#also god bless everyone ever who comments on fics

[dude-wheres-my-ankheg]

How are you even supposed to reply to AO3 comments in a way that isn't just wildly sobbing thanks and appreciation?

[alrightieaphroditie]

wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k  warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones!  an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format!  check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps. 

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life. 

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection. 

Because it was a different story, now. 

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it. 

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face. 

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today. 

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning. 

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

 And so, that’s what you did. 

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling. 

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread. 

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway. 

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up. 

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body. 

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows. 

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response. 

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils. 

And the occasional sniffle. 

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about. 

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body. 

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go. 

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously. 

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see. 

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking. 

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response. 

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream. 

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace. 

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps. 

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it. 

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material. 

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it. 

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever. 

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him. 

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice. 

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared. 

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him. 

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin. 

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours. 

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven. 

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body. 

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh. 

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg. 

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close. 

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed. 

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you. 

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream. 

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core. 

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out. 

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down. 

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you. 

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open. 

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?” 

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock. 

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger. 

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm. 

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers. 

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.” 

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body. 

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested. 

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body. 

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up. 

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even. 

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours. 

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together. 

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure. 

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless. 

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.” 

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you. 

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit. 

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent. 

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.  

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours. 

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse. 

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed. 

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh. 

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house. 

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly. 

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit. 

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm. 

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body. 

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach. 

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself. 

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?” 

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men. 

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open. 

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up. 

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up. 

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom. 

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence. 

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours. 

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.” 

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

[hllywdwhre]

Long Time Coming

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: When each of the family members noticed you and Tommy falling for each other

Warnings: arranged marriage, mentions of heroin (talks about how Tommy used it and the Chinese selling it - nothing graphic, only mentions), let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 1.7K

Notes: THANK YOU for all the love on Revenge! After many comments and requests asking for more of the pairing, I decided to delve deeper into the development of Tommy and her’s relationship. Up next is moments reader and Tommy fell for each other!

Can technically be read as a stand-alone, but is meant to pair with this Tommy fic I wrote.

Polly

Polly was the second to catch on. She knows her nephew far too well to not notice the small changes. Grace’s death changed something deep inside of Tommy and she didn’t think she’d ever see the day when Tommy, not only fell in love but allowed himself to love again.

Then you came along.

He started smiling more and drinking less. You got him to stop using dope to self-medicate. He also didn’t look nearly as tired.

She always said Tommy had his mother’s smile when he truly smiled, and it had been a long time since Polly had seen her sister’s smile on his face. You made a sarcastic comment in the private booth at The Garrison once though and there it was.

She noticed you falling for him when you came to her with way too much anxiety over an innocent, and adorable, request.

You were picking at your nails as you sat on her sofa while she lit a candle in her living room,

“Tommy mentioned you were the only one who had ever been able to replicate his mother’s raspberry tart recipe. I was wondering if there was any way you could teach me to make them?”

Polly froze for a moment, surprised at the request given your anxious state. It was then that she realized why you were so nervous. Even if you hadn’t realized it, you were falling for Tommy.

You two spent the rest of the day in her kitchen perfecting the recipe.

Arthur

Arthur, bless him, can be pretty blind when it comes to romance. Like. Really blind. Lust? He can spot it a mile away. Hell, he was the first to notice that you and Tommy were sleeping together. But love? Gods help him.

It took until you killed Sabini for him to notice the two of you were in love.

The next day neither you nor Tommy wanted to leave your bed, but an emergency family meeting with the Shelbys and your father had been called because of your actions.

When you told everyone what you had done, Arthur was the first to break the shocked silence.

“Why the bloody ‘ell would you ‘ave done that?” He’d shouted in a mix of shock and anger.

“He’s been intimidating my father and me for over a year now, and then yesterday I learned what he had done to you lot… My anger got the best of me and I was tired of him,” you’d replied with a deep crimson blush spreading across your face.

The rest of the family and your father wore knowing smirks at your explanation, but you could see the moment it all clicked in Arthur’s eyes. His smirk spread across his face and his tone went from shocked and angry, to proud.

“Well, love, remind me not to piss you off.”

John

Since he’d had an arranged marriage of his own, John knew better than most what you and Tommy were going through. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Tommy had actually come to John for advice before the wedding on how to help things go more smoothly and make sure that you were comfortable.

After a couple of months of being married, John had gotten Tommy alone and checked in on how he and you were doing. It was when Tommy had seemed surprised that things were going so well that John noticed his brother was becoming fond of you. He didn’t question Tommy on how he felt, he knew better than to think his brother would spill his heart to him, but he could see that Tommy felt something for you.

Esme & Ada

Once again, since Esme’s own marriage into the Shelby family was an arranged one, she went out of her way to make you feel included and make sure you knew that she was an open, non-judgmental, and private ear you could turn to.

Ada walked in on you and Esme having a more vulnerable conversation when you were first married and you and Esme both immediately changed the topic. When Ada later asked Esme in private what the two of you had been discussing, Esme answered as honestly as she could without giving away details.

”I know what she’s going through, to an extent. I got lucky with how quickly I was accepted since John and I immediately clicked. Not to mention the way I saw every inch of you on our wedding night,” Esme said, both her and Ada laughing lightly at the memory of Esme not seeing her own husband naked on their wedding night, but instead his sister as she gave birth to Karl.

After that, Ada made sure to include you in any shopping trips she went on and opened her house in London to you in case you ever needed to get away.

”I know how my brother is. He can be a right twat when he wants to be. Just let me know if you ever need an escape. We’ll call it a girl’s night.”

The two women noticed you falling for Tommy when you were included in one of the shopping trips and they asked how things were going. You’d tried to brush the question off far too quickly, and when they couldn’t pry out of you that anything bad had happened, they quickly pieced together that you were catching feelings.

Michael

Michael noticed as Tommy’s jealousy and protectiveness over you grew. The Shelby family knew you were capable of handling your own, but that didn’t mean Tommy wasn’t going to be protective. Especially after Grace.

Michael watched the way Tommy went from simply glaring at any men who tried flirting with you, to approaching the men and wrapping his arm around you while questioning whatever unfortunate man had angered him if "he had spotted the ring on your finger and was simply stupid, or if he was blind."

Jealousy was what gave it away for Michael.

Finn

Finn noticed after a particularly dangerous job involving you didn’t go according to plan. You and Finn were the only two who wouldn’t be immediately recognized, so it was up to you two to find out if the Chinese had been selling heroin even after Tommy had threatened them with a bomb.

The two of you had been separated and you hadn’t returned yet when Finn made his way to the betting shop where everyone was waiting.

Tommy’s rage when Finn dared show up without you was something Finn never wanted to be on the receiving end of again.

Charlie

Charlie was the first to notice. Granted he didn’t realize what he was seeing, but he had noticed.

You had convinced Tommy to build a stable at The Arrow House. He, Charlie, and you all loved horses, and it would be a fun way for you and Charlie to bond.

Tommy was away on business and you and Charlie had decided to take the horses for a ride. Charlie sat in front of you and you were letting him guide the horse as he hammered you with various questions about the world.

“Why do horses eat grass? Where do horses come from? Why can’t they eat human food?”

It was during this conversation that he pointed out that Tommy liked you.

“When will Daddy be back?” Charlie asked you.

“In two more days. He’s handling some business in London,” you answered easily.

“I miss him,” he said wistfully.

“I’m sure he misses you, too,” you reassured, “but he has to work so we can have our house and horses,” you told him, hoping to comfort the child some more.

“Do you miss him?” Charlie questioned, turning his head to look up at you.

“I do,” you answered easily. It wasn’t a lie.

By this point, you had grown to care for Tommy. You thought it was only as a friend and nothing more, but Charlie seemed to notice it was something different. You and Tommy didn’t feel the need to explain to Charlie what an arranged marriage was. The two of you had talked about how you were going to explain your marriage to Charlie, and you had both come up with a way to explain it to him without potentially causing any insecurities in the child or exposing him to what an arranged marriage was. It was a delicate balance of lies and truth, but neither of you wanted to tell Charlie “Well, sometimes marriage isn’t love, it’s business.” He was going to deal with enough at the truth of his mother’s death, and neither of you felt it was necessary to add a potential insecurity about whether the new mother figure in his life actually cared for him.

“He misses you, too,” Charlie said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

Your eyebrows furrowed together and you looked down at him,

“I’d hope so since we’re married, but what makes you say that?” You were still walking that delicate line of truth and lies, but his comment had piqued your interest.

“He watches you a lot and smiles a lot.”

His simple explanation could easily be explained away and you explained it away internally, but Charlie had noticed what you and Tommy hadn’t noticed yet.

Alfie

Alfie and you had always had a cheeky and joking relationship. You got on like old school friends more than sometimes-ally-sometimes-pain-in-the-ass.

However, when Tommy and you came to him to see if you could rally his support in the inevitable war that was going to break out with Sabini’s men, he noticed the dynamic had changed. Typically meetings with Alfie were tense with the atmosphere only broken by your sarcastic comments and Alfie’s borderline flirting with you.

Alfie was taken aback when you shot down his flirting and Tommy sent a glare his way.

He recovered quickly though and soon went on to teasing the two of you about your “newfound happiness”.

”Was wondering when the two of you were going to pull your heads out of your asses and smell the roses.”

[ninadove]

For any fandom(s): 12, 15, 16, 19, 23! 💌

As always, you spoil me! 💌

12. Compliment someone else in your fandom

GOD I HAVE TOO MANY FRIENDS TO COMPLIMENT

@beezonia comes up with the coolest AUs and designs. I’m always blown away by their Pokémon team compositions — they’re spot on to the point I consider it its own form of character analysis!

@purplecatghostposts is the genius who showed up out of the blue and took us all by surprise with their amazing prose. Soap, reminder that the reference to Copycat in consider the spare legally binds you to pay for my therapy.

@trishacollins is single-handedly remediating to the lack of platonic bedsharing between the cousins and I can’t thank her enough! She’s also one of the chillest and most approachable people I know.

@luckychatons is our favourite entrepunpurr and constantly lifts our mood with the cutest, most joy-filled sketches! Patting her OCs on the back because they sure need it.

@graythegreyt is such an awesome artist you’d almost forget they’re also one hell of a poet who wields mythological references like Odysseus wields his bow. Did you know they wrote me a poem inspired by God Games? I think everyone should know they wrote me a poem inspired by God Games.

@hartwign is a talented translator and draws hair like no one else. Seriously. I want to run my hands through the cousins’ hair and nestle in there forever.

@phieillydinyia is the picture of dedication! Can’t recommend Candle In The Wind enough, it’s a roleswap rewrite of the Miraculous movie that includes the songs. How cool is that. Thank you for your regular comments on my fics, they always make my day!

@alexandriaellisart words cannot express how much I love your depiction of Feligami. Your writing has made me tear up so many times! AND YOUR ART LOOKS SO SOFT AND COLOURFUL. What a double threat!

@faiirygrahamdevanily we need more fics about the Sentiplot as a metaphor for othering experiences and you’re doing God’s… I mean, Duusu’s work with yours!

@bbutterflies did you know your piece for Sentitwin Week is the best characterisation I’ve ever seen of Felix? This is what people mean when they say a picture is worth a thousand words. And of course your Adrino is always brilliant!

@bittersweetresilience not only are you an extraordinary writer, but you’re constantly looking for new ways to express your love. Always GIFing and weaving and canonising tags and making AMVs and running zines… I can’t wait to see what you do next!

And there’s so many more people I’m forgetting! To say nothing of my friends outside the Miraculous bubble! People are amazing!!! 💖

15. The character that always makes you smile

At the end of the day, it’s all about Clive. He’s been my muse for nearly 15 years! 💙🕊️

16 was answered here! 💖

19. Your current fandom(s)

Professor Layton, forever and always. I can’t wait to share my Big Bang fic and the amazing art that I was blessed with! 💙💛

RWBY, even if I’m lurking more than participating… I love love love love RWBY, yet it doesn’t strike my creative and analytical chords the way Miraculous does. Sometimes you just need to let yourself be swept into a story, you know? Although, it did teach me a couple of writing tricks I’ve used for other fandoms!

EPIC! Wisdom Saga coming soon! 🩵🦉 It makes my little mythology nerd heart supremely happy. The music is a banger and you can feel the knowledge and passion of all the people involved in this project. Jorge in particular is always so excited to share his progress, engaging with creators, explaining his musical choices in a fun and pedagogical way… And the lyrics! It’s free real estate for a fanfic author looking for inspiration and/or titles!

I’d love to start Monte-Cristoposting like I’ve been Cyranoposting and Draculaposting, but I’m afraid of spoilers so for now I’m just screaming in your DMs. As you know. I’m also slowly getting into Honkai: Star Rail, and I’d like to pick up Pokémon Black and White again because a N character study would look great on my AO3 resume.

And of course, Miraculous! 💚💜❤️ It’s the most creative I’ve been in years and it’s all thanks to these sad beautiful silly genius kids. Heart emoji, peacock emoji, sob emoji, etc.

23 was answered here!

Thanks for the ask! 🖤🪶

[sitepathos]

Hello. I know this might sound dramatic, but I want you to know that you probably save my life tonight.

I was having a really bad day. My family doesn't understand me enough to care, and maybe my issue with my family is the reason why I found comfort in Batfam fics. Today, everything just got worse. My father yelled at me for something he didn't even know, I don't know why he even had the audacity to speak when he doesn't even know the matter, and now I can't speak and yell at his face that he's wrong because I am a child and not a parent, I would be considered "disrespectful" if I wanted to speak what is right and true.

I was really begging any Gods at that point to take me. I was thinking of ways to execute myself tonight. I was planning to starve myself tomorrow and ignore today's dinner. I was planning on searching what's "Metoprolol" is because growing up as a kid, I always think that "concern" is a form of love, and maybe if they saw my dead body tonight, maybe they'll cry because they love me. I know this is bad. I know this is inappropriate to say, but when I tried to atleast make myself feel better and decided to read Batfam fics again, I saw your new chapter of From Gold to Mold and it genuinely makes everything better. I didn't want to read Chapter 3 because I saw the comments that you left it with a cliffhanger, and I hate that, and decided to wait for the next chapter instead. Ever since I saw the new chapter, I actually ate dinner, because atleast I know there's still things in this world that makes me happy. When I saw your new chapter, I asked God, "Is this your way of comforting me?", and I want you to know that your work is a form of blessing for me. I started thanking God at that moment, and told myself that I also want to thank you.

I actually don't read Batman comics, or watch Batman. I never read or watch any DC movies before, but Batfam fics is about a family that I will always desire yet never really grasp. I wish for all Batfam authors to live the life they wanted.

I am very sorry for saying this, and straight up said that I was actually considering doing it. I am very aware that this is inappropriate but I really, really, really want to tell you that you save me. I know saying that a "fanfiction" save my life sounds ridiculous, but that's where I found my comfort in, and I would be willing to be ridicule at if it means showing what genuinely makes me happy. I will always love your works even if it means showing my lack of redamancy for my family, or even hatred if I have to admit. This doesn't mean that you are a start of my rebellion. I am only stating that you are a light in my times of darkness.

Thank you.

Wow, ok, wasn’t expecting my work to have such an impact. Good to know.

