to ask—“What are you waiting for?”

“Just enjoying the view,” he says, then gives a kiss to your ass cheek, making you giggle. “So impatient today, schat. Is it because I was gone for so long?” Joost moves your knees so they’re spread even wider, giving him more access to you. “How much did you miss me?” A kiss to the back of your thigh, right near your center, your stomach caving in with the deep breath you take in anticipation.

“I missed you a lot,” you whisper, looking back at him focusing his dilated eyes on your pussy, and your cheeks grow hot at the sight. “Missed you more than you know.”

“Did you?” He licks a tentative stripe up your slit, up even higher over your hole—so sensitive, your knees could shake with only the tip of his tongue teasing you. “Show me, let me hear it, lieverd.”

“Joost,” you scold, though your arching back reveals your true feelings about what he’s doing.

“Sorry, can’t resist.” He presses a kiss atop it before coming back to your pussy.

So exposed, so vulnerable, so open, Joost’s fingers parting your folds. He spreads them gently so you’re even more open to him and licks in between, drinking from you. The smacking of his lips against you—it’s filthy. You’re so cognizant of the sound; is it unmistakable from outside, Joost’s tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers rubbing circles on where he can’t reach? You hope the sounds of the city outside your flat cover the mewls that spill out of you as he lays his tongue flat against it and laps up your wetness.

“I think we should get you more tan in the front, too, right, schatje?” Joost says, breathless, and you flip over, laying on your back for him. Before he can get back to business, you cup his chin, pinching it gently between your fingers. His lips are covered in your wetness, glistening with it in the sunlight. You pull him to you, bringing his lips to yours, the salty taste of yourself on your tastebuds, on your chin as well now.

This all makes you realize—you weren’t wrong at all for missing him so terribly.

When you pull away, Joost pauses, gazing at your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. On top of you, lying partly on you, he cups your cheek, silver chain resting on your chest, the pearl pendants and the halves of one heart of the matching necklaces you own together right next to each other.

“Zo mooi,” he says quietly as he lowers down, kissing your chest right next to your pendants, kissing down between the valley of your breasts, maneuvering so he can graze your nipple with his teeth, flatten his tongue over it. His hand comes up to cup your other breast as he sucks at the bud, then sucks at the skin next to it; that will leave a mark tomorrow, a sweet reminder of your time together.

Finally, he’s satisfied with his work on you and starts down your body, kissing your stomach, your hips. Before you can even process it, he folds you in half, hands on the backs of your knees; licks one long stripe through your folds, then attaches his lips around your clit, sucking it, forcing a loud and choked moan out of your mouth as he alternates between licking hard at your bud with the tip of his tongue and sucking.

Joost is a fiend for it, devilish look in his eyes, smile on his mouth even when it’s pressed up so close against you—his fingers tease at your dripping wet hole, then his middle fingers are inside you, and then he’s there to the knuckle and petting at your g-spot incessantly.

Joost knows you inside and out; can already tell that your pretty hands resting on the back of his head and holding him there will result in your fingers tangled in his hair and tugging lightly; knows that a few more seconds of his curling fingers and his tongue on you will make you try and push against his hand still holding you open with your thigh, you’ll fail to do so, and be happier for it.

You’re too lost in your pleasure to look at him like he wants you to. No matter—you’re a beautiful sight coming undone for him, eyes closed, chest heaving with your breaths, a slight sheen to your skin. “Joost,” you sob quietly as he continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, continuing to lap at your pussy like he’s trying to quench an unquenchable thirst.

“Mhm? Do you like it, schat?” Joost says against you, the vibrations of his deep voice making you twitch. You nod, and there it is—he pauses to smile when he realizes you're holding his head in its place, burying his face in your center. Who is he not to give you what you want? He drinks you in, and it makes you moan louder. “Keep quiet,” he mumbles. “We wouldn’t want the neighbours to hear, now would we?”

You’ve come back to reality enough to nod, quiet down a little, but after a few more seconds of him sucking your clit, pistoning his fingers in and out of you, you cum, saying his name over and over again, then whispering it once you realize that yes—you’re still outside. Joost presses one last sloppy kiss against your overstimulated bud, and you nudge his face away with your fingertips, laughing breathlessly.

Joost laughs too as he settles his cheek on the inside of your thigh, peppering soft kisses to it as he gazes at you; the look in his eyes is so tender, you almost want to look away, but you don’t. You’d take a picture if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious what you were doing before. You cup his other cheek, and he nuzzles further into your thigh, eyes closed.

For a few moments, you stay like this, catching your breaths, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm together. After a little, Joost wipes his mouth and his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Owie,” Joost winces, reaching back to rub over the spot on his head where you pulled on his hair. “You really enjoyed that, schatje,” he smiles, climbing up over you.

“I'm sorry,” you say softly, putting your hand over his as he lies down on you, head on your chest. “I shouldn’t have tugged so hard.”

“It’s okay, it was worth it.” You pet his hair—Joost is so warm, the air is so hot around you, but you’ve never felt better. “I’m so hard it hurts, schat,” he mumbles, and you laugh as he shifts around on top of you, erection through his shorts poking your thigh.

“Let’s fix that?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With quickness, Joost is up and off of you, straightened on his knees and parting yours, but you sit up. Hooking your fingers on the waistband of his trunks, you pull them down slightly, pulling him in to kiss you as you pull them lower, letting his cock spring out as you kiss sloppily, strawberry stained tongues meeting. You wrap your hand around his thick shaft, run your thumb over his weeping pink tip to spread around the precum, which makes him groan into your mouth, makes your teeth knock together.

You stroke him a few times, Joost’s hand resting at the base of your neck. It’s like time slows down when you pull away from him and watch him and his furrowed blonde brows, the way his lips are dropped open, the pink blush of his skin creeping down his neck to his chest with all of this exertion.

Joost opens his eyes, catching you gazing at him intently, and he brings his forehead to yours as you keep jerking him, and holds your face in his hands. “Catch me if I fall?” he asks, and you laugh.

“So dramatic.”

“You don't even know, dude.” A few more kiss-filled seconds pass until Joost finally calls it—“Enough, baby, I need to be inside of you now, please.”

Nodding, you lie back, opening your legs for him. He sits back, stroking himself. “No crying today, hm, schat?” Joost says as he takes his place between your legs. “No crying unless it’s out of pleasure, of course. Or if you want to cry out of sadness, that’s okay, too.”

“I’ll take note of that, thanks,” you smile as Joost lines up with your entrance, lying over you. You slip your hands underneath his shirt, fingers running over Rayquaza, his skin piping hot on yours. The pool still sloshes, the sun is much higher, he's inching his cock inside of you and saying something in Dutch that sounds like whatever is equivalent to “fucking Christ,” his face screwed up in pleasure.

“So warm,” Joost practically whimpers, and you both know that he certainly didn’t mean to say that in such a whiny tone. “So warm,” you laugh, making an exaggerated moan to tease him as he covers his face with his hands and laughs with you.

“Shut uppp.” Another inch inside you, so deep. “I wish you could feel how it feels, it’d change your life.” Every vein and ridge on his cock, you can feel as you envelop him fully. “You changed mine,“ he says, and it makes your heart soar. “Over/under, 3 minutes, schat?”

“Under. Over/under 30 seconds?”

“Under. Maybe. Jesus fuck, you feel so good,” he laughs, breathless. “So tight, you’re amazing.” Joost goes silent as he fully bottoms out in you, but a few moments pass, and he states like he’s been thinking of it the entire time, “Lowkey, I wish we had one of those squeeze bottles,” he makes a disturbingly good squeeze bottle sound with his mouth, “Pfft-pfft. We could be oiled up super quick if we did. Maybe for next time I give you a massage.”

You give him a puzzled, amused look—you know him like the back of your hand, but where his mind wanders sometimes, you aren’t sure. “I just don’t know,” you laugh. “Maybe we can workshop that idea.” Joost grinds himself against your clit, and you moan into his mouth as he comes down and kisses you.

Joost fucks you like you both have all the time in the day to be here—as far as either of you are concerned, you do. Long, languid thrusts that you both watch as his cock disappears inside of you, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your clit. The wet, hollow slaps of his hips against your ass are filthy music to your ears; you pant into each other’s mouths, close enough to touch, but not wanting to for the sake of watching each other, eyes open.

You snake your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as his thrusts become shallower, quicker, erratic, punching into your g-spot. Without warning, Joost straightens up, exiting you fully, then lifts your hips up to meet him where he is, his shaft rubbing against your clit.

“Ik hou van je, lieverd."

“Ik hou van je, Joost, I love you so much.”

Joost’s face lights up then melts once he hears you speak Dutch—it’s so cute, like a little surprise for him even though you try to speak it with him regularly. Since it’s easier for you to express yourself in English, he'd rather you just speak Dutch at work and school like you already do, but the excitement in his expression when you do speak it is priceless.

He sinks inside you once more, a loud shared moan between you two; this angle allows him to be deeper inside you than before. You tighten around him, and he sighs in pleasure. Joost splays his fingers out on your belly. “Kun je me hier voelen, diep in je?”

“Ja, je voelt je zo goed, schat,” you breathe. Your praises seem to incense him to thrust into you firmly, out, in, out, in, sloppy, though you can’t blame him. Still, the head of his cock hits your spot with every seat of himself in you. He smoothes his tattooed hand over your chest, your erratic heartbeat probably felt through to his palm; he moves up to put his thumb in your mouth, and eagerly, you suck as he fucks you. Anything to quiet yourself, anything to have more of him inside of you. “I’m close, Joost,” you say once he moves his hand to your shoulder for leverage.

Nodding, he says, “Me too,” keeping the pace, smearing more of your wetness over your clit so his fingers slide over it better as he rubs it for you.

A few more reckless thrusts, your arms flying up around his neck for support, lips catching each other’s, swallowing each other’s moans. That familiar tugging feeling in your stomach grows and grows until you can’t ignore it anymore, your core tightening, your pussy tightening around him as you gasp out his name over and over again with your climax, and he gasps out yours. He’s not finished yet, but his hips have lost the rhythm they once had, his control over his impending orgasm with how you’ve constricted around him.

“Schat, hold on for me a little.”

“I should be telling you that,” you say, though you understand—the overstimulation of his cock dragging against your insides is getting to be a lot. You hug him close, your lips right next to his ear, his panting breaths right in yours as he ruts into you. “Cum inside me, Joost,” you whisper, and with one last deep thrust inside of you, he cums with a groan, with a breathy moan of your name, clutching your body tightly in his hands as he shoots inside of you, cock pulsing; so warm, being filled up like this, no space between you two, his stuttering hips fucking back into you for a few final thrusts.

In each other’s arms you lie there, panting—sweaty skin on sweaty skin, music still playing from the speaker, him softening inside of you. Joost kisses you deeply, kisses your cheeks, your chin, and you smile. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted and more, schat,” he says into the side of your neck. “Don't forget that.”

thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) - juno

#joost klein #joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #juno's fics #answered prompts #smut prompts #juno's smut

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lindssunflower · 3 months ago

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𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘, bradley bradshaw

♡ ✈︎ authors note: guys i'm attempting to write again! this is gonna be so sad or not necessarily sad I guess? idk lol - also this is based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by gracie abrams.

♡ ✈︎ summary: you and bradley had been in a semi-serious relationship, at least it was to you. that was until you asked him about you and his future. he decided to end it that day. completely breaking your heart. you wanted to settle down and he wanted to fly. communication was completely cut off after the breakup. that was until bradley almost gets shot down by an enemy aircraft. his mindset changes.

♡ ✈︎ pairing: bradley bradshaw xf! reader

♡ ✈︎ warnings: lots of angst. mentions of a near death experience.

────୨ৎ────

it has been three months since you've talked to bradley bradshaw. three months since you've seen him. he's blocked you on all social media, but of course that's never stopped you from reaching out to phoenix to ask her how he's been. even if he completely broke your heart over wine and reality tv.

you still loved the pilot.

you were sitting on the ugly jean blue couch that once belonged to you and bradley but its just yours now. you were curled up on the couch reading another sappy romance novel, light music playing in the back. it was a regular saturday night. you would usually be at the hard deck bar with bradley's all- so -familiar arm around your shoulder as you laughed at something stupid with pheonix and bob.

you miss the feeling of his arm around you. his smile when he'd talk about his mom with you. or his stupid dancing in the kitchen. the scars on his face and neck. everything about the man.

however, he didn't want you anymore. he left you. he didn't want the pickett fence and the golden retriever with the two kids. no, bradley wanted to fly. he wanted the rush of dogfights and the pride of fighting for the country he loved more than he wanted a family with you.

and that hurt. you knew you couldn't ask him to give that up. of course not, he loved flying with his entire heart. you wouldn't ever ask him to give that up, but just the fact he didn't want to give up a little bit of that for you that hurt. you realized the night he broke up with you his heart wasn't all for you the way you're heart was all for bradley.

you sighed as you went back to reading your novel, until your phone dinged on the coffee table. you weren't expecting anyone to message you, especially not at 1:18am.

you assumed maybe it was your best friend ranting about her new situationship of the month. bradley hated her drama.

what you didn't expect was for your heart to completely drop when you saw bradley's caller I.D to show up on your screen.

what you really didn't expect was the message he sent.

I know this is sudden. I almost died today. I don't want to get into the details of it. It made me realize that I've been such a coward and I want what you want now y/n. I can't imagine my life without you. I love you, I'm sorry.

is this real? you thought as the book that was in your left hand dropped to the soft carpet that you and bradley have too many times danced on.

you feel tears brim your eyes as you put the phone on the coffee table and contemplate if you message him back. is he okay? is he hurt? is he realizing that he actually loved you? these thoughts ran through your mind.

nobody could fake the way he looked at you, not even him. cause you sure didn't fake the way you looked at him.

what do I say? what do I say? the four same words raced in your mind. do you text your best friend? your mother?

what? > sent

that's all I could come up with? you mentally scolded yourself for the pathetic, boring response. but then again, what were you supposed to say? this was the same man who walked out of your life just as quick as he walked in.

your phone rang the familiar text tone;

I miss you y/n. I miss us. and I just now realized that and I'm so sorry. being in that cockpit today not knowing if I was going to make it made me realize how much I loved you and that I want that pickett fence and even the stupid dog. It changed my perspective on everything.

tears fell down your face as you stare at the message.

come over. let's talk.

you sent without even thinking of the response twice. is this a bad idea? probably. you quickly stand to your feet and try to clean up the fact you've been sitting on this couch for at least 5 hours. you wipe your face and run to the bathroom to brush your hair before bradley shows up. what if he doesn't? is this a joke?