First of all, I’m glad you’re enjoying the series! When this idea popped into my head, I wasn’t sure if there would be many who’d actually enjoy it. With people like you, I’m inspired to put all that I have into From Gold to Mold! I hope my future work meets and exceeds all your expectations!

Second of all, I’m so sorry that you’re going through such a rough time in your life right now. Since you were brave to share a part of you for all to see, I’ll share something, too. About five years ago, my mother was a major junkie. With that, plus her narcissism, led her to divorcing my stepdad (who brought me out of my shell and made me a better version of myself) and moved us to my grandmother’s house after my grandfather died after battling lung cancer. Living with her was a nightmare, constantly walking around eggshells for fear of pissing her off, her stealing money from my grandmother, and yelling at everyone. She was always riding my ass to get a job just so she could take money from me. Early 2020, she was finally evicted and it’s just my grandmother and I living together.

She’s actually cleaned herself up and we enjoy a decent relationship.

So, while things look horrible and it may take a while, things do get better. I’m rooting for you.

[bt-writing]

Winter's Touch

Link x gn!Reader

A/N: lord i love link so much. i know we're all playing totk rn!! this fic is pretty ambiguous, so it can be set in either botw or totk, it has no spoilers for either game :) and to all of my followers,

wow! it has been an AMOUNT of time since i last wrote something! i'm sorry for falling off the map, but i'm sure you all know how life goes. i'd also like to say that i know, as all of my works have been genshin based, that you all most likely followed me for my genshin content, and i appreciate all of you so much. i've had so many kind, encouraging comments that made me feel proud of my work. but, truthfully, i will most likely not be writing any more genshin content for the foreseeable future. unless i get back into the game, which is unlikely. i'll most likely continue to write here and there, but who knows what fandom it will be for?

anyways, thank you all again, and i hope everyone can enjoy this story! i put a lot of effort into it, and i hope i've improved from my previous works :)

SFW

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: You and Link are caught in a brutal snowstorm while traveling through Hebra. Finding yourselves in an abandoned cabin for the night, how in Hylia will you manage to keep warm?

Hebra's perpetual winter snowfall had been merciless ever since you arrived in the secluded northern region. The last few days especially had shown capricious bursts of flurries and wind gusts even more brutal than normal, heralding in the blizzard that faced you now. An unholy amount of the powdery, blinding white coating had accumulated, disguising any semblance of ground for what appeared to be the entire regionーprobably the entire world, from what you could tell. Nothing would surprise you at this point, seeing just how relentless the thick snowflakes had been since you arrived in this godless land.

A heavy sigh escaped from your chest and fell into cupped hands. The tips of your fingers and knuckles were flushed red from the subzero temperature that effortlessly seeped through your clothes and nipped at your skin. Even after rubbing your hands together like a plotting insect, they remained raw and aching, lamenting the loss of your cozy Rito-made gloves which were misplaced somewhere in a far-off stable. The chill felt like knives, an inescapable punishment for your disorganization, unbearable even through a heavy, wool-lined jacket and several other layers of essentially every article of clothing that you traveled with. As you brought your freezing hands up to try and revive your numb ears, you cast a glance over at your Hylian companion.

It had certainly been a number of hours since the two of you had departed from the Snowfield Stableーalbeit, you would argue it was more so a few days spent wandering the ninth layer of hellーbut it was hard to determine precisely how long due to the constant ambiguity of the murky, grey cast sky above. You couldn't help but pinch your eyebrows together, squinting to protect your eyes from the light reflecting off of the obnoxious white plain. Link appeared unphased by the icy insanity you had found yourselves in. He marched dutifully along the invisible path with his typical resolved purpose, his deep footprints leaving a trail to the rhythmic crunching of snow. The caped hood that Link wore concealed his pointy, elven ears from the onslaught of wind, but you were positive they were a similar cherry-colored shade as your own. Its thin fabric flapped wildly behind Link as he traversed the land, obviously experienced in navigating the ruthless northern tundra. The speed at which he walked through the snow was honestly impressive. You had long since tired, but he never slowed down. It was almost as if his stamina reserves were blessed by the gods themselves.

You, on the other hand, were in a much worse state. The journey had begun to turn your brain to mush. Lack of visual stimulation and the persistent weather beating down on you made it difficult to carry on. Yet, burdening Link with your fatigue wasn't an option. Trying to match your partner's pace, you took long, forceful steps forward, legs burning from overexertion. The additional weight of chunky snow boots, padded clothing, and your traveler's bag filled to the brim with supplies made your hike comparably more strenuous than any other you've been on. Giving thought to your exhaustion only served to make things worse, however, as with your next step, the tip of your boot failed to escape the crater your footprint had made in the snow and instead got caught on the very edge.

Thrown off balance, you stumbled forwards with a small gasp. Your hands flailed in a short motion by your sides in a meager attempt to save yourself from faceplanting into the cold, wet snow below you. Before you could kiss the ground, all of your momentum was halted by Link's hand wrapping around your wrist. His other hand shot across your body, reaching for your opposite shoulder and supporting your weight with his forearm over your chest. He turned your torso to face him directly. The knight allowed for his hold on you to linger, wanting to be doubly sure you found stability. Meeting his focused eyes, another sharp breeze whistled by your ear and sent a chill down your spine. The hood blew off from his head, unveiling his messy blonde locks and long ears which's hues confirmed your earlier suspicion. Link took his time inspecting your face, as if he were searching for the answer to some unspoken question, before breaking the silence.

"You're cold."

Your eyebrows raised incredulously. Cold? It was enough to send a small chuckle from your frostbitten lips.

"I don't know if you've noticed exactly where we are, but I'd say that more than simply 'cold' fits the norm here," you replied, exasperated by his statement. Though, before you could ridicule the words of Captain Obvious, he released his hands from your body, leaving you to silently grieve the loss of his touch. Gloved fingers played with the clasp of his hood before removing it from his shoulders and tossing it over your own. His knuckles grazed the exposed skin of your neck as he secured the cloth to you. His thumbs brushed past your cheeks and ears as he reached for the hood, bringing the oversized fabric to rest right above your browbone. Link's hands trailed down to your arms where he reached behind you to tug the sides of the cape around you tightly. It reminded you of a worried mother swaddling her child in a winter coat. Your chapped lips were slightly parted in surprise at Link's movements. The events of the previous minute had left you stunned, and his current actions weren't helping you recover in the slightest. As your brain fried, a tingly warmth filled your body. It erupted from your stomach and quickly spread to your face, staining your already red features a shade darker.

You simply brushed off the newfound warmth as the loss of wind-chill.

Although grateful for his gift to you, you were also concerned about Link's own well-being since he was the one now exposed to the elements. Your eyes traced his ears as they twitched from the wind's lashing. Adorable as the involuntary motion was, you had to object to his kindness.

"Won't you be cold now?" you asked, trying to deny the item. Even if you were slightly less miserable as a result, his health came before your own. Link was the champion, the hero chosen to protect Hyrule indefinitely. He was the one who mattered most between the two of you. Yet, Link closed his eyes and shook his head at your question. Snowflakes had already begun to accumulate on his dark lashes.

"No. I'll be fine. I have a tolerance for this sort of weather, anyways," he spoke bluntly.

It was your turn to study his face this time in an attempt to detect any semblance of a lie. His serious, teal eyes left no room to argue, and you knew it would be a losing battle to try and change his mind. When you could no longer bear to maintain eye contact with the boy, you cast your sight over his shoulder timidly, growing overwhelmed by his silent insistence. It was hard to look straight at him when it felt like he was staring directly into your soul. However, a dull silhouette in the distance caused you to perk up suddenly, catching his attention. A couple hundred meters away from you was a tiny wooden cabin, nearly swallowed by the dense horizon of snow flurries. The structure was most likely abandonedーthe flatland of agony for miles in every direction didn't exactly scream 'tourist attraction' to you, but at the moment it might as well have been the oasis paradise in a desert of frosty sand.

"Link—" you stepped past him, grabbing the cloth of his sleeve with urgent fingers. "Link, look!"

His eyes flickered down to your grasp on his Snowquill jacket before following your gaze into the snowfield. By the time he had managed to locate the structure, you had already begun to drag him along toward it. This was the most energy he had seen out of you in the last few hours.

After some minutes spent walking through the blizzard, you and Link eventually reached the little dilapidated shack, a lone shelter in Hebra's snowy sea. Not wanting to spend any more time outside than necessary, you quickly pushed open the shoddy cabin door. A loud creak! resounded off the bare walls, greeting the two of you as you made your way inside. The interior wasn't impressive by any means. Dust had amassed on the floor and furniture in a layer thick enough to see from your place by the door. A wobbly table sat to the left of the room, positioned right beneath a small, framed window, its glass frosted over by the raging snowstorm beyond the cabin's log walls. On that table was a partially used candle jammed into its candlestick and a few shards of flint. This was good news, you thought, as it provided a means to easily ignite the fireplace directly opposite of the door. An untouched bundle of wood was conveniently propped up against the stone mantel, begging to be lit aflame by the lodge's new inhabitants. Rest be assured, starting a fire was no doubt next on the to-do list. As Link shut the door behind you, your eyes glossed over the bed to your right. A single, flat pillow rested unremarkably against the equally lackluster bedframe. The remainder of the bed was covered by a hefty comforter adorned with simple Rito chevron patterns. Now this, you could get behind. The only issue was the size of the bed. It was a comfortable fit for one person, sure, but two people would be a tight squeeze.

Before you could ponder the issue any further, Link's footsteps pulled you out of your daze. The planks of the floor groaned beneath his weight, but he paid no mind, instead getting straight to work on building a fire. You smirked to yourself—he must have been colder than he let on. You wouldn't give him a hard time about it, though, as you weren't any better off. Deciding to try and make yourself useful, you made your way to the foot of the bed where the group of barrels were and began to inspect their contents. Not expecting much to begin with, your meager hopes were squashed as you removed the brown lid of each container. The first barrel contained a handful of chillshrooms, which sat snugly at the bottom of the cold, dark abyss. The next one provided nothing more than a few more flint shards, and the third barrel was completely empty, save for the dust bunnies gathered in its crevices. The poor scavenge wasn't a big deal, luckily, since your bag held enough rations to get you and Link through a few more days of travel at best.

Crouching down next to Link, you watched in silence as he stoked the starter flames in the fireplace. The faint heat emanated by a fire as small as this one still felt like heaven on your fingers, which burned from the blood rapidly circulating back through them. You gingerly flexed the joints of your hand with an appeased sigh.

The feeling of watchful eyes on you halted your appreciative finger wiggle. Link looked at you expectantly, causing an amused huff to pass from your nose.

"They were pretty much empty. Unless you're hungry for mushrooms and dust particles, that is," you joked. "It looks like curry again. Sorry."

Link held your gaze for a few seconds before leaning back on his hands and resting his eyelids.

"I don't mind," Link spoke, thoughtfully tasting his next words on his tongue. "Your cooking's good."

That same funny warmth from earlier crept up through your chest. Your cheeks turned soft and fuzzy from his compliment. Trying to keep them from melting off your face, you lightly bit their insides to hold the muscles in place.

"It's like, two ingredients," you said with a soft laugh. Pulling yourself to your feet, you shuffled towards the scrawny bed that your bag occupied. You undid the worn latches that secured your materials and dug around for the ingredients to tonight's dinner. "Although, in comparison to that monstrosity you made the other day, I guess anything is better—Ah!"

During your preoccupied rummaging through your bag, Link had managed to sneak up behind you without you noticing and teasingly elbowed your side in retaliation for your comment about his awful cooking. You chuckled in surprise and returned the gesture, nudging him with your shoulder as a toothy grin broke out on his face.

"It wasn't my fault," Link swore in a poor attempt at defending himself, "how was I supposed to know that monster parts wouldn't work in place of meat?"

"Yeah, because bokoblin stew sounds so delicious," you replied sarcastically. For how talented your Hylian companion was at most things, his incompetence at making an edible meal was rather endearing. Ignoring Link's fake pout, you retrieved the Goron spice and Hylian rice from your belongings and brought them over to the fire.

Before long, idle chatter and the aroma of spiced curry had filled the air of the remote Hebra lodge, imbuing it with more life than it had seen in quite some time. It was cozy, sitting there with Link. The heat from the spice danced on your tongue and warmed you from the inside out. This was everything you had wanted only a few hours ago. One of the goddesses must have heard your prayer, you thought, as you examined the frozen landscape through the window. The sun had disappeared from behind the clouds by this point, leaving behind a pitch black sky in its wake. The snow's reflection no longer stung your eyes.

With your body temperature raised and stomach filled, you couldn't help the large yawn that escaped your lips.

Right. The bed.

The time to face the issue of sleeping arrangements had finally arrived. As enticing as the small cabin bed was in your exhausted state, all you really needed to be satisfied was a spot next to the toasty, flickering light of the fireplace. However, Link was apparently two steps ahead of you. He suddenly rose from his seat on the floor and stepped over to the window, facing his back to you. You held your tongue and curiously waited for his next move. What you weren't expecting Link to do was slowly begin stripping. First went the gloves, which were tossed haphazardly onto the wooden table with a thud. Hands free, he reached around his back to undo the leather corset of his Snowquill armor. It joined the matching gloves on the table. As his fingers hooked underneath the hem of his sweater, you turned your entire body to the side, forcing yourself to look away and pulling your knees into your chest. Of course, there wasn't much privacy where you were, but he could have at least announced that he was going to change beforehand. The sound of thick cloth hitting the table sent a rose-colored tint across your face. You played with your fingers to distract your mind as he rustled through his own bag—for a shirt, you hoped. Considering the amount of time you and Link had been traveling together, it was a given that you had seen him shirtless before. Regardless, that scenario was always in a different context than your current one. The close proximity that the wooden shack forced you into felt much more intimate than usual.

Once Link had finished dressing himself, you hesitantly looked back over at him. Hanging loosely from his hips were the baggy pants of the Snowquill set, minus the boots, which lay toppled over each other in the far corner of the room. It took physical restraint to keep your expression stoic as your eyes found his exposed midriff. Never one to care about fashion, Link wore an old, beige shirt that was just small enough on him to expose the dips of his V-line. The sight made your tongue go dry in your mouth—you wanted nothing more than to run back out into that goddamn blizzard that would surely bring your body temperature back down to normal levels.

But, his face was what held you still.

Link had always been attractive—above average, even—but seeing him now, with the way the golden light from the fire bounced off of his handsome features, highlighting the soft pink blush on his wind-burnt nose and cheeks, it was more like an angel that stood before you. His hair was released from its rubber band confines, now free to frame his face and kiss the tips of his ears and shoulders. You couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to run your hands through its wild curls.

Completely lost in admiring the Hylian boy before you, it took you embarrassingly longer than it should have to notice what Link was actually doing. With a quick snap of his arms, Link rolled out his depressingly thin blanket onto the cold floor of the cabin, right next to the fire.

"Woah!" you exclaimed, the flap of the blanket hitting the ground bringing you from your daydream. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Link ignored you, grabbing his sweater from the table and bunching it up. He tossed the pathetic ball of cloth near the edge of the blanket, presumably to be used as a makeshift pillow. You had to stop this plan before it was too late.