I'm on the way.

what am I thinking?

────୨ৎ────

♡ ✈︎ authors note: SO what do we think? let me know! part two?

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff

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ping-ski · 3 months ago

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UGLY CRYING I AM UGLY CRYING PLUCK THANK YOU OH MY GOD

The Finale we've all been waiting for. The End of the Good End. Thanks for joining me on this wild ride, and don't forget to check that author's note at the end for a special surprise.

#UGLY SOBBING #fuck #IM SO FUCKING HAPPY GUYS MY HEART IS FULL #HEARTSTRINGS HAVE BEEN PLUCKED ??#ive laughed #cried happy AND sad tears #this fic is such a wild journey man augh #shrieked into my pillow at 3am #honestly pluck my heartstrings has been a beautiful experience every step of the way #what gets me is that i literally got into the DCA fandom back in june #and pluck my heartstrings along with LDR were one of the first few fics i actually read #all while being “new” to the dca fandom too augh #im genuinely getting choked up aurgh sorry for being sappy i really do hold PMH in a special place and will forever tbh #damn its such a good day to be a dca fan and especially a pmh fan my gawd #i dont even know what to do with myself aigrhg i think im gonna sing my heart out to get these emotions out #thank you pluck for the experience you've crafted!! and being such a big big big inspo to me both writing and art wise !!#very excited to see the au of the au hehe or whatever comes next :3 #gonna go ugly cry more #then sing while playing my uke !#pluck my heartstrings #fnaf dca #dca fandom #dca community #fnaf daycare attendant #edit: i didnt realize the tags were out of order iaerhgtuairg #this is why i dont use tumblr on mobile ffs lol

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reidsaurora · 2 years ago

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"Overnight" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When Spencer offers to clear out a drawer for Y/N in his dresser, it has him explaining some things he'd been hiding from her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (i think? i don't remember using pronouns in this lol)

Word Count: 814 why is she so short

Content Warning: allusions to sex but nothing in detail, mild mentions of nudity i guess, this whole fic is basically aftercare lol, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Fluff, what else did you expect out of me?

Extra Notes: i truly meant for this to be posted on time, i'm so sorry guys

Based On the Prompt: "The Things In That Drawer" from this year's @domaystic prompts

Originally Written: 05/08/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold (i love you literally so much)

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Nothing could get Spencer Reid in a sappy mood like a night of slow, passionate sex. Something about moments like these—the way he showered you in kisses, the sweet compliments he'd give you, the love he'd show you—just felt right. Like his embrace was exactly where you needed to be.

Spencer's hand settled on the soft skin of your hip, drawing various shapes with his fingertips. Your head rested against his chest, your hand moving up to his tummy. He placed a soft kiss on your hair, the scruff of his five-o'clock shadow scratching against your forehead lightly. "I love nights like this," he told you.

You craned your head to face him, kissing his cheek. "I do too. I just hate that it always ends so quickly," you said, thinking about the work nights where you had to head home early, not quite ready for the night to end but knowing that you needed to go home for a change of clothes.

"You know," he said, pausing to flip the two of you over, his body hovering over you, "I could always clear a couple drawers out for you."

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. You'd been hinting at the idea for a while, lamenting about needing fresh panties or complaining about missing your skincare regimen. But Spencer hadn't seemed quite ready to take that step yet, so you didn't pressure him.

"Wait, are you serious?"

He nodded, bending down to kiss you on the lips this time. "I'll even let you pick out which one you want."

You practically pushed him into the floor as you jumped up. Spencer chuckled as you ran over to the dresser, pulling his boxers back on.

You pulled out the second drawer, where you knew his tee shirts were, grabbed one of his giant ones and tossed it on. "Any of them?"

"Mhm," he hummed, walking over and settling his hands on your waist. "Whichever one you want."

You considered it, eventually deciding on the bottom drawer. "What about-"

"Wait, Y/N, don't-" he shouted, reaching out to stop your hand.

He was too late, though. You pulled open the drawer, revealing an entire drawer of nerdy memorabilia. The lightsaber was the first thing that caught your eye, followed by a sonic screwdriver, and a couple geeky Pop Figures, among other things.

"You have a lightsaber," you examined.

Spencer scratched awkwardly at his neck. "Yeah, I guess I do."

You grabbed the lightsaber from the drawer, your face lighting up as you turned it on. "You have a lightsaber!"

He chuckled as you poked him in the ribs with the lightsaber. "You're having too much fun with this."

You set the lightsaber down on top of the dresser, turning back to the drawer. Next, you pulled out the infamous Jason Voorhees mask, holding it in front of your face. "Please tell me you've scared your coworkers with this."

Spencer let out another chuckle, taking the mask from your hands. "I got Morgan with it one time. He nearly choked on his coffee."

You continued snooping through the drawers, sifting through Polaroids of Spencer and his friend Penelope at various conventions, some D.C. comics, and a couple signed posters. Your heart nearly flipped when you spotted a picture of him dressed as the Joker. "Who did your face paint?"

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

A squeal escaped your lips as you threw your arms over his shoulders. "Spence, this is adorable! Why would you hide this from me?"

He sighed, somewhere between relieved and exasperated. "I didn't want you to think I was weird. I mean, I'm a grown man and I have a collection of legos and Batman comics?"

"Spencer, I think it's cute that you have something you love so much. You don't have to be afraid to show how much you love and support it."

He bent forward to kiss you again, pulling your body flush against his. "You really mean that?"

"I mean, any man that has the balls to wear makeup like that in public is sexy in my book," you kidded.

Spencer diverted your attention back to the drawer, pointing his chin toward the dresser. "Is that really the drawer you want?"

"Does it come with all the nerdy memorabilia?" you teased, poking his chest.

"In your dreams. I spent good money on those things." He rolled his eyes, leading you to the bathroom. His hands were warm and big on your bare skin, the feeling absolutely heavenly. He placed a trail of kisses along your shoulder up to your head before hooking his chin over your shoulder.

You lifted your head to face him, kissing his jaw. "Hey, does this mean we can go as the Joker and Harley Quinn for Halloween?"

"You know what? I think that might just be something out of my dreams."

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @wwwonzeee @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose

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laikabu · 6 months ago

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saw someone who hc kabru as aromantic bisexual. thats actually kinda good. i dont necessarily subscribe to it but i could see it. not fully aro but in the spectrum i guess

im now just going to ramble about how i think this would work in my head. also labru bc this is my page

he sees flirting more as a game n marriage as something convenient than something he aspires to achieve w the one he loves

flirting n dating is more of a tool to make friends. he isn’t interested in getting serious so that usually turns them off, so he gets labeled as a ‘player’

he doesn’t return rin’s feelings even though he finds her physically attractive, because he genuinely values her friendship and the way he views romance is incompatible with hers and would just break her heart

ok labru territory turn away now sorry im pulling shit out of my ass atp

laios would fit right in with his preferences, because their relationship would be boiled down to “best friends who have sex” like, the easiest way for them to explain their thing

even if they go on dates, they’d be more interested in talking about a current topic or something they need to do, than super sappy stuff. they still do it! but kabru would kinda get uncomfortable with saying sappy stuff, it’s different from flirting. once laios recognizes this, he tells him he doesnt have to do that

it works out because while laios is kinda sentimental, he isn’t really a romantic person. when they were still figuring stuff out, laios just goes “x is mad at me because they think not doing y makes me a bad partner” but really, kabru doesn’t care whether he does it or not

if laios is saying this about a different partner, kabru would chastise him, but since it’s him, he’s totally fine with none of that happening

when it comes to them becoming spouses, they would rather forgo a real wedding and just do the paperwork to make it happen. marcille takes offense to this n thinks its an “affront to romance” esp since kabru wants to plan HER wedding, but neither of them think it’s a big deal

laios has a very hard time distinguishing his platonic feelings to his romantic feelings. he’s just very happy kabru that wouldn’t leave him or get bored of him. getting to kiss him and have sex with him is just a nice bonus.

kissing and cuddling is more of an emotional recharge or comfort etc for kabru than a romantic activity. his friends don’t get it at all.

even in my stupid baby universe its just “kabru wants to have a baby with me for the kingdom? he’s such a nice guy. he told me he wants utaya to live on too… thats so thoughtful.” their relationship is ‘blunt’ and ‘convenient’. the marriage was just to legitimize the heir and otherwise it was just a regular wednesday.

they love each other, but kabru expresses it to the extent that he could, and that works out for laios.

tl;dr basically someone who views romance as a performance than something ingrained w him x someone who struggles w romance. its totally fine if you dont see kabru on the aromantic spectrum, i don’t necessarily see it that way either! i just want to think about how it would work in my fanworks. what do u think. i should add more but im just going off at the top of my head LOL

#labru #then again labeling it as aromanticism is just more Convenient #than whatever the hell is happening in kabru’s beautiful autistic mind

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boynarcing · 3 months ago

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A Certain Euphoria

leon s. kennedy x male!reader

wc. 1.7k

cw. incest, dad/son incest, OOC(duh), implied abuse, alcoholism, mutual interest (mostly from reader in this one), internalized homophobia

note. sort of continuation from this fic right here… no smut (yet) sorry but uhm there are some implied sexual acts? also the writing is kind of boring I think .. sorry excuse how bland it is please lol… feedback always appreciated :3 || title is A Certain Euphoria by Strange Boutique

You squirm, wriggle your hips and scoot your bottom back, but no matter whatever you try to do, you can’t seem to find a comfortable position on the thick muscle of your father’s thigh.

Yeah, his lap.

You were on your dad’s lap at your grown age. Willingly, too.

It didn’t take much for him to be able to coax you, just some sweet words and playful teasing and you were at his beck and call like a mindless dog.

That’s normal though, isn’t it? To be this close with your dad. You’d rather he baby and coddle you than beat you, which is why you try your best to stay on his good side. It doesn’t take much to set him off; one small, snide comment and he starts bugging out like a gas station cokehead. Plus, it’s not good for an old man like him. His heart could give out or something. Who’d take care of you then? Not your mom, that’s for sure.

Large hands steady your hips, squeezing gently.

“Relax,” Leon coos, nosing your nape, the action making you shiver. He’s so touchy, so brazen. A part of you flusters, unsure of what to make of his attention. It’s sweet, but it makes you feel dirty. Not gross dirty, but an “I feel like I shouldn’t be this close to my dad” type of dirty. You’re a boy, after all, aren’t you? Boys don’t get all sappy and sit on each other’s laps. Maybe you should be more worried about the dad part, though. Being gay is the least of your worries, and not something you should think about at this point in your life.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat searing your cheeks, making you sweat. “I’m just kinda uncomfy.” Honesty is the best policy, you remind yourself. Pushing back against your dad, you turn your head slightly to nuzzle your cheek against his chest apologetically, acutely aware of the fact that you had accidentally bumped your ass into his groin. Your heart skips a beat, but dad doesn’t say anything, simply tightening his hold on you and kissing your cheek, making you wilt with disappointment.

“Gonna have to deal with it,” Leon grumbles, arms wrapping around your waist, keeping you caged against him. “I want you close.”

You let out a huff, but otherwise say nothing. It’s sweet, you think. Your old man has quite the soft spot for you, and you don’t want to overthink his intentions, so you stay put and rest the back of your head against his firm chest, eyes focused on the TV ahead. One of Leon’s hands slips from your waist to your belly, fingers squeezing gently at the soft skin, coaxing out a sharp inhale from you.

Your hands follow, meekly grabbing onto your dad’s hand and tugging feebly, halting those curious fingers. “Don’t do that,” Your brows pinch together, a mixture of embarrassment and warmth pooling in your lower abdomen and down there. It’s just instinctual, you think. You hope. You can’t control yourself when it comes to stuff like that. You’re just sensitive is all. You can’t get touched in certain places or ways without pitching a tent. You just can’t.

This brings you back to your first time in the locker room with the guys. Some random boy had patted you on the hip playfully, but his hand had lingered for a tad bit longer than you would’ve liked, and you swore he gave you a little squeeze too. Needless to say, it was humiliating when everyone noticed your poor attempt at hiding the boner that had decided to pop through your underwear.

Word had somehow got out too, and dad ended up hearing about it. He went on the whole “boys your age go through changes” spiel, and you almost considered suicide that night.

Anyways.

Leon takes offense to your attempt at redirecting him, his grip growing strict. He doesn’t scold you, much to your surprise. He just looks at you as if you were a child throwing a fit, brief amusement swelling in his eyes. “I’m your dad,” he says. Yeah, you know that, dad, and the sky is blue. “don’t gotta be embarrassed around me, tiger.” You cringe at the nickname, face scrunching up as if something sour had snuck its way into your mouth. He squeezes again, and you gasp this time.

“Yeah, no, I know, but-“

“But nothing,” Leon cuts you off, pinching your side and making you squeak.

You focus on the lingering sting instead of complaining, hand trying to soothe the irritated skin with small rubs. “Sorry,” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut when he squeezes again and again. Over and over.

His pinkie dips beneath your waistband, and you start to feel your head go fuzzy, your briefs tightening painfully around the crotch area. It hurts so good, and your hips twitch upwards involuntarily, seeking friction. Oh god, you’re going crazy and he’s not even doing anything that provocative.

Touch my dick, touch my dick, please.

He doesn’t. Instead, his hand slides over to your chest, fingers splayed out to feel as much of you as he could. Disgruntled, you pout, letting out a weary sigh and slumping against your dad in defeat, his hard chest pressing into your back. His body isn’t what it used to be, softened after years of drinking, but you can feel what slight muscle he has left. For a guy his age, he should be proud, you’ll give him that.