Before he could sit down on his sad excuse for a bed, you dived face first into the "pillow" that Link had made, stretching your legs out to cover the entire length of the blanket. Your arms wrapped around the clump of sweater, pulling it close to your face to prevent it from being stolen. It was really soft, made from a similar material as your own winter apparel. But, most noticeably, it smelt like him. Link's scent was hard to compare to anything because it contained a touch of everything. It was nature-y, like rich evergreen and sweet nightshade, but also infused with campfire smoke and the vague traces of battle. In the back of your mind, you wondered if this spot on the floor was ultimately better than the proper bed.

The room was silent. Link hadn't made a single noise since you decided to belly flop onto the floor, and you hadn't really wanted to see his reaction. Your nerves got the best of you, however, and you slowly opened an eye to look up at your partner.

Oh. That was a new expression.

His eyebrows were raised high, nearly fully hidden by his tousled bangs. You didn't think Link was capable of displaying that many emotions at once. Confusion, exasperation, and intrigue all bled through his features, like he couldn't decide on just one to feel.

"What do you think you're doing?" he mimicked in astonishment.

"...Sleeping."

"Sleeping."

"Mhm," you muttered from your spot on the ground, "you take the bed. I want to be close to the fire. I haven't completely warmed up yet, you know?" Seeking cover from his skeptical gaze, you rolled over to face the fire directly. You couldn't stand the pressure of his questioning eyes on your back, so you out spoke again, trying to finish the interaction as quickly as possible. "Thanks for setting this up for me, though!"

"Get up," Link said with furrowed brows. He was having none of it. You absently swiped at his hand as he reached out toward you.

"No."

His lips pulled taut, visibly unimpressed with your childish antics. After a few more dismissive swats from your end, Link straightened his back and peered down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. You should have known better than to test his patience. Now, he would make sure you paid in full.

A startled noise left your throat as two large hands shot towards you. Link had fallen to his knees in order gain easier access over you. His calloused fingers closed around your wrists, trying to hold you still as you squirmed frantically underneath him. You wouldn't go down without a fight, unwilling to surrender the wrestling match over the shitty fireside bed.

"No! Stop! I don't want to sleep on the bed," you cried out. Full-belly laughs were now echoing off the cabin's walls as you two play fought on the floor. Even though you resisted with all your might, Link's superhuman strength could only be eluded for so long before your inevitable loss came. In one quick motion, he brought both your wrists above your head, throwing you off balance and causing your back to collide with the blanketed ground below.

A painfully large grin stretched across your face, making your cheeks blissfully sore. You panted, slightly out of breath from the altercation with the oh-so-mature Hero of Hyrule. Link sat on top of you, being careful not to rest too much of his weight on your body whilst straddling your sides. He allowed for just enough pressure to keep your body trapped beneath his own. His long bangs dangled only inches away from your forehead. Those playful, sea colored eyes that you cherished stared victoriously into your own. The smile lines in their corners trailed down to lightly flushed cheeks that made your stomach do flips. Link wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, so the rare moments where you got to see his more mischievous side made you long to see it again.

Once you had finally come down from your laughing fit, you let out a heavy sigh and stopped struggling to escape. That was when you noticed the position the two of you were in was... suggestive, to say the least. Link still had a hold on both of your wrists, effectively pinning you down underneath him.

"Do you give up?" Link spoke lowly. The huskiness in his voice sent shivers up your spine.

"Never," you whispered back, doing everything in your power to keep your tone steady. He examined your face for a while. You could only hope he didn't realize that the blush your face was from his proximity rather than the physical exertion. Then, in a motion that nearly sent your heart out of your chest, Link began to lower his face down to your own. The tension in the air was heavy and your body tingled everywhere. Shutting your eyes expectantly, you waited for Link to grant the wish you've had for a long time.

But the feeling of his lips on yours never came.

"Too bad," he breathed into your ear. Before you could process what just happened, your world flipped upside down—literally. Link had tossed you carelessly over his shoulder and brought you to the Rito-quilted bed. You hit the mattress with an "oof!" as he flung you down unceremoniously.

You laughed and complained, "Link!" at his actions. All he did was stick his tongue out at you and make his way back to his own bed on the floor. You had been totally and utterly defeated.

"You suck," you pouted.

"Get some sleep," he waved you off as he sat down criss-cross before the fire, monitoring its flames.

You stuck your tongue out at him from behind his back and pulled the comforter over yourself. Your heart raced in your chest. What were you thinking? That Link was actually going to kiss you? Embarrassment flooded through your body, making you bury your face into your pillow as a means of escaping the unpleasant feeling. Your palms were sweaty as you gripped the pillow case.

Link. You had known the Hylian for quite some time, having accompanied the boy on his hero's journey over the last few months. Being Link's companion had exposed you to his colorful personality, which was often hidden underneath his trademark stoic exterior. It had admittedly taken you a while to pick up on his idiosyncrasies, but once you did, it was impossible not to become smitten. The way he would roll his eyes at some stranger's tedious request and still agree to do it. How he would give the stables' herding dogs the rest of your meat when he didn't think you were looking. His wholehearted laugh anytime Epona jumped particularly hard, resulting in a startled yelp from you. Though, he never seemed to mind your arms wrapping tighter around his waist. Even the way his eyes become glossy when a traumatic memory hit him, avoiding eye contact but hovering ever so slightly closer to you, as if he were afraid that the past would come and take you, too.

You earnestly couldn't help but catch feelings for Link during your travels. Even so, you really wished that he'd be a bit more aware of the effect he had on you.

As your adrenaline slowly wore off, the exhaustion from the day hit you like a brick. Your thoughts about Link began to fade, only to be replaced by the sweet slumber you had yearned for all day.

~

Fwish.

After what was most definitely not enough sleep to satisfy you, a sharp chill shot through your body, throwing you from the depths of sleep and into the misery of consciousness. You groggily sat upright and turned your head towards the door of the cabin. There stood Link, still dressed in his sleepwear and boots, quietly shivering from the light dusting of snow on his body.

"Link?" you choked out, concerned as to why he had been outside. "What in Hylia's name are you doing?"

It took you a few seconds to notice the room had dimmed a considerable amount since the last time you were awake. The fireplace had greedily consumed all of the wood you had to offer, leaving nothing more than the shadows and a taunting pile of ashes in its aftermath. At the foot of the bed, the fruitless barrels from earlier were missing. Link must have somehow broken them down without you hearing and used their husks to fuel the fire. Yet, even that wasn't enough to keep the flames alive. The only light source remaining was a decaying candle three-fourths of the way melted and showing no signs of stopping soon. It was barely enough to illuminate the vermilion contours that winter's touch left on Link's face.

"The fire died," Link muttered through chattering teeth, "I went to check for more wood outside." He desperately rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to create enough friction to rid himself of the frostbite. "There wasn't any."

Link was a rather pitiful sight. He stood freezing by the door, underdressed and racked with shivers. Even his nonchalant expression was twisted into one of discomfort. Without thinking, still half asleep and driven by an innate desire to help Link, you pulled the corner of the warm comforter over your lap and patted the empty spot next to you.

"It's alright," you yawned out, "just share the bed with me for the night."

The air was silent aside from the wind's whistling outside. Link stood unmoving, his mouth wordlessly agape at your suggestion. You would have found his dumbstruck face cute if your patience wasn't wearing thin from the low temperature in the cabin.

"I'm assuming you haven't slept yet, either," you mumbled, scooting your body back down to lay in the bed. "Come on, already, it's cold."

With that final prompt, Link kicked off his boots and shuffled over to the bed. You scooted your back as close to the wall as you could go. You didn't want Link to feel uncomfortable sharing a bed with you, but he would only suffer trying to brave the night with no fire. There was no other choice but to sleep together. At least, that was the mantra you kept repeating to yourself as reality began to set in. The dip in the bed was like a splash of water to your system, sending shock waves straight to your now wide awake brain.

Link gingerly tucked his legs underneath the comforter, flinching as his foot bumped into your own. You could tell he was tense by the way he lowered his body down and rested his head on your shared pillow. Link was flat on his back with his face pointed towards the ceiling, hesitantly glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought the cabin had teleported from Hebra to Eldin. It felt as though the volcanic heat from Death Mountain had invaded the bed and threatened to scorch you both. You held mutually flustered eye contact with Link for a few awkwardly prolonged seconds before flipping your body to face the wall, pretending like his presence in the bed wasn't slowly suffocating you.

"Uh—night," you murmured.

"Y-Yeah," Link replied, voice pitched a bit higher than normal. You felt the bed shift as he presumably turned his back to yours.

Pins and needles crawled all over your body. You tried your best not to think about the palpable tension that hung in the air. Link's leg twitched softly, causing you to flinch in turn. You needed to get a grip on yourself. There was nothing wrong with sharing a bed with Link, even if you did have a substantial crush on the Hylian boy. Right now, you were just two friends trying to keep warm. Nothing else.

You spent the next few minutes forcing yourself to think of anything besides your current situation. It worked, luckily, and after one final self-lecture for fantasizing about Link, your breath slowed and your body welcomed sleep once again.

~

"Ngh..."

You felt a small sound leave your throat, watered down from sleep and muffled by the warm pillow your face was buried into. Another content sigh left your mouth as you pulled the pillow closer and stretched out your limbs. Its gentle undulations lulled you in your near-sleep state.

Wait. The pillow was breathing?

Your eyes shot open at the feeling. You pulled your head back and nearly fainted at the sight. Inches away from your face was Link's own quiet visage. His soft, pink lips were slightly parted and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered in his sleep, most likely a subconscious reaction to your sudden movement. His bedhead while asleep was truly a sight to behold—to no surprise, as Link had a natural bedhead while awake. Honey blonde strands of hair were tousled messily against the pillow and curled slightly at the ends. You felt his arms, which were draped loosely across your waist, pull you back into his chest. He could probably sense the loss of warmth in his sleep.

You can't remember a time where Link had looked so at-peace. 'Good for him', you thought agitatedly, as you were seconds away from a heart attack. It actually hurt, how hard the organ was beating in your chest. Your stomach was doing violent flips inside you. The only reason you hadn't leapt to the other side of the room yet was that, even if you wanted to move, you physically couldn't. Not without waking sleeping beauty.

After a few seconds of meditative, although exasperated, breathing, you calmed down. Maybe this was alright. It was true, Link rarely had a chance to get a good night's rest. You two were constantly on your feet and Link always kept watch when you camped outside. He'd quickly shoot down your offer to take lookout shifts, refusing to hear another word out of you. Even when you spent the night at a stable, you knew Link slept with one eye open. He'd never admit it, though. He didn't want you to worry.

In an act of blissful defeat, you buried your face back into Link's enticing chest and allowed yourself to fully enjoy the moment. Hylia knows if this chance would ever come again. You sheepishly hugged Link, savoring the drum of his heart beating in his chest. The sensation of his body in yours... it was so warm. If love had a feeling, you imagine it would be like this.

Link's body began to shift against you. As his shoulders slowly hunched down, the angelic curls in his hair trailed down your cheek and his nose found its place in your neck. Link's lips were pressed against the top of your collarbone. Whether this was intentional or not, you couldn't tell. Your mental state was out the window. At a tantalizing pace, Link's lips placed featherlike kisses along your neck, wordlessly confirming that their earlier placement was no mistake. His kisses reached your jawline and languidly began to map out your face. From the curve of your cheekbone to your temple to your forehead, Link's mouth traversed the planes of your face, exploring each hemisphere in extensive detail.

Finally, the Hylian pulled away from your face. Your wide, dumbfounded eyes stared into his own half-lidded, cerulean blue ones.

"You never pulled away."

You were so stunned that you didn't even notice his lips moving. Every part of your body felt weak, you could hardly bring yourself to respond.

"Mm."

"Did you want to pull away?"

"No," you whispered.

"Good."

Without another word, Link brought his perfect lips onto your own. It was a funny sensation that quickly became your favorite thing in the entire world. You returned his affection in full. As Link trailed his calloused hands under your shirt and along your back, you quickly seized the opportunity to threat your fingers through his fluffy blonde locks. Hylia, how you longed to do this.

You couldn't help but smile into the kiss. Every nerve in your body tingled in elation from the way Link kissed you. He was gentle but passionate, as if he'd wanted to do this for a long time. Reluctantly, you broke the kiss to ask.

"How long?" you breathed.

"Too long," Link shook his head. That impish smile you love so much broke out on his face as he suddenly flipped you onto your back. A surprised laugh barely made its way out of you before Link silenced it by returning his lips to yours.

Link broke the kiss again after a few minutes. He held your face in his hands and rested his forehead against your own.

"You have no idea how hard it was," Link sighed. His warm breath tickled your nose. "Sharing this cabin with you, waking up to you tucked into my chest," he trailed off. Your face went red at the revelation—Link had been awake for everything. "I tried to pretend I was asleep in case you were repulsed, but... when you didn't pull away from me, I just couldn't help myself," he admitted, staring sincerely into your eyes, tracing the curves of your face with his thumbs. "You were just so warm."

You smiled giddily and leaned into the palm of Link's hand.

"It wasn't easy for me either," you chuckled, relieved that your feelings had been mutual all along. You wanted so badly to tell Link how dearly you loved him, but you knew you shouldn't. Not yet, at least. For now, you were content lying in his arms while he showered you in kisses. The heat from his touch made you think that, just maybe, this blizzard wasn't so unbearable after all.

[justaboot]

Ahh, tagged by @hueberryshortcake (thanks! also this was the thing someone tagged me in and lost weeks ago so bless <3)

how many fics do you have on ao3?

omg 8, what even are they.

what's your total ao3 word count?

174,260 oh my GOd

what fandoms do you write for?

- I've only posted for DT but I've got a 10th Doctor/River fic in my drafts

what are your top five fics by kudos?

And a Sixpence in Your Shoe

In Situ

I've Got Time

Everyone Loves a Reunion (A come from behind win?)

Gentle as it Goes

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

- I try so hard to reply to everybody, but I've got weapons grade anxiety so sometimes I'm worried people will think I'm self-important. I've actually found I'm less likely to respond to tumblr mutuals? More anxiety? Unclear but I'm smashing my face into my hands at every comment.

what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I can't handle ending on angst. Gentle as it Goes, definitely, but I hate it, I cannot handle splitting the party.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sixpence definitely has the most Disney Fairytale Everything Works Out ending, but writing I've Got Time's button fixed something in me I think.

do you get hate on your fics?

The first comment I ever got ever was DellaHate gbless, thanks AO3 User DellaDuckShouldDie for your insightful comment of "Della Duck should be destroyed."

do you write smut?

I've written it for other things, I'm not shook by it and its a great storytelling tool just like everything else, but not cartoon characters. I...I have one explicitly human DT fic that. I. Well. We'll see. Its a genre test run for something original and they're pointedly human, but I guess I'll cop to that one?

do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've ever written?

I hate crossovers stay away from me I cant wrap my head around it

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nah. Where would you go with it, we're all in the same room.

have you ever had a fic translated?

No but that'd be so cool!

have you ever cowritten a fic before?

girlfriend and I made an absolute banger of a spn fic together on a 12 hour roadtrip. Its not written down but we've got it beat for beat.

what's your all time favorite ship?

The Doctor and River will never fail to make me lay down they're them I dont even know what to say

what's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

-I've got 1/3rd of an OG3 prequel episode fic written, but it has to be part of a series and that's just...not gonna happen.

what are your writing strengths?

oh god i dont know don't look at me dialogue? I get a lot of comments about in-character dialogue/behavior lets go with that.

what are your writing weaknesses?

I have "I'll finish it later, let me start this new one real quick" disease.

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I haven't done so, I'm fine with French but I'm terrified across the board of The Comment From A Native Speaker.

first fandom you wrote for?

Let me tell you about Tid, my halfling OC based on my Lord of the Rings Online character who played very little of the actual game and just ran laps around the shire. Elementary school core.

favorite fic you've ever written?

I am putting Sixpence on the award shelf for having finished something so big and I've Got Time was me getting a good grade in therapy. Right now I'm actually really proud of Dear Fellow Traveller? They're just lil kids and omg they're swimming in the Little Lake watering hole in the sierras I did that how did the author know

Tagging.... @writebackatya and @shychick-52

[singingcookie]

Fanfic Q&A!

Thank you for the tag @encyclopika, sorry I'm oh so very late getting back to it 😅

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Good question uhhhh 55???? That seems like way more than I thought it would be....

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

523,858 words! Granted over half of that is just my slow burn story so lol

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily I've written for My Hero Academia (40 out of the total 55). But I've also written for Kingdom Hearts, The World Ends With You, and more recently Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Oh that's a good question let's see...

Drops of Jupiter (829)

A Princess's Dilemma (381)

Within Arms Reach (378)

One Plus One Does Not Equal a Date (Probably?) (303)

I Roll to Seduce (296)

I'm...genuinely shocked one of my LoZ fics is up there??? And so high??? 1, 3, 4, and 5 are all from my hero fanfics which is not surprising and most of them are super old. Number 2 I only posted in June and it was my first fic for LoZ so that's...interesting to say the least.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! The last year or so I've had a hard time working up the energy or finding the words to respond to comments, sometimes. But whenever I do gather up the energy to do it, I tend to answer everything in my inbox in one fell swoop! And I always really appreciate getting them so tbh sometimes I feel bad that it can take so much energy to reply....

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh gosh idk if I have anything that qualifies as an angsty ending lol. Maybe Tarantism (a KH fic) because it's supposed to be feelsy and then the ending is one of those "it's just a dream" things haha.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Happiest...probably A Family's Orbit? The story has married izuocha with their first kid who they're not sure when or if she'll have a Quirk of her own. But the one-shot ends pretty happy.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Hmmmm I've gotten a handful of complaints on Drops of Jupiter, on occasion. Usually just people telling me I'm going too slow (when I put in the author's notes of the very first chapter that it's "the slowest of slow burns" smh). Or this one time someone told me I didn't give Deku enough victories in the fic and it would be way better if I did.

Outside of that though, I can't think of any on my other stuff. I've been blessed with very kind commentors, I think.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've written a couple for Izuocha. But yknow usually, in all honesty, I've only ever written smut out of spite? The two fics I have (Burning Heat and Homecoming) were written in opposition to fandom tendencies at the time. Mostly everyone was talking about Izuku like someone who was a sex addict/sex god and Ochako was just kind of there. And I said "actually I think Deku's on the ace spectrum and probably mostly just cares about pleasing his partner than anything" and thus they were born. I haven't reread them in ages though that said lol

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Generally, no. However, about a year or so ago I got really into twewy again because I had just finished playing NEO:The World Ends With You. So I came up with a concept that kind of meshes twewy's concept with the my hero world? I only have one chapter posted of Death By Proxy so far, but I have an outline and little details written down whenever I'm in the right headspace for it. For what it's worth, you don't really need to know about twewy to read it, because Izuku finds out how everything works at the same time you do lol

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Here's hoping it stays that way lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of? I've never been asked about it anyway.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not explicitly? I feel like I help out my friends with their stories and vice versa, but not really.

Oh!

Although once upon a time me and a friend (you know who you are) wrote a KH fanfic together but I guess that was moreso just for us than anything else lol

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Probably Izuocha, just going by the numbers.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Hmmm probably Eri-sitting? I really want to finish it at some point, and I posted the first part with every intention of doing it. But I never figured out the way I wanted to start chapter 2. Maybe someday though. Also!!! I did start writing a fanfic based off of heroes of the dark, but I didn't end up finishing it because it contrasted how the story ended and I thought completing that would be in poor taste with that said lol

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmmm I've always found dialogue and characterization comes easier to me than I think it does to most others? There's always been discussions I've seen where people are like "oh sometimes the characters just do what they want" and I've never really...had that happen? Or at least not in a way that completely alters a story like I've seen people say. Little actions or pieces of dialogue that take me by surprise, sure, but like never anything that completely alters a plot beat I had planned. But usually at least for me, the plot beats are so centered around who they are or how they act that the odds of them veering off course are incredibly slim, if that makes sense

God I'm rambling uh dialogue and characterization I guess was my point haha.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Probably description is the thing I have the hardest time with. Some people are so good at writing a setting and making everything seem so like immersive in that way. For me, I don't see the point in describing something unless it's like relevant and so my description tends to be very to the point.

Also estimating a story's length. Usually I come up with a concept and then I'll say "oh yeah this'll only be this long" and then I start writing and writing and realize I had a lot more to say than I thought I did initially. This has happened a handful of times now haha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic.

I definitely don't see anything wrong with it. I usually only do it for small phrases, myself, but partially because I'm not fluent in anything except for English. And I generally try to do some research or I'll check with friends if I have any who speak the language I'm using.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Kingdom Hearts! Back in the days of yore, yours truly actually wrote KH retellings with OCs back on quizilla lmao. I wrote quite a lot back then although with how long it's been most of the things I posted on there don't exist anymore. But that was back during 8th grade when I started.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Oh hmm I don't know. I feel like favorites is tough because I like a lot of my stories but for different reasons. I'm exceedingly proud of Drops of Jupiter for example. And I think it's been a true adventure to write and does have some of my best work in it as a result.

But I also think some of the prose and concepts I've made for Call From the Wild has a special place in my heart. It's very different from...basically anything else I've ever written because most ever other fic is "modern" in a manner of speaking and this was my first time writing something that's...decidedly not lol. I also think I'm fond of it because it's adhering to canon while allowing me the creativity to come up with how certain things happened since the details before the Calamity in botw are pretty limited...

Basically I guess my favorite kind of fic I've written is anything that really allows me to go nuts creatively.

Thanks so much for sending this! I don't have anyone in particular I want to tag, but if any of my followers fill it out, please tag me so I can see it!

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

For the three sentence fics post, regarding the comment you added about a selkie!Five AU

I know it's a bit different but,, I *did* have concept work for a siren!Five comic that I gave up on but I have the designs with me,,,, if you don't mind fanworks to go with that AU (pretend this ask is from the new-lorien-artist blog)

EYEZOOMS YES PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO SEE IF YOU DO SOMETHING WITH IT

it's more like an umbrella of AUs based on the same backstory and brand of selkie, and i do have designs for them in the baseline AU that i've been picking away at for a while, but fanworks and alt designs absolutely are welcome and i'd be honored :DDD

i need to post an actual writeup at some point, but tl;dr is that the pod five was born in was known for--among other things--having beautiful coats, which is the main thing that matters to selkie hunters like the ones who managed to find their cove. they got just enough warning to start evacuating without having time to get everyone out fast enough, and hiding won't save them for long if the hunters are focused on rooting them out...

...so they decided to gather up all the pups with the prettiest coats, and send them out in different directions as bait. the hunters can't catch all of them. and by the time they've gotten the ones they do manage to hunt down, everyone else will be long gone; maybe they'll decide it's not worth it to keep looking, and give up. 🙃

five was, you guessed it, one of those pups. the plan, if you can call it that, was for the kids and the adults who were sent with them to eventually meet up with the pod again when the coast was clear. this was not what rey did, at all. instead he took five and ran with no intention of ever going back, and proceeded to tell him a Highly Embellished version of events to make him more afraid of the world and easier to control, and also just to fuck with his head in general lmao.

things go pretty similarly to canon from there, up until the point where he ends up washing ashore in miami (or whatever fantasy equivalent you're going with); and that's where the variations in cast, scenarios, other setting details, etc come in from AU to AU. which! i mean, there can be variations from before that of course, that's just where it usually tends to branch off.

it's been a really fun set of AUs to play around with; i've done a lot of tossing it around with @thecottageinthedark, who among other things came up with the idea of five being a leopard seal selkie, because a) Holy Shit Murderbeast and b) this fucking face

that's him. that is his essence. god bless

but yeah!! that's the gist of it so far, if you decide you wanna do fanart for it that'd be cool as hell and i'm excited to see :D

(i am also 👀 all ears about this siren!AU if you ever decide to post stuff about it, comics or otherwise, mythical creature AUs are So Fucking Good and i support them always. Especially when Boye is involved)

[madstronaut]

I have updated this comment because I have been ramble-typing in my notes about how it literally arrested me and threw me in angstyhorny jail (bonk) and also I want to add it to my faficorantlist

BE WARNED, ABANDON COMFORT ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE (angst fic lovers, flocketh yonder), lol I told greeny going back to point out my favorite parts was akin to ripping open stitches, and also putting myself back into my unreliable narrator mode this fic had me recalling from when I was screaming on a similar emotional rollercoaster several years ago...

how do you even describe the weird mishmash of experiencing an immediate crush AND heartbreak and then the fucking theater of having to hide/pretend while having the two clashing feelings roil in your stomach like vomit??

"You laugh and slap her arm playfully as you leave the room. You’re an expert at that now" YEP THIS IS HOW humor can be such a mask sometimes

"On the off chance Soap arrived when you were coming out of the shower, he only ever looked at your eyes and quickly got out of your way." the absolute dissonance when the heart and mind war with each other...one pointing out hey this is why they appeal to us but also the other realizing simultaneously this is why we will never appeal to them PARADOX THY NAME IS READER (and 2018 me) 🥹

all the little bits about soaking up crumbs of attention while watching the flatmate feast - and seeing soap act so friendly with reader because they love them through the friend and feel safe with them - shredding my pillow, sheets, all the linens in my apt in angst for reader </3 </3 </3

"You put the chocolate in a drawer because you didn’t want to get used to tastes you couldn’t indulge in."

"He smiles, you smile. He leaves, you remain."

reader going outside to talk directly with price, the convo opening with "It was cold outside, bitterly cold."

"You knew better than to beg, to make compromises, to ask for a chance. Nothing would convince him. Maybe another woman could. But not me. So you turned to humour because it was safer than being vulnerable."

With wet eyes and a wobbly voice that you couldn’t hide, you say “so you think I’m pretty?” 🥹🥹🥹🥹 reader pls let me give u hugs, pep talks, set u up with someone-

He hits you with a look that you’ll never forget.

RAGGGGGHHHH THESE QUOTESSS I NEED A FUCKIN MEDIC

“In another life-“ he quietly began.

You cut him off, agreeing, “in another life.”

me, everytime I see fic title pop its head up in the story 😂😂

also me, consoling myself while consuming angst: there IS another life, and that is the fan-fucking-tastic universe of fanfiction, bless ye, fanfic writers, bless ye

You wish you could be in someone’s inner circle, but instead you were grateful you could float around theirs. once again crying for reader and also who has not felt this before?? picturing my emo highschool self, listening to linkin park while commuting on my sony discman, pre-finding my people in college. if I could i would go back and let madstroteen know it's gonna be okay (I wouldn't actually do so, of course, because rules of time travel duh)

"your flatmate shouted at the top of her lungs “you and the Captain huh?! Practically undressing each other with your eyes!”

“You never told me what happened with you both that night.” She asks, brows knitted in concern for you while her heart was shattered.

also god the angst is so palpably good like i can chew on it because both flatmate and soap, individually and together, are so well fleshed-out and are good friends - and a great couple - WHICH OFC ONLY ADDS TO TEH FUCKING ANGST AND DRAMA OF IT ALL

‘What cannot be said will be wept’ - truer words have never been spoken, when reader starts to sob right afterwards under the guise of "soap was so good to flatmate" like ugh the heartbreak but also the relief of finally being able to let out her feelings, even if its veiled - UGGHHHHH yes let it outttt

reader overhearing the wild monkey sex and yearning/getting off only to end in wallowing...my GOD reminded me of the total ouroboros of despair of 'need to get rid of feelings so I can heal and get new feelings for someone else and move on - but fuck i can't look at all these feelings currently taking up space - oh whats that are they growing FUCK - i need to get rid of...'

good news tho, friends - IRL this cycle can and will be broken, the power of Christ compels you- no but really sometimes it takes some painfully slow and steady exorcism-level intervention by yourself+community to do so

--------------------------------------------

This fic fucking destroyed me in the best way

i haven’t been in this exact situation (thank FUCK i think my innate love and loyalty for close friends would physically/spiritually/chemically/legally/emotionally not allow my mind and heart to even entertain the thought…so far, and hopefully forever) but I have definitely found myself with feelings for unavailable people (i am absolutely religious about respecting/keeping certain boundaries IRL but…sometimes with just the right and random cocktail of circumstances, situations and interactions, feelings just fucking bloom) and coming to terms with that with myself and ruthlessly working to destroy those feelings (while also feeling like I couldn’t confide in anyone/talk about it openly out of shame) was fucking brutal in every sense of the word

looking at you 2018-2019 situationship where I heard [redacted]’s voice before I saw him and fell hard at first sight hearing; discovered later he was Not A Good Idea™️🙃 after he came on way too strong and raised all the yellow-reddish flags, but maintained what turned into a close friendship (that everyone else thought was more than) to see where it went organically but because our heartspace/heartpaces were different had to watch him fall in love with someone else that people said was a clone of me… maybe this fic was closer to home that i thought 😭

i avoided certain songs foods fuck even places and movies for the longest time because i had to take time to untangle it emotionally from the other and heal from the scars of ripping it away from myself…BUT IT IS POSSIBLE DEAR READER 🫂🫂🫂 (i will give reader a happy ending in the multiverse of my mind lol)

I would like to give both reader and evergreeny a huge-ass hug and a long uninterrupted walk together through the cherry blossom colonnades/around the reservoir in central park in springtime to pep talk and decompress and process 🌿🫂💚🌸

------------------------------------------------------------

so that lil bit between the lines was my original comment but then ofc the beauty of fandom and tumblr is the interactions and community and had to add some thoughts after the ever lovely @evergreenfields reached out and messaged me and basically was like i love that my fic killed you but ALSO ARE YOU OKAY lol

I hope this isn't taken the wrong way but as I told greeny, In Another Life holds a special position in my mind palace halls with a couple of stories/movies that I have vowed 'Once Was Enough, Never Reading/Watching Again' because of how heartrending/devastating it was, how it will haunt me for awhile, and because it helped to purge some incredibly strong feelings in a surprisingly healing and draining (good) way - truly, a cathartic work of art

(I re-read it again tho just for you greeny 💚)

I love happy endings but i am just as much a sucker for standalone powerful tragic stories when told right (and FUCK WAS THIS DONE WELL) because as the late, the great Tony Stark once said, "a part of the journey is the end" and also cos hindsight is 20/20 (are these quotes corny? yes. do I love them? yes.)