He leans forward and rests his chin on the top of your head, the weight making you tilt downwards slightly. His hand movements still and you frown, confused. It’s silent for a minute, the only sounds in the room coming from the television’s stereo. Some cheesy flick is playing on screen. A girl chews her gum lazily before popping it, eyeing a male character coquettishly as he speaks. You can’t bring yourself to focus on the corny dialogue, lost in thought.

The silence draws out, and for a moment, you think you’ve done something wrong, but then dad speaks, his voice gruff and his eyes fixated on the film ahead, “Think you can get me another cold one, sweetheart?”

You can’t say no to that. Not if you want to keep your face looking pretty.

You nod, giving an anxious little hum before scooting off his lap. Leon taps his foot impatiently, glancing over at you pointedly as you scurry off to the kitchen.

The lack of warmth makes you shiver, goosebumps spreading across your skin when the icy air within the fridge lashes at you. The top layer is the only one that isn’t scarce, filled to the brim with the kind of alcohol dad likes, some of the bottles gifted by his suck-up coworkers. You can tell by the rich designs on the front and the fancy fonts (and definitely not by his habit of skimping out on things). One of them still has a bow attached around the neck. A charming man is a charming man, you suppose.

You take the easiest one to open and rush back, handing Leon the bottle before hopping onto his lap again, sighing in relief when his body heat starts to seep into you once more. Your ears manage to catch the small grunt he makes when he unscrews the cap and brings the opened top to his mouth. The large gulp that follows makes you lick your lips, a subconscious craving for something to quench your thirst. Water sounds nice right now, you think.

Eyes flickering back to the TV, you try to follow along with the poor plot, only to startle and yelp when cold glass is shoved and squeezed between your thighs, the alcohol bottle held upright.

“Dad-“

“Shh,” Leon shushes, tugging at a few locks of your hair near the back of your head, a silent warning. “The table’s too far to reach from here. Just hold it for me, okay?”

You make sure to squeeze your thighs together extra tight now, not wanting the bottle to slide out of your grip. That’d be life-ending. “…’kay.” You nod, feeling heat tingle all over your face, melting down to your chest. You squirm slightly, trying to get used to the cold somehow without being too dramatic. Leon notices, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval, annoyed by your fidgeting.

With a swift movement, he brings the bottle back and slides it up your inner thighs until it presses firmly against your crotch. Luckily, your shorts protect you from the full extent of the chilly surface, but some of it manages to seep through the fabric. A soft whimper slips through your parted lips, but you don’t complain. You can’t, you remind yourself. Besides, you’re grateful he doesn’t shove it up your ass instead, because he could, and he would.

You try to focus on your task as a drink holder and continue to keep dad’s bottle secure between your legs, but no matter how hard you try to be good, you’re unable to keep from squirming and giving subtle pushes with your hips against the glass. You could lie and say you didn’t mean to, but the truth is you just can’t help yourself, not around dad. It’s almost like you’ve got a knack for it. For being a little needy. But that’s not a crime, is it?

Leon’s hand comes down and grips onto the neck of the bottle, yanking it out without second thought to take another swing, ignoring the little “uufh!” that escapes you.

You look back woozily, head fuzzy. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs as he takes three big gulps, the burn of fresh whiskey making his face screw up funnily. He pats your hip with his freehand, and falls back against the couch with a groan, bringing the bottle down to recline against the armrest on his right. Blinking up at him, you tilt your head in a silent question.

Leon’s gaze lingers on your face for a second or two before he lets his eyes flutter shut, his head lolling back against the couch. “Hmpff,” he yawns, “daddy needs his sleep, kiddo.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he pats the top of your head with a gentle palm before you could even manage to get a word out. You lean into it. you always do. Even if he was dismissing you as if you were a toddler incapable of thinking for yourself.

“Go to bed,” He murmurs groggily, pushing you off his lap with small nudges, “I’ll join you soon…” He’s already snoring.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x male reader #leon x reader

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 2 months ago

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hihi i LOVED the elevator imagine !! i notice you have 5sos on your masterlist but none written yet. could you maybe write a platonic! 5sos x reader where she's been with them since the beginning and helps them out with all of their music videos and stuff?

thank youuu and have a good day :)

🍁anon

Music Video - 5sos x Reader

Warnings: none!

Word count: idk lol bc I typed this on ma phone 📞

A/n: hope you like this! Would love to more 5sos stuff!!!

I stood behind the camera, clipboard in hand, watching the chaos unfold on set. Lights were being adjusted, Calum was running late (as usual), and Luke was trying his best not to trip over the wires as he rehearsed his part. A smile tugged at my lips, the scene all too familiar.

“Hey, can we get a little more light over here?” I called out, waving toward the far side of the set. “This angle’s too dark.”

The crew adjusted the lighting, and I nodded, satisfied. Keeping things together behind the scenes wasn’t always easy, but after so many years, it had become second nature. I’d been with these guys since the beginning—since the days when they were just a group of teenagers uploading covers to YouTube.

The familiar sound of Michael’s guitar strumming filled the air as the camera started rolling again. I watched him, remembering the first video I’d ever helped them with. Out of My Limit. Back then, they were just figuring things out. I guess we all were.

“Y/N, you’re a lifesaver.” Luke’s voice pulled me from my thoughts as he came over, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Seriously, we’d be lost without you.”

I grinned. “You’d manage. Eventually.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know about that. Thanks for always making sure we don’t completely fall apart.”

“Someone has to,” I teased, nudging him with my elbow. “You’re lucky I haven’t quit yet.”

Luke’s face softened, and for a second, it felt like everything around us blurred out. “We’re really lucky to have you. Don’t think we don’t know it.”

I rolled my eyes to hide the warm feeling that bloomed in my chest. “Alright, enough with the sappy stuff. Go check on Ashton before he forgets his part again.”

Luke laughed and wandered off. As he left, I spotted Calum sitting off to the side, tuning his bass. He gave me a small wave, and I made my way over, plopping down next to him.

“How’s it going, Cal?” I asked.

“Good,” he replied with a grin. “You know, the usual last-minute panic.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t be a 5SOS video without it.”

He laughed, then turned a little more serious. “You know… I don’t think we ever say it enough, but you keep us grounded, Y/N. Especially when things get a little crazy.”

I blinked, surprised by his words. “You guys do fine on your own.”

“Nah,” Calum said, shaking his head. “We really don’t. You’re always here, making sure we don’t go too far off the rails.”

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and smiled. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right,” he said softly, before smirking and nudging me with his elbow. “Plus, who else is gonna keep Ashton in check?”

Speak of the devil, Ashton appeared, his hair a bit wild, clearly having rushed to make it to set. “Sorry, sorry,” he panted. “Traffic was insane.”

“You’re always late,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “I swear, one day we’re going to lock you out.”

“Hey, if you do that, then who’s gonna bring all the creative flair to these videos?” Ashton shot back with a grin.

I crossed my arms. “Creative flair, huh? Remind me again who came up with the ridiculous prop idea for ‘Amnesia?’”

Ashton blinked. “Okay, maybe not my best moment, but I stand by it.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Sure, sure. But we all know who really has the final say around here.”

“That’s true,” Ashton admitted, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got the vision, Y/N.”