One of the reasons this story hit me so much in the feels for me is that I was reminded not just of IRL heartbreak and defeat, but IRL healing and victory afterwards - slowly, surely, to a degree that really eclipsed the heartbreak in a really spontaneous, beautiful, unexpected, and eucatastrophic way (shoutout to my IRL beloveds) - the wisdom and perspective I have now, I would not have earned without having gone through what I went through - truly, something money cannot buy. Healing is possible and can happen even long after wounds have scarred over <3 (also tbh the alchemical powers of writing/fanfic when an author's work meets the reader and the various lifelens by which they absorb the fic - the result just creates emotional IRL magic and fireworks basically)

I will end my rambles with two quotes this fic reminded me of:

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” - Ernest Hemingway

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” - C.S. Lewis

(yes the narnia dude, I fucking love narnia sue me ok)

In Another Life

Hurt, no comfort, angst, I’m ready to break my own heart.

Your flatmate is dating Soap and he’s everything you want.

Pairing: Soap x your female flatmate, one sided female reader x Soap, Captain Price x reader.

CW: MDNI! low self esteem, character death (spoiler, not explicit), catcalling, voyeurism, masturbation, PIV sex.

A/n: I hella projected lol. Reader is broken.

——

Soap is dating your flatmate.

Most men that your flatmate brought home were wet wipes, but this guy was some kind of special forces. His eyes were electric blue and he had the thickest eyelashes, he went by Johnny but he also went by Soap, you never learned why. You had to mentally pinch yourself while staring at him, he was everything you wanted in a partner. You hated the creamy mess in your underwear when you were in his company.

He was muscled and shaped like an upside down triangle, you had to look away when he would pop out from their room in the night. Muttering “sorry ‘scuse me” as you squeeze past the narrow corridor, ignoring the rumble of his “no no, I’m taking up all the room, lass.”

You caught his thighs and bulge in his compression shorts when he left for a run in the morning. Later, your flatmate traipsed into the kitchen muttering “I can hardly walk after last night, let alone run!”

You laugh and slap her arm playfully as you leave the room. You’re an expert at that now. That’s not to say you were never happy for her, but your phone was currently not blowing up with your latest dating app matches.

——

On the off chance Soap arrived when you were coming out of the shower, he only ever looked at your eyes and quickly got out of your way. He only had eyes for your flatmate. You got to your room and stood in front of the mirror and wondered what your flatmate and other women had that you didn’t.

——

Soap was full of energy, ready for a laugh but very protective. You would listen from your room when he dropped her off late at night after a raucous night out on the town.

“Call me tomorrow, alright?” His voice is muffled.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Just call me when you wake up. You look like you need a lie in tomorrow. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

Tomorrow morning comes and Soap is early with a bag of food from a brunch spot nearby, he even brought you a coffee too. You thank him too much, maybe it wasn’t the coffee you were thanking him for.

——

Your flatmate and Soap came home late one night absolutely drunk out of their minds, they wobbled through the front door trying to dance to a song playing on his phone. They see you and it’s like they have heart eyes.

“Y/n, it’s y/n, THE GOAT!” Your roommate yells.

“The GOAT!” Soap hollers.

They both flop into the sofa either side of you. They’re too drunk to notice your teary eyes. You pushed the soggy tissue into your sleeve.

A dance tune starts up and before you can even recognise it, Soap bounces up with hands held out towards you both.

Your roommate grabs one hand.

You’re next.

You take Soap’s hand and you arc off the sofa, he’s strong.

You’re pressed up against his side. He’s hard, large and warm, you try not to enjoy the bodily contact as you all boogie to the song. You start to smile until you remember he isn’t yours.

——

“It’s only 2 days but I’m so excited,” she talks about her friend’s wedding in the south of France, “I’m wearing this dress” she flicks through her phone gallery “and Johnny is going to wear a kilt!” Muscled calves, big smile and rugged hands clasped at his front, Johnny looked like a million bucks.

“I love it, you’ll match!” You managed to squeeze out. You imagine the memories they’ll make and photos they’ll take. That night you have a 2nd date, you are excited by the fact he has asked you out again. It filled you with something resembling happiness.

You are meant to meet at a station out of town but you couldn’t find him at the small station and the path towards the car park was unlit and dodgy. When your date found you, he was annoyed that he had to pay for parking. He kept throwing red flags at you.

But still you slept with him because you wanted to feel touched and desired. You regretted it and then you had to take the train home later that night because he “had an early start to work tomorrow.” You wrapped your jacket around yourself to keep out some of the cold, trying not to be annoyed that he didn’t even attempt to make you orgasm or show any aftercare. You delete his number from your phone.

Later that weekend, the duo arrived home.

“We bought you back some chocolate!” Your flatmate says, Johnny swings his bag off his back, he passes it to you with 2 hands like it's a bar of gold. It could have been, with the way you looked at it.

“Aww guys you didn’t have to.” Your mouth is dry.

“Johnny found it, I didn’t know you were a sea salt and caramel fan!”

You put the chocolate in a drawer because you didn’t want to get used to tastes you couldn’t indulge in.

——

“He’s a prick, forget about him.” Your flatmate says pointedly about a new guy you were dating.

“Oi who’s a prick?” Soap walks into the kitchen, taking your flatmate’s waist in his hand.

“No one-” you turn away.

“A fuck boy that y/n isn’t seeing any more.” Your flat mate sounds proud by what wasn’t her decision.

“He isn’t a fuck boy.” You know you’ll regret clarifying the point, “we didn’t fuck, so he’s not. He’s just a prick.” You and the conversation. Soap whistles.

Later that night when you’re washing the dishes, Soap approaches you.

“Listen, forget about that guy,” he says low, you’d follow that voice anywhere.

“Thanks.” You squeak quietly.

“You will find what you're looking for, keep pushing and you’ll look back on this shite with a smile, maybe a misty eye, ey?” He bends forward to catch your eyes as you were trying to avoid them.

He smiles, you smile. He leaves, you remain.

The suds disappear and you turn off the tap, left in silence.

That night, they have muted sex, you hear their attempts at muffling moans and stifling strained grunts. You hear the bed frame squeak on the last hardest thrusts, then silence for a while. You imagine they feel warm, tingly and flushed, chests heaving. Eventually you hear footsteps come and go from the bathroom, the toilet flush going and the door shuts again. You wait for your heart rate to stabilise and your heart ache to subside.

——

“We’re going to the pub, wanna join us? Johnny’s friends are going to be there.” Your flatmate asks you.

You wonder if they’re as hot, funny and protective. You tell yourself you’re just going along for a chat, but part of you hopes it leads to something more; you put the hopeless in hopeless romantic. Put yourself out there, that’s what everyone says.

You wear a nice outfit that makes you feel pretty, your confidence isn’t abundant but you’re feeling yourself.

You arrive at the pub, you meet them, you chat, you drink, you leave.

Nothing about the evening was bad, his team were really nice, all huge and charming in their own ways. Their Captain was a greyhound with an intense gaze that seemed to follow you. Gaz’s girlfriend arrived and you thought you heard some rumblings about Ghost being pushed to date.

The Captain was receptive to you, leaning in to listen, you thought you saw him glance at your lips and legs. He helped you off the tall stool you were sitting on, taking you by your waist to help you down. You know not to push, men hated when women pushed. Well, they hated when you pushed. And you didn’t want to make anything awkward between you and your flatmate. So you left without asking for his phone number or a date, but he hugged you tightly and held your gaze for longer than you thought usual.

When all three of you got home, your flatmate shouted at the top of her lungs “you and the Captain huh?! Practically undressing each other with your eyes!” You laugh and immediately feel your ears going red. You were stoked that someone else noticed because you thought it was all in your head, as it usually was.

You didn’t notice Soap put a hand out to stop her.

“Babe. Babe-” he says “don’t go there.”

Your heart tightens. Your flatmate puts her hands on her hips, confused and a little offended as if to say ‘I know what I saw.’

“It ain’t like that, the Captain is… Price is… Look, he’s married to the job.” Brows knitted, the jovial spirit replaced with seriousness, “we don’t sit around and talk about it but he ain’t the type to mess around.”

You play it off “we were just talking, it’s not a big deal.”

It hurts when Soap says “good, because he’s a lifer.”

You close the door to your bedroom and mull Soap’s words in your tormented mind. The fuzziness you felt replaced by emptiness.

Part of you willed it to be wrong, that you were the woman to pull the Captain out of his self fulfilling and self imposed prophecy. You almost laughed at your audacity.

“I can’t even get a text back, why would he be interested?” You stare at the ceiling, the alcohol left your system and the room was uncomfortably still.

——

“You like tha’, lass?” you hear Soap rasp, you’re not sure if he’s taking her from behind or if he’s on top of her. The faint slaps, skin on skin, indicate it’s either doggy or the standing position your flatmate had once whispered about. The loud moans indicate it’s good.

You don’t breathe. You just listen.

“Oh god, Johnny please!” Your flatmate whines, the force of his thrusts evident in her stuttering voice.

You close your eyes and see yourself with Soap under you, knees folded under his bulging arms, hips pistoning into you with ferocious need. You argue with yourself but then you quickly surrender and slip your hand into your knickers. You draw tight circles on your clit while your eyes burn with tears unfallen. Undiluted shame and need fills you. You breathe sharply through your nose and then hold your breath, staying as quiet as possible. Both of your hearts raced, thumping against your ribs.

“Tha’s it,” you hear his muffled voice grunt. You imagine his massive hand grasping your breast, your hand follows. Their bed frame groans but yours is silent. Your flatmate’s voice gets higher in pitch and she comes loudly, he grunts, swears, the mattress squeaks. You push two fingers into yourself and quickly find your spongy spot, electricity rolls through you.

You come undone shakily and silently, tears springing immediately from your eyes as you ride the wave of your orgasm. Your hand clasps across your mouth as you try to stem the noise of your sobs. You feel disgusted and disgusting. You wipe your eyes with your sleeves. You check your phone, no text from him. You manage to fall into a restless sleep.

——

One night, you and your flatmate encountered an asshole at the station.

“Nice bit of skirt, that.” He leers at your flatmate.

“Fuck off, you prick!” You shout back without breaking stride, not caring he was bigger than you. This confidence was new to you. Or was it anger?

When you arrived at the music venue, your flatmate told Soap what happened, you couldn’t hear them as the music was loud and you were at the bar. You could see the look of concern and regret on his face. He stormed over to you and he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” he says to your temple. He releases you but keeps his arm around your shoulder as you wait at the bar, his weight is comforting and protective. He then helps you carry the drinks over.

He adds “I’m sorry Gaz and Cap couldn’t make it, paperwork.” You’d heard that one before but this time you gave yourself the benefit of believing it.

During the gig was a slow acoustic song that hit a little too close to home so you snuck out to the toilet to wait it out.

But you could still hear the music as you leaned against the stall and picked at your nails, doing breathing exercises you’d read about, through your tears.

——

You began to feel like the only man in your life. You even treated yourself to a massage because the touch deprivation reached a fever pitch.

You scroll through the website trying to find an available masseuse. Their headshots were small but you were on the lookout for a man with a thick neck and prominent traps, you knew the silhouette you were looking for. Your masseuse didn’t have a Mohawk but he was close enough that when you closed your eyes, his hands, his pressure and weight became Johnny’s.

——

You were invited again to a party with the squad, moods were good but there were hints of them being away for an extended mission. While you heeded what Soap said about Price, you wanted to know it from the horse's mouth. You bantered with the Captain, and he bantered back, at first. It turned to flirting and you playfully slapped his bicep, joking that you could drink him under the table, knowing well enough that you couldn’t. You ignored the looks from Gaz and Ghost - it’s like they knew something you didn’t. And they did.

You found yourself outside with Price. He’d asked only you to come outside, you felt giddy at the prospect of him wanting to be alone with you. He was smoking a cigar, you stared at the lit end, hoping it revealed some kind of secret you could finally be privy to.

It was cold outside, bitterly cold.

“You’re a lovely girl, y/n, you’re, smart, pretty, ballsy,” he says, almost to himself. You’re immediately familiar with the tone. What came next would hurt. Your breathing quickens and there’s a pit in your stomach.

“I’m not in a place where I can give you what you want, what you deserve, darlin’.”

The alcohol seemed to dissipate from your system. Rejection was one hell of a way to sober up. You look down at your shoes and chew your lip to stop it from trembling.

You knew better than to beg, to make compromises, to ask for a chance. Nothing would convince him. Maybe another woman could. But not me. So you turned to humour because it was safer than being vulnerable.

With wet eyes and a wobbly voice that you couldn’t hide, you say “so you think I’m pretty?”

He hits you with a look that you’ll never forget.

“In another life-“ he quietly began.

You cut him off, agreeing, “in another life.”

You both went indoors and you summoned a smile from the deepest recesses of your being. You left early that night.

——

It was with bated breath that you left your room ready for your date. You were in a beautiful outfit that did wonders for your confidence. You spun around a few times in the mirror.

Johnny was at the foot of the stairs and he looked at you with his big blue eyes, you’re sure you saw his pupils grow. Your phone buzzed but you ignored it because you enjoyed being under his gaze.

“Look at you! He’s a lucky lad!”

“Wait, let me see!” Your flatmate's voice came from the kitchen.

Your phone buzzed again. You pull it out to see a stream of texts from your date.

“Oh you look gorgeous, girl!” You barely hear your flatmate. Blood rushes to your ears.

You read out the text message.

“Sorry can’t make it, hungover lol.” You sound distant, as if it wasn’t related to you.

“Fucking prick.” Soap says with no hesitation.

“Y/n…. Babe.” Your flatmate pulls you into a hug but you’re limp and embarrassed.

“Fuck it, I’m going out anyway!” You exclaim, pretending to be okay you practically rush out of the door.

The door shuts behind you. You want to cry but you squeeze your eyes shut and start to walk towards the station. You don’t last long, your vision is wet and nose runny. You end up at a riverside cafe, watching the world go by without you. What a shitty year, you tell yourself.

——

You hear a hushed conversation a week before Soap is due to leave for a few weeks. You kept your headphones on and nodded at them when you walked past, giving them privacy.

You wish you could be in someone’s inner circle, but instead you were grateful you could float around theirs. You put a mental reminder in to take your flatmate to dinner while Soap was away and to keep her from watching the news.

——

“Turn it down!” You yell at your flatmate while you go to answer the door, the radio is on blast while you both cook.

Through the peephole you see the unmistakable beard of Captain Price.

“Oh John, hi!” You can’t hide that you’re happy to see him. But then you notice his grave expression.

“Hi love, sorry to come by unannounced,” he’s standing straighter and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is your flatmate around?”

“Yeh, come in.” Your stomach drops. You didn’t need to call out, your flatmate is already by the door.

“No,” she recognises the look.

“I’m so sorry, love.” Price says quietly.

“Oh god no!” She cries out and sobs, her entire body shakes.

You put your arms around her but your eyes are on Price, wet and unflinching, waiting for the confirmation of the news.

His blue eyes are overcast and tired, he nods and looks down.

“We’ll have to take you onto base if you wish to go through matters,” Price says quietly. You helped your flatmate get her coat on, understanding that you couldn’t go with her.

Price dropped her home later that night, you plated up some food for her but she couldn’t eat. You hugged each other on the sofa until one of you fell asleep first.

It felt like Soap would be bursting through the door with his infectious energy at any moment, but the silence was deafening.

——

You weren’t invited to the funeral as it was behind closed doors. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you went from crying to intense panic attacks to bouts of guilt. You missed him, you missed his presence. You thought about the way his eyes would light up when you suggested shots at the pub, how he’d walked you both home and how safe you felt. Sure he wasn’t holding your hand but for a moment, you felt wanted, taken care of and significant. You felt terrible for mourning someone else’s partner so deeply and intimately.

Price came by a few times in the next few months, sometimes you were home, sometimes you weren’t. When your flatmate finally came out of her room, her eyes red and complexion weak, she would walk around the house like an apparition.

“I can’t do this without him!” She would plead, “I miss him so much.” You rubbed her back, silently wiping your tears, telling her you were sorry, over and over.

“John came by today, he sends his best.” She says.

“Bless him,” you say quietly, trying not to read too much into it, because all the meaning you longed for wouldn’t come.

“You never told me what happened with you both that night.” She asks, brows knitted in concern for you while her heart was shattered.

“Soap was right about him.” You said, “and that’s okay.” You breathed, hoping the more you said it the more you would believe it.

——

‘What cannot be said will be wept’ you read the quote over and over, you’d seen it online and it immediately brought Price into your mind.

His visits became less frequent, but he came by again to check in with your flatmate. He looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace and comfort him.

“Come in, she just got in the shower, want a tea while you wait?”

It had been 6 months since the news.

“How are you holding up?” Price asked.

“M’okay, trying to be there for her as best I can.”

“I know it isn’t easy for you either.” He said, “you’re doing good by her, you’re a good friend.”

Guilt and shame rushes through your system, you didn’t feel like a good friend.

“He was so good to her-” you start to sob, hands across your mouth, willing it to stay inside so you never have to confront how you really felt about him.

You’re surprised to be suddenly in his embrace. John consumes you, you’re completely surrounded by him. You grip his jacket, afraid to let go. His right hand rubbed your shoulder blades and his left hand held onto your waist tightly.

“I’m sorry love,” he whispered, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t good to you.”

“You don’t have to apologise for anything John, you haven’t done anything wrong.” You sounded throaty.

“I made you believe in something I couldn’t give you.” His voice is quiet, you feel it against his chest.

“In another life,” you manage to sob his phrase back to him, he can feel you inhaling hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Another life.” He says back, kissing your head.

“Take care of yourself, John” you say with a ragged voice looking straight into his eyes. You grab your bag and push past him out of the door. You can still see his sad eyes in your mind.

Immediately you regret leaving while he was still available and present. But then you think if he wanted to say more he’d have done so. Life is choices, he made his choice. And I wasn’t one of them. Your legs take you away from him, into the bitter cold.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

do you have any rich!Derek fics?? Like he’s super rich and moves Stiles in for some reason and then Sterek happens?? Love this blog!!

Hi anon. @kevaaronday found these for you!

Thank You For This Dance by matildajones

(62,463 | 26/26 | Mature | Sterek) Derek picks up another glass of champagne, and that’s when he sees him. A man stands at the edge of the room, chewing his lip and staring at the dance floor longingly. 

Every person walks past him. Derek must have done it a hundred times this evening. 

--

Derek is not one for dancing, but at a ball he meets Stiles, an orphan, and he becomes quickly attached. He does not care what other people think about Stiles' wealth and status, but it's a lot harder for Stiles to ignore the comments that have haunted him his whole life.

It's even harder to convince Stiles that Derek's feelings are genuine.

Rich Man, Poor Man by TyReed (58,055 | 10/10 | Mature | Sterek) During a first date gone horribly wrong, Stiles Stilinksi realizes that the snarky guy he's been asked out by is actually Derek Hale, an heir to Hale Industries, one of the most profitable companies in the entire world. Who is, for whatever reason, interested in the son of a teacher and a cop, a loser who spends all weekend watching movies in his pajamas, and who is also possibly one of the biggest dorks on the Internet.

At the same time, after screwing up their first date horribly, Derek Hale realizes that the funny guy he's asked out is Stiles Stilinksi, the warmest and kindest individual he's ever met in his life, with a family just a loving and caring. Who is, for whatever reason, interested in a guy who screws up everything he does, lacks any semblance of a backbone, and who is possibly one of the biggest history dorks in all of the United States.

These rich and poor men will come to experience a taste of each other's lives, and learn where the real blessings in the world can be found.

Can You Feel A Whole New Part of Your World? By isthatbloodonhisshirt (53246 | 1/1 | Gen | Sterek) “Can you hear me singing in the shower?” Stiles blurted out, because he had to know, now. If one of his neighbours had slid that note under his door, then it meant Parrish as another neighbour could hear him, too! He had to know if this was all a huge joke and one person had walked by and overheard him and decided to fuck with him.

Or if everyone could hear him and he now had to leave the country. 

Parrish gave him a weird look at the question, but answered anyway, making Stiles’ plans to leave the country speed up in his mind. 

“Of course I can. You’re actually not bad. Though you have been singing a lot of Frozen lately, getting kind of tired of the soundtrack.” 

“Oh my God!” Stiles shouted in his face.

Looking For The Feeling Lost Inside by suchfun (46,069 | 1/1 | Mature | Sterek) "Am I wrong? Do you secretly love modelling? Because if you do then fucking A man, get your coin, but if you're—"

"I can't fucking do anything else!" Derek snarls, and fuck. The shock of it, of finally saying it out loud, startles him out of his beta shift and into silence.

Stiles squints at him. "You mean—" He drags his bottom teeth over his top lip, eyes darting between Derek's. "You mean that literally, don't you. You think you have nothing else to offer."

"I don't have a college degree. I don't have any real life experience or transferable skills," Derek says roughly. "I'm not—a peopleperson. Money and connections only get you so far. Most people don't— it's not worth it."

He knows Stiles hears what he's trying really hard not to say.Stiles

That he's not worth it.

Checks and Balances by AwaitTheMorrow (13,539 | 1/1 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles starts dating Derek after a chance encounter and can't believe how lucky he is.

Derek is smart, funny and genuinely the sweetest person Stiles has ever met. The guy is perfect.

...Maybe a little too perfect.

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? By RedRidingStiles (10,089 | 1/1 | Mature | Sterek) “Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth. The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles. Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is. 

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles, Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal. He’s still not convinced any of this is real. 

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

[magpiefngrl]

Happy 10th HP anniversary, LQT!

This month my darling friend, @lqtraintracks, celebrates ten years in the HP fandom.

Ten years omg! 🎊🎊🎊🎊

Ten years of passion and enthusiasm and love for drarry and the HP world; ten years of spreading joy to other fans; ten years of astounding writing (gods, I envy her so!); ten years of invaluable contributions to the community.

Lqt, the fandom is blessed to have you as a member and I feel honoured to call myself your friend. I thank my lucky stars I joined drarry when I did and got to meet you 💖

Here's a few things you should know about Lqt:

1. She's a phenomenal writer. No, I don't use this word lightly. If you haven't yet sampled her work, you're missing out. If I were you, I'd rectify this asap. Lqt's craft is a masterclass of its own: strong sentences, beautiful prose, thoughtful characterisations, scorching sex scenes, lots and lots of feels. Her writing sizzles. She's so quotable too. I can't think of another writer who has such a strong gift to write lines that the whole fandom imprints on and can remember years later. For instance: "I've fucked you in that shirt." I'm still losing my fkn mind over this line. Mention Blood and Fire, one of Lqt's masterpieces, to a reader and they'll immediately go "omg I've fucked you in that shirt!!!!!!"

2. She's a supporter of queer and trans rights in true Gryffindor spirit. Passionate and tireless, Lqt actively tries to make fandom a more inclusive, safe and welcoming space for everyone. She's an example to emulate.

3. She's a fierce, generous friend. I don't know what I've done to deserve her, but her generosity and kindness and support seem never ending. She's been there for me, esp during a tough period last year, and has listened to me vent when I felt like getting things off my chest; she's given me advice when I asked for it; and has been a relentless cheerleader when I needed a boost. She's the kind of friend who reads my fics even when they're in fandoms she's not familiar with. She might know nothing about wangxian but she will read my fics and she will comment with some lovely praise, and--I don't know if I ever told you, @lqtraintracks, but that floors me every single time. That you read and comment on my wangxian/hualian/non-HP fics. I'm a bit choked up about it, ngl

Right. *wipes tears* Recs!

My first LQT fic was Entropy to Ecstasy (drarry/ 4k/ E), a stellar example of second person POV and, er, rimming. Is this the most delicious combination or what? The longing in this fic is tangible; the UST through the roof. I adored it and still do; what a marvellous introduction to a great writer.

My latest LQT fic was Heart Like Neon (drarry/ 41k/ E) and it was one of the highlights of 2021. It's got enemies to lovers and hate sex and UST to-die-for but also excellent new magic (the Reaching! how amazing and such a Harry magic!), a large cast handled deftly, and a fantastic relationship progression. And again: so many wonderful quotes! "Being good… it’s not just one choice. It’s a thousand different choices. And that’s just one day." How do you do it, LQT????

But the fic that has carved itself in my heart is Blood and Fire (drarry/ 45k/ E). (The banner above is a realistic depiction of the state of my mind and body while reading the fic.) It's a story of second chances; of regret and mistakes; of making amends; of forgiveness. It's got agonising pining and excruciating longing; palpable tension and hot hot hot hot sex. It includes the most emotional hug of all times. It's a fic that makes me feel like "a bundle of kindling who invited fire over for dinner". (see what I told you about the quotes? She's fkn killing it!) It's a drarry classic (yes, I went there) and it's a fic that I will never, ever forget. For me, this story is up there with Donna Tartt and CS Pacat.

LQT, happy anniversary!!! May you enjoy another 10, 20, or more years in fandom! I'm so happy to know you 💖

[chloeangelic]

Long overdue, I’m finally giving Vic one of my High Effort Reblogs and I thought it would be for TCC but I have to do it for At The Restaurant and then I can suck her off even more in my TCC reblog cause I have more to say.

Here’s the thing, I wasn’t really that into Din until I read TCC. I watched the show, I liked the character, but I just… Didn’t wanna fuck him, like, I just didn’t have much of a fascination with the man under there, so I think seeing him through Vic’s eyes was what I needed to do in order to get it and now I GET IT!!!!! I rewatched the show after reading TCC and I see him in a completely different light now, it’s wild. As dramatic as it sounds, I never really saw him as human until I read her portrayal, I couldn’t look past the armor somehow. I have never read a Din AU before this so I had no idea what to expect but I am IN LOVE with this Din, truly - more on that later. 

Spoiler related stuff and me being a simp under the cut cause this is gonna be long !!! 

I think everyone can agree that Vic is a phenomenal writer, and I’m terrible at formulating my thoughts about writing cause I have zero technical knowledge, so all I can offer is that her writing makes me cry and also cream my panties because she embeds so much emotion into her words, her descriptions of people and places and situations are so vivid that I can see them crystal clear in my head, and everything just feels so god damn real. Fics hit different when you can tell that the writer has a love for their characters and their stories. Vic never wastes words, ever. She has this absolutely insane range - every fic has a different tone and yet it’s still so clearly her writing, you know? I think it’s difficult to create a well fleshed-out dynamic in a one shot and capture a couple’s spectrum of emotion and experiences with each other in a such a short fic, without doing all kinds of logistical explanations, but then fics like At The Restaurant happen and it’s just this perfectly succinct story weaved into the action itself, and you’re fed their history as you go along and it’s all just so smooth and PERFECT ugh 

Vic’s descriptions of a man’s physicality will always be 10/10, no matter who it’s about. I will be on my knees, in love, mouth AGAPE for any Pedro boy she writes cause their characterizations are always so amazing. 

Sorry, my big smut speech will have to come with another RB cause this shit is gonna be too long lmfao. I also think the relationship and Din himself in this story just fucking got me more than anything, like.. hardcore got me. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely want to fuck and suck with this Din for 24 hrs straight, and I felt it in my coochie when he said “Now” so obviously he owns me but I have debased myself enough to Vic, telling her about getting a massive nut off to her fics so I’m gonna cool it this time ok 

Grogu and The Mandalorian being worked into this was absolute fucking GOLD. Legit my fav part. It was cute and creative and funny and such an amazing use of canon material, GOD BLESS !!!!! The focus, going into it, is easily gonna be on Din being a fuckboy, so I think the portrayal of him as a brother was so fantastic that no more convincing was needed that he’s actually a good guy, and that’s what makes me as the reader look back on the MC’s narrative and be like okay, maybe I judged him too quick. Learning about his parents/his family constellation in general is the point where 1) your stomach hurts, and 2) you’re like oh shit okay everything makes sense, and even so, it was still portrayed in a way that wasn’t oversimplified. 

I was feeling all demonic and hihi haha until the end and basically I feel like I got chewed up and spit out cause now I want to be a whiny part 2 commenter, begging for a crumb of them together. 

Ok that’s it for now love u bye 

Actual footage of me thinking I knew where it was going and then getting thrown by the end

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you���re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

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TFP If You Ship...

Ultra Magnus

I would also like to warn yall, I do roast the shit outta these ships and you. Some of y'all are nasty and need to be told/reminded, and some of you need to stay far the fuck away from me. Aight? Aight lets begin.

MagOp/OpMag/Magnimus/ Ultra Magnus x Optimus Prime: You pretentious bitch. You absolute fucking- I have no fucking words to describe how beige you are. You 're personality is plain oatmeal. Message me. I want to beat your ass. You prolly like them for the fact that they can relate to each other, and because of their importance to the war. But I hate you cause you also have more content. Fuck you. May your cereal turn soggy before you can eat that shit, may your drawing tablet get so hot in that one corner that you can fry bacon on that bitch. Fuck you.

MagMeg/Magatron(ew)/ Ultra Magnus x Megatron: you eat mayonnaise with a fucking spoon. Y'all saw that one scene with them on Darkmount and was just like "hm, but what if fuck?" and ran with it. You went to Ao3 expecting kinky shit, but all you got was stuff for IDW Megs and Mags and honestly baby, its gon' be okay.

Matchet/Ragus?/ Ultra Magnus x Ratchet: Yes we get it, the old man can dom now shut the fuck up. If taking your S/O to the nursing home as a date was a ship it'd be these old crotchety ass bitches. But, but, on a more serious note this ship can be so therapeutic for both mechs. These two were there way before the start of the war, they lived through it, and they knew Optimus all throughout. I imagine Ratchet would tell Magnus about Orion before his ascension to the primacy. I ain't ever been more depressed scrolling through a tag though, y'all broke bitches need whatever the fuck UltraScreen is having.

Magbee/Ultra Bumble/Ultra Magnus x Bee: I ain't ever seen two same heighted Cybertronians in a relationship, always one of'em gotta be spike suckin' height.

UltraJack/ Ultra Magnus x Wheeljack: Listen, listen, both these mechs love their solitary time and it can create so much angst, SO MUCH. Magnus feeling he must uphold his duties and Wheeljack having a mindset similar to a pirate. His spark belongs to the stars AND Magnus, but the stars will always come first. But bitch this is Ultra Magnus. We horny. We know Wheeljack is a fucking brat, and Ultra Magnus is his Dom.... baby we nasty. We nasty and there is no fucking denying that shit my GOD.

Ultrabulk/ Ultra Magnus x Bulkhead: Listen man as crazy as this might sound, I think this could work. Just like any other ship with Bulkhead you are fucking STRUGGLING though dude, you got like 5 fics you keep coming back to. You cry at night, knowing, and praying, that the gods will smile upon you and bless you with an update. You know you struggling when you only got three fics that have this ship as the focus. If y'all ban together I'm sure you can scrounge together like three pieces of fanart and a lint roller between the four of you.