Before I could respond, I felt someone behind me. Turning, I saw Michael, guitar in hand, looking at me with a mischievous grin.

“You remember the first shoot?” he asked, his tone full of nostalgia.

“How could I forget? You were the one who almost knocked the camera over—like, every five minutes.”

“Hey, I was nervous!” he defended, laughing.

I punched his arm lightly. “I kept telling you not to stress so much. Look at you now, rockstar.”

Michael shrugged, his expression softening. “You’ve been here since day one, Y/N. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

Hearing that from Michael, of all people, made my heart swell. These boys—they’d been my boys for so long. I wasn’t just their friend; I was part of the family. And as much as they had grown and changed over the years, some things stayed the same. I was the glue behind the scenes, keeping everything running smoothly. And they never let me forget how much they appreciated that.

By the time the video shoot wrapped up, we were all sprawled out at a small table, eating takeout and reminiscing.

“We should do something special for you,” Luke said through a mouthful of fries. “Like, I don’t know… throw you a parade or something.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Just keep making good music, and we’re even.”

“Deal,” Ashton said, raising his drink in a mock toast.

The rest of the guys followed suit, their eyes full of warmth and gratitude as they raised their drinks.

I grinned, holding up my own. “To the next video.”

“To the next video,” they echoed.

As I sat there, surrounded by laughter and the comfort of old friends, I couldn’t help but feel grateful. I’d been with them since the start, and I wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

REQUESTS OPEN

#ashton 5sos #luke 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagines #🍁 anon #Ashton Irwin imagines #Ashton Irwin #Luke hemmings #Luke hemmings imagines #Calum hood imagines #5sos imagines #Calum hood #Michael Clifford #Michael Clifford imagines

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yakuzacanons · 10 months ago

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valentine’s day coming up!!

what do they boys do to celebrate w their s/o?

Anon how did u read my brain to find out I have been cookin this post for the last few days lol. Happy Valentine's to all of you, my lovelies.

Mild NSFW below. Also this is a long one, sorry in advance.

Kazuma Kiryu

Simple but classy. As it stands, he can't really do anything big or fancy and the Daidoji sure as hell won't let him do many dinner dates if any at all but he makes the most of it. Probably gives you a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a heartfelt letter.

Majima Goro

A chocolate thief is on the loose in Sotenbori and his name is Majima Goro. If a giant heart-shaped red velvet size box appears on your doorstep, it's from him. He might even be in it. Open it and find out.

Saejima Taiga

A mix of getting you some gifts and making you something handmade. He's typically torn between two strategies: making you a handmade gift and taking you out to dinner or buying you a gift and making you dinner. Heads up, he will at some point make a handcarved wooden figurine or statue for you one of these years.

Akiyama Shun

You'd think it would be beyond human capabilities for this man to get any sappier than he is but somehow he does it every time. A class act with just the right amount of cheese. Dinner, flowers, the works. You can't tell if you're just that starry eyed over this man or if he actually just fucking sparkles.

Tanimura Masayoshi

Can't afford too much on his salary, but he'll make you an adorable custom basket of all your favorite snacks. Will totally pull some strings at Homeland to get the restaurant open to just you two.

Ryuji Goda

Can afford whatever the hell you want and has no reservations about doing so. However, he DOES have reservations at your favorite restaurant with a bottle of your favorite wine, alongside one of every single favorite item of yours on the planet. Always gets you a piece of customized jewelry.

Nishikiyama Akira

Always gets you a customized bouquet of flowers. Actually pretty into the arrangement and colors and is particular about getting yours just right. Might just even make one himself one of these days. Also gets one of those customizable chocolate boxes or a luxury bag.

Daigo Dojima

Are roses and candles cheesy? Yes. Cheesy is also Daigo's middle name when it comes to Valentine's Day. Man's straight out of a 90's romcom. Probably got the idea from a 90's romcom, actually. Will also be down to watch a 90's romcom with you. Seriously, he prefers a cozy night in anyways.

Mine Yoshitaka

Same vibe as Daigo but sluttier. Seriously. He's a champagne and bubble bath type of hoe, followed by what can only be described as mind blowing sex. Out of all the boys, he's the one who's most likely to have sex on Valentine's Day.

Tatsuo Shinada

He will try his hand at baking you some homemade goodies. Be warned, the first few attempts will be a little wonky. He's doing his best though! He can't afford much so he likes to do homemade things. Would also be down to bake or cook something with you if you're into that.

Ichiban Kasuga

He'd take you on a date that includes all of your favorite activites and your favorite places. As long as he's spending time with you, that's what counts. Will totally end the day by just blurting out something sappy and romantic but would he be Ichiban if he didn't?

Yu Nanba

Likes to do something relaxing, particularly if it takes you two away from the city. Nothing like the peace and quiet of the countryside so you two can be as close as possible. Probably would take a weekend to go to a hot spring with you.

Adachi Koichi

Will actually ask you to be his Valentine. Total cheesefest with this guy. Type of fella to hold a rose between his teeth and say something dumb like "Hey babe, come here often?". In terms of activites, he doesn't have much beyond a nice dinner planned but his personality just oozes goofy, silly love.

Tianyou Zhao

If you thought he'd be doing anything other than cooking you an overly extravagant dinner all by himself, then you'd be dead wrong. Man's out here cooking all your favorite foods, baking your favorite desserts, and making them unbelievably pretty and fancy. He's out here making roses out of the freakin' dumpling pastry, for cryin' out loud!

Joon-Gi Han (Y7)

Sweetie boy is doing his best. Gets a nice cake with a custom message on it, or takes you to an adorable cafe and eats a bunch of sweets with you. Also, yes he's dressing in matching outfits, duh!

Joon-Gi Han (Y6)

This boytoy is taking you to the biggest, fanciest club in town and ordering the biggest, fanciest bottle of champagne they have. Also one of the boys who is likely to get down and dirty on Valentine's Day.

Osamu Kashiwagi

Total class. Years have given him enough knowledge and expertise to pull off a classic Valentine's Day without a hitch. Thinks of everything, from the flowers and dinner all the way down to what color tie goes best with what color suit that would match best with your outfits. Lots of kisses on the back of your hand.

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anyasathenaeum · 8 months ago

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if requests are still open, maybe something for wolfwood where the reader gets injured pretty badly and he accidentally confesses? there’s been a lot of this kind of request lately LOL sorry- I’m rewatching badlands rumble and his little widow phase of destroying his hotel room then swapping his shades for vash’s is doing something to my brain… that and how brutally he internalized livio’s “death” in stampede.. like, maybe reader tried to hide the injury at first not wanting to hold whatever they were doing up, and he doesn’t really get any time to process so he doesn’t really realize what he’s saying until reader comes to in the hospital and gets to coyly tease their grumpy unhappy-but-very-happy but still somewhat stressed and upset over the “ok but what if you *had* died” wolfwood over how sappy and soggy he’d been lol (very “subtly” adding in the trope of sharing a hospital bed but if someone asked? totally wasn’t my idea)

A/N: HEY ANON, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS. WHAT A GOOD IDEA. Also not the widow phase omfg poor Wolfwood. Let's be real, Wolfwood really internalizes all his pain and grief and he needs a hug. Anyways, have this! Hope you like it, and sorry it took so long. Warnings: Mentions of violence, injuries, blood, death (almost), Wolfwood being bad at feelings (he's trying, okay?).

You weren't really sure how this had happened.

One of the downsides of travelling alongside Wolfwood was that he somehow managed to find himself trouble wherever he possibly could. This only worsened when he met Vash.

So, here you were, hiding behind an abandoned building in the middle of some crazy shootout between law enforcement, an undertaker, and a wanted fugitive with the biggest bounty on his head that No Man's Land had ever seen. Although, it seemed like law enforcement and the undertaker you called your best friend were the ones doing all the shooting.

At some point, a stray bullet ricocheted and lodged itself in your side, causing you to cry out in pain. Thankfully, neither Vash nor Wolfwood had been near you at the time, so they hadn't been there to witness you getting shot. Gritting your teeth and biting down on the collar of your coat, you quickly dug out the bullet, silencing your screams as white-hot pain coursed through your veins. Thankfully, the bullet came out cleanly with minimal digging, the small "plink!" as the metal casing hit the ground announcing your success in getting it out.

Sweat coursed down the side of your face and beaded your forehead, your chest heaving from the pain of your wound. With shaking hands, you fumbled through your coat pockets, digging out the piece of cloth you used as a handkerchief. It was clean enough, so biting down once again, letting out a groan of pain, you clumsily packed your bullet wound using your handkerchief. Once you were satisfied, you wriggled your coat off and tied it tightly around your waist, directly over your wound to apply pressure and stop the bleeding as best as you could.

"Move, (Y/N). You have to move," you gritted out, trying to get your body to listen to you.

You could still hear gunfire, and you heard Wolfwood's voice yelling various things at Vash between blasts and shots, so you knew both of them were still alive. In a moment of calm, you got to your feet, scrambling over to where the two of them had taken cover as best as you could, trying to ignore the pain radiating through your body with every step.

"(Y/N)! There you are!" Vash exclaimed, clearly glad to see you. Wolfwood, however, was otherwise occupied, using The Punisher to keep the law enforcement at bay and said nothing, merely glancing at you and nodding in acknowledgement of your arrival.

"Y-Yeah! Sorry, guess I got separated from you guys!" You shouted back over the sound of gunfire, glancing around and trying to figure out how to escape.

After a couple moments, Vash and Wolfwood managed to orchestrate an escape, and you followed as best as you could. However, the more you ran, the more you felt bile rising in your throat, the pain from your wound overwhelming you. Your vision began to fade in and out as you struggled to keep up with the two men, and just as you believed you would pass out, they stopped, giving you time to catch up.

Your chest heaved as you stumbled to a stop, your entire body in pure agony, sweat pouring down your face.

"Well, good job keeping up, sweetheart!"

You heard Wolfwood's teasing voice addressing you, and as you looked up at him, you could see him smiling at you with a crooked cigarette hanging from between his lips. His face was covered in ash and dust, but thankfully, he seemed unharmed. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you processed this, your heart all but singing in relief in your chest.

While you refused to acknowledge it openly, you knew, deep down, that your feelings for Nicholas D. Wolfwood had long since changed from simply friendship. Somewhere along the way, your heart had become his, and your feelings deepened. Somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with the man who was your closest and best friend.

However, now, as you gazed at the man you loved, your vision began to blur. Your entire body suddenly felt light, and you felt dizzier than ever before. You could make out Wolfwood's face, his expression changing almost in slow motion, his teasing smirk falling away as he looked at you, his eyes widening in fear as he realized that something was desperately wrong.

"N-Nick..."

'I must've lost more blood than I thought.'

The thought vaguely crossed your mind, but you didn't pay it much attention as you felt yourself stumble and fall forward. Before you could land face-first into the sand, though, you felt strong yet gentle arms wrapping around you, supporting you and catching you before you could fully collapse.

"(Y/N)!"

You could make out a voice calling your name, their tone frantic and clearly frightened, and as you looked up, you could just barely recognize that it was Nicholas who was holding you. You could no longer make out his entire face, parts of vision fading in and out, but you caught glimpses of his expression, and you could see that his lips were moving.

"-tay awake! Ya hear me?! Stay awake! Goddamnit!"

His voice sounded far away, muffled as though submerged beneath water, but the panic in his words was evident. You could feel the pressure of his body against yours as he clutched you to him, but you could no longer feel the warmth that should've been radiating from him. The pain had disappeared, but so had just about everything else, too.

"(Y/N)! Look at me, just look at me, doll! That's it, just-"

You could no longer hear him, the only remainder of your consciousness the fragments of your vision and some ability to feel. You could see blood on Nicholas's hand, but somehow, you knew that it wasn't his - it was yours.

'Nicholas, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

You watched as Nicholas reached into his suit frantically, clearly searching for something. You could just barely make out what looked like one of his vials in his hands as he broke it open - would that stuff even work on you?

You felt your head being tilted back, strong but surprisingly gentle fingers on your jaw and your cheeks trying to open your mouth so he could tip the regenerative drug down your throat. It must've proven difficult because you could see a frustrated expression on Nicholas's face, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled, unable to get the vial's contents in your mouth.

Before you could process what you were seeing, you suddenly felt something pressing firmly against your mouth - something soft and supple, and you could taste something strangely cold dripping down the back of your throat.

When your vision cleared slightly, you realized what you were feeling - Nicholas's lips were pressed against yours in a desperate kiss, a frantic attempt to get the drug that could potentially save your life into your system. While you had been guilty of imagining what your first kiss with Nicholas might've looked like, this certainly wasn't it.

'A kiss?... Nicholas...'

And then the darkness swallowed you, taking Nicholas and the world with it.

---

Darkness.

That's all you knew and all you could make out - the darkness that surrounded you completely. Somehow, though, you knew you weren't dead. Not yet.

Slowly, over time, you felt yourself beginning to regain bits of your consciousness - you hadn't yet opened your eyes, but you had become aware of the sounds and goings-on around you, wherever you were presently.

You could hear a steady beeping from whatever machine was beside you. You could hear the footsteps and voices of whichever healers had come in to check on you. You could feel the ache from your wound, no longer the sharp, agonizing pain from before but still painful and uncomfortable. You could feel pressure of something warm laying in your lap, and something rough yet soft and warm enveloping your hand.

The darkness seemed to ease bit by bit, slowly giving way to more and more of your senses and allowing you to piece together information about what happened and where you were - you were in a medical center a couple towns over from where you, Vash and Wolfwood had gotten caught up in the shootout with law enforcement.

By the bits of conversations you had caught from healers, you'd lost quite a lot of blood by the time you were brought in, and you were on the brink of death for a time before stabilizing. You had also caught snippets of conversations referring to "your visitor", a person who had apparently not once left your side and whose identity you weren't entirely certain of until you'd heard them speak.

"You idiot."

'Nicholas.'

His voice was low and gravelly, and to your surprise, his words were slightly shaky. You had only heard his voice do that when he was afraid or overwhelmed.