UltraScream/ Ultra Magnus x Starscream: I don't see how anyone could hate this ship. Like, they literally work as really good foils to each other. You've got Magnus who is loyal as fuck, very militaristic??? And very much involved with the safety of his team. He's described as recklessly brave. Starscream on the other hand has a lot of character to work on and Magnus could help him along with that, and he can teach Magnus self preser- fucking-vation because Mr. "gets fucking chomped by a predacon for another bitchass Autobot" needs it. You're fuckass wants someone to save you, or you want to go absolutely apeshit. You are the mom friend everyone is worried about.

Ultracee/ Ultra Magnus x Arcee: Huh?? I mean like....Okaaaayy?? I mean good for you. This ship makes me feel the way that you feel when someone offers you candy you don't like, but you wouldn't mind eating it so you do. To be honest the people who ship this definitely see diamonds in places others wouldn't expect, but like you're so fucking unnessecary oh my god. Like you prolly add weird ass comments to other peoples statements, ain't nobody out here asking for an echo. Sit down.

UltraShock: ya like'em thicc don't you commanding officer Ultra Magnus? Anyway maybe y'all could team up with UltraBulk shippers and add a pile of used soda cans to the pile. Y'all are ghosts, do you even exist on this plane. My guesstimate on how many people actually ship this forreal is like 5.

Ultrawave/MagnusSound/Magnus x Soundwave: Listen if the Ultrabulk shippers are starving y'all ain't even corporeal. I show up to this ship with a fucking ghost talk box and some heat sensors, and like one boombox tryna see if GHOSTS even inhabit this bitch. Y'all aight? Are y'all good?? HELLO IN THERE (hello in there) (hello in there). Yall really go all out for the goth shit. Prolly hidin' in the shadows of my house waiting to strike.

Ultrascreen:

You, and I mean this in the most (derogatory) way possible, are a fucking

HOE

Literally looked on AO3 saw nearly NOTHING BUT kinky MF PORN. The oooonly plot y'all got is exactly how long Ultra Magnus can deny Smokescreen an overload. Why every time it comes to Magnus people make this by the books vanilla bitch the kinkiest one. YES I love subverting expectations but can I PLEASE get one fic where he sputters because his partner says a bad word. These two are the main ones who get this treatment, and baby I ain't complaining, but please. Please just- please sir I-I a-ah!

Ultradown: The UltraBulk, and UltraWave shippers come here every year, at the exact same location, at the exact same time, all for this ritual. The UltraWave shippers take out a boombox, some energon candies, and a supersized Cybertronian false spike. The UltraBulkers begin to sing the incantation to summon their fallen comrade: https://youtu.be/m9We2XsVZfc. They must do this once every year, they must battle the UltraDown shippers, though most would say they are a myth, the UltraShock and UltraWave shippers know better.

MagnusOut/KnockMagnusOut?/Ultra Knockout: Listen its not as horny as Smokescreen but the constant tension is definitely there. Knockout is just as horny as the depressed, RE-pressed ass Magnus fans and can you really blame him? Boyfriend? Dead. Magnus? kinky. Hotel? California.

/If I missed any let my gay ass know. Sorry if this ones lackluster, but some of these ships don't even really seem to have a fanbase?? Remember that these are TFP ships y'all.

Also I better see more Bulkhead content after this. Do you all have a problem with truly thicc bootyful babes or what?

[trumpkinhotboy]

Safety book

Pairing: Embry Call x GenderNeutral!Reader

Type: Not requested

Genre: Definitely fluffy

Rating: pg

Warnings: None, this is smooth like butter:) (BTS ref hehe)

Word count: Approx. 4 200- 4300

Requests: Open!

Music recommendation: A twilight comfort reading playlist (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=biw0FrjbB5c&list=WL&index=21) I suggest listening from 7:40 as I feel the songs are the most fitting beginning there:)

A/n: I am super excited about this fic! I feel like there's not that much content out there about Embry, so I wanted to contribute to adding more to this platform:) This is my first try at a gender-neutral fic, I really hope it's okay. If you ever have advice or comments about that particular aspect please feel free to message me about it! I want to learn how to do this right and constructive criticism is super duper welcome:) Just know I'm trying my best!!

I also got the inspiration for this fic from a headcanon. I've been searching around, but I can't find it anymore. I think it was about each member of the pack’s secret. Embry’s was that he secretly liked poetry. I will keep searching for it, but if you know who it is from please tell me so I'll be able to adequately source them here:)

** Gif is NOT MINE!!

Summary: Through a shared passion for literature and books, Embry and the reader get to know each other. What seems to be just a sweet hobby, will lead them towards a path filled with comforting and heartwarming moments.

“Atchoo.”

“Bless you.”

“Atchoo!”

“Bless you.”

“ATCHOO!”

“...Bless you.”

Six pairs of eyes turn to you, eyebrows arched, questioning your increased sneezing.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I’m...” Your eyes close slightly, and you feel the characteristical tickle in your nose foreshadowing another sneeze. “Fin...ATCHOOO”

“Ah come on! You’re getting it all on ME.” whines, Jared. He lifts his arms in the air in an attempt to block the attack but fails miserably. “Dear god, control yourself Y/n!”

“Stop making such a fuss Jar.” intervene Sam, unimpressed as ever with the boy's behavior. The others cannot help but make fun of their brother while he cleans his arm with a dramatic amount of soap. They are all aware that he is quite the drama queen at times.

“Sorry Jared, I don’t know what is going on with me. I can’t help but sneeze.”

“Maybe it’s hay fever?” Suggests Embry while handing you a tissue with a small smile.

“Maybe.” You blush and take it from his hand. You try to avoid his gaze but get entrapped in its brown depth the second you look at him.

He’s looking straight at you, and somehow it feels like time stops, as it seems to happen every time you interact with the quiet Quileute.

“Well, you should get treated.” Interrupts Jared in an annoyed tone.

“Yeah, I do not think mister drama queen here can endure more of your sneezing.” Adds Jacob, addressing his signature grin in your direction.

“Alright, I will get some meds at the drugstore.”

“I can come with you.”

You turn around to look back at Embry; he has gotten up, hands in his pocket. His kind eyes look unsure; he seems incredibly aware of the words that just left his lips. There is nothing but silence in the small cabin as everyone is waiting for your answer. The five boys are looking at the both of you, their eyes going continuously from Embry's face to yours.

“And why would you go?”

Oblivious being his middle name, Quil does not seem to feel the tension in the room. Neither does he understands Embry's subliminal message when he looks at him with threatening eyes.

“Emb? Aouch!” He lets out a small cry as Jared slaps his arm with the wet towel he just dried his hands with.

“Won't you shut up!” whispers his older brother.

“Uhm, my sister used to have hay fever every spring. I know what’s the good medicine.” Finally answers Embry, his eyes slowly going from Quil to you.

“Oh uh, yes sure.” Your face feels on fire, but you force yourself to give him a nod in agreement. As if you would ever reject his proposition anyway.

“Then go.” Hurries Sam. “The sooner you get the medicine, the faster you will stop sneezing like crazy.”

“See you later guys.”

You hastily head to the door without looking back. Your priority, getting out of the embarrassment-filled room before you melt in a puddle on the floor.

In your eagerness to get out, you don't catch Embry's relieved nod toward Sam. Jacob, Quil, and Jared are already acting like idiots, kissing the air, touching themselves in a mimick of an exaggerated make-out session. The killer look he addresses them only makes the werewolves burst out of uncontrollable laughter.

//

“Wow.”

Facing you, there seem to be a thousand different boxes of different colors. They all proclaim to be the best and most efficient sort of medicine there is on the market.

“So, what did your sister used?”

“Oh um... I think it was a... blue box?”

Incredulous, you look at him and then at the ten boxes of blue packaged medicine placed on the shelves.

“Anything a little bit more specific?”

“Uhm...” He keeps looking at the boxes as if one of them was about to magically jump in his hands and you are seriously starting to doubt his ability in medicine picking.

“Are you sure you know exactly what you’re looking for here?” You try to hold your smile as you see his slightly panicked expression.

“Well, it did have been a long time since I bought the medicine but”

“How long exactly?”

“Four years, maybe?” He melts in a shy smile, and you cannot contain yourself from laughing anymore. Far from being mad, you find it quite comical and can’t help, but question why he would ever suggest coming with you if he didn’t know what he was doing.

“Alright, then. Let us look at all the blue boxes Mr.The Expert.”

//

Once you get back in your car, the compartment fills up with Embry's wood-like smell. You breathe, maybe a little too loud, the subtle odor and wished you could bottle it up.

“Would you mind opening the glove box and give me gum, please? Take one if you want.”

As he opens the box, something falls to the ground. He picks with interest the used book between his feet. The cover page reads: “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Oh, sorry. That's my safety book. Just put it back in there.”

He smiles at you. “A safety book?”

“Yea, I always make sure to have a book within arms reach in case of boredom. I have read this one at least a thousand times, but it never gets old.”

“ ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.’ I always thought Mr. Darcy was kind of a pain in the ass.” he snickers while examining the book in a disinterested manner.

Your eyes grow at least two sizes when you hear the soft timbre of his voice reciting one of Mr. Darcy’s quotes perfectly. He stiffens suddenly in reaction to your surprised expression.

“What?”

“You- you read the book?”

“Yea, at least twice. It’s not my favorite. I don’t really understand Mr.Darcy, why he is so stuck up and thinks so highly of himself. I also don't get why he is not honest about all the good stuff he did. I know it is supposed to be about how he is so humble, but... it felt a little over the top for me. He could have gotten Elisabeth way faster if he hadn't been so obnoxious. But yeah, it is a great piece of literature, so I had to read it.”

You stare at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. Never, EVER would you have thought Embry Call into literature. Never, EVER would you have thought he had an actual opinion about it, and never EVER would you have thought he could be any more perfect than he already was. You slightly reprimand yourself for this inner monologue. Just because he did not seem like the 'type to be into literature' you never should have made that kind of assumption. You have to keep an open mind, especially since something tells you you are up for many more surprises with Embry Call.

“I also much more prefer poetry.” He looks down at his hands, his voice lowered. He seems shy about revealing that piece of information. The fact that he still said it and was willing to let you know this about himself is making you feel giddy as ever. “I saw you read a lot. I thought we could, talk about it.”

“Yes, of course, I would love to.” You stare at him as your brain is running at super speed. You immediately think about all the books you could talk about, all the conversations and time that could buy you to spend in his company.

“You sure? You look a little…”

“Honestly, I never pictured you as the type of guy to like literature. I know I never should have made that kind of assumption about you just because of the nature of the activities you and the guys do. Plus the fact that you are a werewolf. I mean that should not prevent you from having different hobbies! That also doesn’t mean I didn’t think you were nice or interesting before! It's just I-”

Through your ranting, you started aggressively playing with your box of medicine. It’s not until you completely destroy one side of the package that you become aware of his complete silence. You peek at him, he is staring at you, his mouth twisted in a satisfied smirk.

“I’m so sorry… that was a hell of a rant. I- all I wanted to say is that I think it’s really cool... Maybe we could get some lunch and go somewhere to talk?”

//

You went to the local market to get some snacks before he brought you to one of his favorite places, a cute spot near one of the smaller beaches in the Reservation. It was on the verge of the woods, not so far; you could still hear the sound of waves crashing softly on the grieve. You grabbed an old blanket sitting in your trunk and sat down together.

Your afternoon was filled with laughter and passionate arguments. You were impressed and surprised by Embry’s knowledge of literature. He told you about how it was a hobby of his since he was a kid. He even confessed that it helped him get over the difficulties of phasing and entering the werewolves' world. He also has a deep knowledge of poetry, which you haven’t read that much, but are eager to learn more about. Your chin resting on your palm, a lazy smile on your lips, you listen to him with careful attention. You never heard Embry talk so much, to hear him do so with such excitement, you can not help but swoon. From time to time, your gaze drifts to his mouth. Observing the curves of his lips as he talks passionately about his favorites authors and pieces. A moment or two, he caught you but never said a thing. A subtle blush colored his amber skin while his dark eyes quickly darted towards your lips before he carried on with his explanation.

It was getting dark and colder as the sun went down. Your now empty stomach was gurgling desperately for some much-needed fuel. Your human body, not exactly made to resist cold temperatures such as mister werewolf right here, was by now completely taken over by goosebumps. When he realized you were shaking like a leaf, he felt so bad for not thinking about you. A hundred apologies spilled out from his mouth. You hoped that he might offer to warm you up in his incandescent arms, but Embry’s rational and timid psyche would not head in that direction. Even though secretly, the idea had crossed his mind a hundred times, he would not dare.

You drove him home and finished the afternoon with a ton of recommendations and a promise to reiterate the experience.

//

The following morning you were awoken by furious knocking on your door.

“Y/n!!! You are late for school! Get up. NOW.”

You gave a confused look to your alarm clock. 8:45 am. Shit. You were late. You sat up in your bed, feeling a little dizzy. Tissues sparkled around your bed like a minefield surrounding the area of your sickness. When your mother finally barged in to get you up, her brows furrowed with incomprehension.

“Are you okay hon?”

“I don't feel good... I think I might have caught a cold.”

She walked out, her voice echoing in the corridor of your house. “I knew it. You weren't wearing enough layers yesterday! It’s not summer just yet.” She came back in, thermometer in hand, to sit on your bed beside you. Pulling up the sleeves of her vest, she pressed her cold hand against your burning hot skin. “Open up.” She ordered.

Turns out you had a fever on top of all your other symptoms. She allowed you to stay home and called school. Being the overprotective mother she has always been, she almost took a day off to look after you, but after some talking, you convinced her it wasn't necessary. She finally left, assuring you could call her anytime if you needed her.

You spent the day sleeping, watching TV, and looking upon the net some of Embry’s recommendations. You did spend a lot of time laying in bed, looking at the ceiling, daydreaming, and replaying the past evening in a loop with a big dumb smile.

Leah came around later in the evening to give you your homework and updates about your missed day.

“Someone really seemed to miss you today...”

“Really? Who?"

“Don’t play dumb with me Y/n Y/l/n. You know who!” you bit your lip in a pathetic attempt to cover your excited smile.

“Alright then, tell me everything!”

“He kept asking about you and why you weren’t here. As I heard, I think you two had a quite nice evening together yesterday?”

You blushed hard and looked at your hands to avoid Leah’s upfront gaze.

“It was so nice Le. Embry is just such a nice guy to be around. We spoke loads about literature and books and…wow. There is something about him I can not explain...”

“Like something that inexplicably pulls you to him?”

“Yeah, kinda.” You’re impressed and relieved as soon as she said it out loud. That's the exact word to describe the way he makes you feel. “How did you know that?”

“Mh, just a lucky guess.” She seemed to be hiding something, which isn’t so unusual with Leah, she is a very secretive person, but if it was about Embry you were all ears.

You were about to interrogate her for further information when your mom came in to kindly lead your friend out. You needed to rest if you wanted to be able to get back to school fast.

“Oh, I might have given him your phone number too.”

“You what?!”

A mocking expression on her face, she waved goodbye without adding a word. You cursed her mentally and looked at your phone like it was a ticking bomb waiting to blow up.

In fact, about an hour later your phone buzzed twice almost making you fall out of bed. You had been trying to play it cool like you didn’t care, when, in truth, you had been anxiously looking at your notifications every five minutes for the past hour.

“Heard someone is sick?”

“Who is this?”