"Y-You... you got shot, and you didn't think to tell me? You idiot, we're supposed to trust each other. You're supposed to trust me! We always have each other's backs, don't we? Just like we always have. So why didn't you tell me, (Y/N)? Why didn't you say something? Instead... I watched you die."

'But I'm not dead! I'm right here, Nick!'

You wished you could speak and reassure him, explain why things happened the way they did, but you were still just waking up, not yet fully conscious.

"Do you have any idea just how afraid I felt, (Y/N)? Seeing you like that, bleeding in my arms, unable to get you to wake up or to stabilize you? I thought you HAD died, I was convinced that that was it - I'd lost the one person in the world who meant absolutely everything to me, the one person I loved."

Your heart all but stopped when you heard those words - he loved you? Nicholas D. Wolfwood loved you? Was this reality, or were you simply dreaming?

Before you could begin to process his confession, you heard Nicholas continuing to speak, his voice still low and even shakier than before.

"This world is crazy, a-and terrible, and you were the only person who ever made it make sense, (Y/N). W-When I thought you were dead... God, I wished I were dead, too. So you don't ever get to do that again, do you hear me?! You don't ever get to do this to me again. I'm not losing you again."

Nicholas's voice was so filled with a mix of emotions - anger, fear, sadness, grief, frustration, and so much pain. Had you been able to cry, you would've, guilt flooding through you as you realized just how much you had affected him.

You hadn't intended for this to happen. You just hadn't wanted to worry him in the middle of a gunfight, but afterwards, things had just moved so quickly that you hadn't had a chance to alert him or Vash to your injury.

'Wake up, (Y/N). Wake up now, you have to.'

You let out a soft groan as you struggled to open your eyes, wincing as the light stung after however long you had spent in darkness. As your eyes adjusted, you looked over to see a very unshaven, rugged-looking Nicholas sitting by your bedside, his eyes wide in surprise as he looked at you.

As soon as you made eye contact with him, you gave him a soft smile. Your throat and mouth were dry, and your voice was extremely hoarse and ragged.

"H-Hi."

Nicholas just stared at you, not saying anything as you slowly sat up in your bed with a groan, your wound aching as you shifted. You struggled to sit up, your muscles weak as you tried to move for the first time in a while, and you suddenly felt an arm around you, helping you sit up. When you glanced over, you saw that Nicholas was the one helping you up.

"Thank you," you whispered hoarsely, your face darkening slightly from embarrassment as you processed everything that you'd heard. You reached over to your bedside table for the glass of water, finally taking a sip to parch your throat.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Wolfwood's voice was quiet, no longer shaky as it had been before. Instead, now it was concerned, his gaze looking you over from top to bottom. He was surprisingly good at keeping his emotions hidden when he needed to.

"I'm achy, but otherwise, I think I'm okay," you replied, smiling at him a bit, "H-How long have I been out?"

"A few days. Almost a week, now."

"That explains a lot," you sighed. "I'm sorry, Nick. For everything. I..." You looked down at your hands in your lap. "I got shot in the middle of the gunfight, and both you and Vash were busy. I just... I didn't want to distract either of you or worry you in the middle of it all. I figured I could tell you afterwards, but then... things went so fast. I'm so sorry..."

Wolfwood just sighed heavily, shaking his head as he spoke, "You scared the crap outta me, (Y/N). You know that?"

"I know..." You felt ashamed as you continued to look at your hands, unable to make eye contact with Nicholas just yet. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I hope that you forgive me, eventually."

Wolfwood just sighed again, standing up from his seat and walking over to your bedside once more. He gazed at you for a long moment before asking, "Well? Aren't ya gonna move over?"

You blinked.

"W-What?"

"Move over, idiot," Wolfwood scoffed, rolling his eyes at your lack of understanding.

You blinked again before feeling heat rising to your face and shifting over in the medical bed, making enough room for Wolfwood to climb in next to you. The undertaker got comfortable in the bed next to you, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you close to him, hugging you close to him. You immediately wrapped your arms around him in return, burying your face into his chest and taking comfort from his presence. Despite his rough exterior, the man was a huge softie who needed this just as much as you did.

"I missed you, Nick," you mumbled softly, letting your eyes fall closed and allowing a small smile to appear on your face as you continued, "And I love you too, by the way."

Now it was Nicholas's turn to blink, clearly stunned.

"What?"

You couldn't help but giggle softly, "I heard your words, Nick. Including your confession of love."

"What confession of love?"

Now you were properly laughing at the expression of confusion on Nicholas's face and the fact that his face had turned a shade of deep crimson.

"You didn't even realize that you'd said it, eh, Punisher?"

You couldn't help but tease the man who was your best friend, stifling your laughter as best you could as you watched Nicholas trying to figure out exactly what he had said to you and the colour of his face only darkening.

"You said "I'd lost the one person in the world who meant absolutely everything to me, the one person I loved" when you were talking to me. You thought I was still unconscious, but I could hear you, Nick - I just couldn't answer you then," you explained softly, reaching up and tilting Nicholas's face so he was looking at you as you spoke, "I love you, too, Nicholas D. Wolfwood."

"Seriously?" Nicholas replied cautiously, studying your face as if to ensure you were telling the truth.

"Yes, you moron, seriously!" You laughed, tapping his cheek playfully. "I've loved you for a long time, I just never told you. And now, I'm glad I never told you. Otherwise, I never would've heard your dramatic love confession. I never knew you were such a hopeless romantic, Nick! Didn't think you had it in you."

"Oh, shut up," Nicholas muttered under his breath, his blush darkening as he looked away from you in embarrassment. "You're lucky I love you."

You couldn't help but grin teasingly, "Oh, I'm sure. By the way, I really wasn't expecting my first kiss with you to be when I was borderline unconscious and with you pouring whatever is in those vials into my mouth."

"I-wha-you-!"

Nicholas was spluttering, his face crimson as he tried to argue or contradict your statement, and it only made you laugh harder than you had been previously. You burrowed into his embrace, holding him as tightly as you could without worsening your injury.

"Splutter all you want, Undertaker, you're not escaping this. Although..." You trailed off with a mischievous grin before saying simply, "I'd be happy to do a retake of our first kiss."

After a moment of recovery from his embarrassment, Nicholas ran a hand through his hair before chuckling slightly, "Yeah? That so, doll? I think I could be persuaded to do that... for the right price."

"The right price? What price is that?" You asked, looking at him curiously.

"I dunno yet. I'll think of something later."

Without another moment of hesitation, Nicholas leaned down, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Unlike before, this kiss wasn't desperate and filled with fear of you dying. This kiss was tender and gentle and loving, chaste and almost unsure. You felt your heart fluttering in your chest as you happily returned the kiss, the rest of the world falling away for the moment.

When the two of you pulled away, you snuggled into Wolfwood's embrace, at last feeling content and safe.

"Hey, Nick?"

"Yeah, (Y/N)?"

"Where did Vash disappear to?"

Nicholas just chuckled.

"Blondie's been chillin' in the inn in town. I haven't seen him much since you ended up here."

"Well... maybe you outta go shower and take a nap and shave or something. Because as much as I love you, you look rough."

"Hey! That's a rude thing to say to your hero, sweetheart!"

You couldn't help but smile.

"My hero, indeed."

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