“Take a guess.”

“Give me hints.”

“Incredibly handsome, of an incomparable intelligence, well-read and thinks that Baudelaire maybe isn’t as good as he was thought to be.”

“Well, I don’t know about the first part, but there is only one person crazy enough to belittle such a poet as Baudelaire.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry🤷‍♀️”

“So, how do you keep busy?”

“Mostly used all my distractions for the day. Might go to sleep soon.”

“Unlock your window. I have something for you.”

You heard a little knock right away. If it wasn’t for the short notice, you probably would have woken up the whole neighborhood with your scream. Of course, you did squeal anyway, but at least it was not a full-on big ass banshee scream. You walked over, your oversized pajama hanging loosely around your figure. There in the shadows was Embry, a warm smile on his lips, holding something behind his back with an enigmatic look in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered while looking around in the darkness.

“I have something for you. I thought it could help you pass time.” He handed you a book, its cover totally worn out, a clear sign of the many times it had been read. “I guess you could say this is my comfort book.” he grinned and lent a loving look towards the volume now resting in your hands. “There might be some notes here and there. I hope you won’t mind.”

You looked at the book while a wave of warmth overtook your stomach.

“It's perfect. Thank you so much Emb.”

“When you will finish reading it, we’ll have to talk about it. Gimme your opinion all that fun stuff.”

You paused for a second, taking in his adorable grin, and smiled. “Wait here.”

You went to your book-filled shelves, knowing precisely what you were looking for.

You were always a little uncomfortable with lending your favorites books to other people. In a way, giving someone a book was allowing them to see a hidden part of you. It was different with Embry, you wanted him to see these secret parts of you. You handed him the big volume, a shy expression on your face.

“It is only fair that I give you something to read in exchange. I hope you will like it too.”

A bright smile light up the boy’s face, his pearly white teeth shining in the dark night.

“I will take my time reading it. That way we will have to meet another time to talk about this one.”

You looked up to him, hope brightening your eyes. His expression was soft and so warm. A smile took place on your lips, his pupils focusing on them for a quick second before going back to your eyes.

“Alright, I will let you rest. Text me if you ever get bored.”

He gave you a little wink before silently running off in the forest without making a sound. You stayed by the window a little while longer. Still feeling as if what had just happened was unreal, although the beautiful gift he left you was a reminder that it did.

//

You stayed in another day, promising your mother you'd do your homework and would catch up easily. You also dedicated chunks of your day to read Embry’s book. It was a collection of poetry, and although he made it seem like there would be only a few notes here and there, each page was scribbled with his handwriting. Some phrases highlighted, corners of pages turned, a few smileys drawn here and there to signify his appreciation for a specific poem or verse. You weren’t sure what you enjoyed more; the book itself or the private access you had to each of his thoughts splattered on the pages.

The day went by incredibly fast; soon enough the sun went down, the shadows getting longer as it did. Your mother knocked on your door, announcing a visitor as you were getting ready to read some more in bed.

"Sure Le, come in." expecting your best friend to come in once again, you didn't even turn when you heard the door open.

“And can I come in?”

You spun on your heels to see your mother hiding behind your visitor with an amused smile. In front of her, you were surprised to see Embry and not Leah standing on the threshold of your door.

“Here are your homework for today. Leah... couldn’t make it tonight.” He scratched the back of his neck looking uncomfortable as ever. He reported his attention on your room, taking a quick look around while you were just standing there, waiting to see what would happen next. He relaxed and smiled when he saw the poetry collection resting on your night table. He pointed to it before looking at you with a curious grin.

“How’s the book?”

You spent a while talking about it, but soon enough, your mother started taking a few laps in front of your door. She would never come in and ask him to leave out of respect for you, but you knew it was time for the visit to end.

“I wish we could keep talking but…” you looked at your mother who, realizing she was caught, escaped towards the kitchen. You doubted he didn’t notice her presence but felt relieved when he didn’t say a thing. Understanding the hint, he took his leave of absence, but not before suggesting you leave your window open for some fresh air tonight.

After he left, you cleaned your room, went in for a quick shower, and delayed your mothers’ questions for later. You spent the rest of the night waiting for… something? You weren’t sure if Embry’s last comment meant to say more, but you could hope for it, right?

At 10:00 pm, you heard your mother’s quiet footsteps stopping for an instant in front of your door. With your lights closed, hidden in your covers just like when you were a child staying up too late to read a book, you prayed that she would go away. She did, extracting a sigh of relief from your lungs.

At 11:00 pm, you were convinced he would not come. Propped on your elbows you looked at your open window. You must have taken his innocent advice for something more. You couldn’t help a feeling of shame and a little bit of sadness creeping up in your heart. You were about to close it completely when a hand appeared from the darkness to stop it from its descent. You shrieked, terrified, and convinced you were about to die.

“What are you doing?!”

Recognizing the sound of Embry’s voice immediately reassured the furious thumping of your heart. You took a deep breath relieved to know you would not be killed by some monster tonight.

“Embry Call, you almost killed me with a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry, but you were about to close your window on my hand.”

He chuckled; his face and figure finally recognizable in the dim light given by your night lamp.

“May I come in?”

You stepped aside leaving him enough room to adroitly climb in. You were suddenly acutely aware of the lack of space in your small room. Even though Embry was not the biggest out of the pack, he was still above average height and size for a teenage boy. You sat on your bed, inviting him to take a seat on your desk chair.

The rest of the night was spent in whispers, hushed laughs, and throws of pillows when a funny joke was said, and you laughed a little too loud. At one point, you picked two books of your collection and read randomly picked passages to each other, discussing your opinions, thoughts, or fictional scenarios you’d create based on it. It was the most fun you had in quite some time. Your heart felt full; you wished the night would never end, but sadly, as your cellphone proved it, time had slipped until it was now 2:00 in the morning.

“Shit, I should probably go and let you rest…”

“You don't have to.” Emphasizing on the 'have' part, you hoped he would understand that you did not want him to leave at all. You even gave him your best smile as a persuasion technique.

“Y/n” he chuckled and walked towards you. You were buried head to toes in your blanket your eyes closing on themselves. “You’re about to fall asleep. You need rest if we want to be able to go on another adventure out together.”

“But…”

“Y/n…”

“Wait. First, I need you to hand me my box of medicine before you go.”

He did so, a smile crossing his lips as he picked the blue box you chose together at the drugstore.

“And I need my bottle of water.”

“Of course.”

“And I nee…”

“Y/n Y/l/n are you stalling?”

“Maybe…”

He laughed again at the display of your childish technique. Although this time he took a seat on your bed beside you, his arm laying innocently on your legs.

“If I read you one of my favorite poems. Will you go to sleep then?”

You nodded eagerly, handing him quickly his book. You shuffled on the side, patting the free space beside you for him to sit. He did so while you watched with interest the poem he chose.

“I knew this was your favorite.” You smiled proudly at him.

“And why is that?”

“Because you put two smileys at the last sentence, the corner of the page is folded, and it’s the only one you haven’t put any notes on.” You interrupted your observation with a yawn pointing to the page where the smileys were.“On all the other ones you wrote improvements, thoughts, opinions, but this one, nothing. I think it’s because you love it just as it is.”

You snuggled in your blanket, waiting for him to begin his reading. His gaze was set on you, the shadow of a soft smile on his face. You nodded, encouraging him to begin.

He started reading, his voice a whisper in the small cocoon that your room was. Just like the most beautiful lullaby, his voice was soothing and soft. It was taking you on a journey through each phrase and verse. His tone was clear, not an ounce of hesitation. His eyes were set on the page, but you knew he was not reading. He knew this poem by heart.

When he was done, your eyes were closed, your breathing slow and peaceful. He stared at you for a minute, completely entrapped in your aura. Nothing else existed; nothing else mattered at this moment. There were just the two of you, floating in the universe, unified in what felt like the most magical moment.

Reluctant, he knew he had to go. He tried to do so without making a sound, not wanting to wake you from what seemed to be the most peaceful slumber.

“Please stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” Your voice was faint and sleepy, but there was no doubt in your answer.

He sat back in, this time placing his arm around you and bringing you closer to his body. You sighed happily; you wouldn't be denied access to his incandescent warmth this time.

“I really like you Emb.”

“I really like you too Y/n.”

“We will have more days like the one we had?”

“I’d like that.”

“And more nights like this one too?”

“Anything you want.”

...

A/n:

I hope you liked this fic and that it brought you comfort and happiness:3 Feel free to send me a request for a blurb, headcanon, or fic for Narnia and the wolf pack in Twilight:))

A reminder that the headcanon of Embry liking poetry is NOT my idea. I will keep searching for it, but if you know who is the author of the headcanon please tell me!!! Thank you loves xx

[spacedikut]

the very insecure dr reid ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: “Could you write another fic about early Spence where he’s all insecure” combined with another request :) 5730 words

a/n: title taken from s1e5!! i wrote this months ago aka before i decided to try to make my fics gender neutral and i tried to make the appropriate changes but im also a dumbass so! yeah! 

masterlist

Spencer is a man of science, if you didn’t already know.

This means he doesn’t spend his time fretting over what isn’t there, what doesn’t have facts and evidence to back it up. Of course, he dabbles in reading conspiracy theories and enjoys learning about various religions and things of that sort, but these are to expand his already infinite knowledge, not because he particularly believes in them.

The first time he believed there was some kind of God was when you kissed him.

It was after the case where both Elle and Spencer were trapped on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic – he still remembers how you reacted when he agreed to being sent in, how you tried to keep it light-hearted but pulled him aside to solemnly tell him you didn’t think you’d be able to live without him (if you do something rash and stupid, Spencer, I swear to God-). You threatened to nipple cripple him if he did die, and it was weirdly motivating.

After he was checked over, and teased Elle about saving her life, you came crashing into him with an audible oof and a whisper of, “God you smell so good I’m so glad you’re okay don’t ever do that again.” It was probably the adrenaline, the near-death experience high, but instead of gently pushing you away like he’d do with anyone else, he discovers your waist has a wonderful dip that his arms fit perfectly into as he tugs you close.

He’s hugged people before, obviously, but it’s always different with you.

You must think so, too, because when you pull away just enough that you’re still in his arms but can clearly see his face, you take a minuscule intake of breath that Spencer wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t, you know, Spencer.

A strand of Spencer’s hair falls from where it was tucked, falling into his line of sight. Without hesitation you’re pushing it back, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you fold the hair back behind his ear. Your eyes meet when there’s no obstruction, electricity crackling in Spencer’s ears when he realises there’s nothing between you, nothing stopping you, and there’s something about the lack of space between you and how he holds you that just makes you ask-

“Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Immediately, Spencer thinks yes. Not because he doesn’t want you to (he couldn’t think of anything better to do, to be honest), or because of where you are (although, knowing the whole team is not far away does make him feel a little funny), it’s because he’s him. Gangly, awkward, with very sweaty hands that feel at home on your body, and you don’t want to kiss that. You can’t want to.

Yet, he shakes his head, and finds himself copying you when you lean in and close your eyes.

It’s short, sweet, and somewhat weird. He thinks he blacks out, loses himself in your lips despite it happening so quickly.

When you pull back, Spencer’s eyes remain closed for a good few seconds before he’s brought back to Earth. And he doesn’t know what to say - pretty people don’t just… kiss him. They certainly don’t ask if they can kiss him, then follow through, and… stare at him like that.

“Has anyone seen Reid? Y/L/N?”

Whatever was supposed to happen after, whether it was good or bad, you’ll never know. Hotch’s footsteps are thundering towards you and, despite your daze, you step away from Spencer just as he spots you.

The second time he believed there was a God, he asked you on a date. And you said yes.

Neither of you mention the kiss. In your defence, he supposes, it happened merely an hour ago – everyone’s rushing to get back to Quantico so no one’s had time to make any kind of small talk, let alone have the talk after a kiss.

Elle gives Spencer a look of confusion when she slides past him, moving into the jet as he hovers in the entryway. He’s obviously waiting for someone, passing out tight lipped smiles to the team when they all squeeze past. Spencer isn’t a big guy, but it’s bizarre for him to be standing there like that, swaying like the palm tree he is – he’s usually setting up for yet another game of chess with Gideon at this moment.

Then you shuffle on, faltering when you catch him waiting for you but smile nonetheless. He straightens, hands remaining in his pockets when his mouth opens to speak. You interrupt him (before he can make a fool of himself, thank God).

“Wanna sit together?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. He nods and follows you like the lost puppy he is.

The second you invite him to sit next to you instead of opposite he wants to pull you tight into his side, but that seems like too much. He’s not Derek, for Heaven’s sake, and you’re not Garcia – all you’ve done is kiss once and really, when he thinks about it, you were probably on an adrenaline high too, so it might’ve been a heat of the moment thing. It happens, Spencer’s read about it, and although it would break his heart that it meant nothing, it’s likely. Oh, it’s so likely.

Spencer might be the first one on the team to cry on the BAU jet.

Halfway home, the team is lost in their own pass-times to notice when you bookmark your page and place your book on the table.

“Spence,” You whisper, testing if he’s awake.

He is. He hasn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if what I did earlier- you know-“ You gesture vaguely in the air, completely oblivious to the fact Spencer is very familiar with what happened earlier because he can’t stop replaying it, “-If that made you uncomfortable. Or if I forced you, or-“

“Would it be weird if I asked you on a date when we land?”

The grin you send him shoots straight to his heart, eyes crinkling with laughter at his echo of the words you used earlier. If you notice you don’t mention it, but his hands can’t stop fidgeting under the table, slick with sweat.

“It’d only be weird if you don’t kiss me after.” You say.

His brows furrow, a small incredulous laugh leaving him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve already had our first kiss, so it’s out of the way.”

“Are you saying… You want to kiss me again?”

You thought that was obvious from when you kissed him earlier, but you’re happy to remind him. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

“Okay,” He says, bashfully, with a lick of his lips. “I can- I can arrange that.”

This time, when you turn back to your book, your head finds his shoulder and Spencer thinks his it has turned to gold, blessed by being touched by you. Would it be too much if, the second you get back to base, he writes about this moment in great detail to his mother?

+++

All of that leads to now, where The Date is in three days.

He plans to take you to his favourite book café, a place you’ve always wanted to go but never had the chance to, and he was so, so excited. Any time he gets to spend with you is cherished and means more to him than it does to you, because to him it’s an excuse for you to give him more reasons to fall in love with you. And he does - fall in love - every single day.

Was is the important word here. He’s not excited anymore.

It’s terrifying how quick the tides can change.

Just this morning, he was glancing with child-like excitement at the outfit he’s already chosen for the date. You brought him some coffee, whispering an endearing, “Three days!” as you did, and, according to Derek, Spencer’s love eyes (what the hell does that mean) were so big even Derek fell in love with you for a second.

Now, Spencer’s not territorial, but that comment stuck with him. Maybe that’s why he’s here now.

He has to cancel the date.

It pains him – God, does it pain him – but he has to. He can’t go on that date with you. He can’t… put you through that. Make you spend time with him and have to let him down gently, slowly, like you’re talking down a temper tantrum. He can’t then pretend everything’s okay in front of the team. He won’t be able to pretend, because he’s liked you for months.

He won’t force you to go on that date with him. You deserve better than that, and better than him.

That’s what it comes down to: you deserve better than him.

It started that morning with Derek, as previously mentioned. Then the team was whisked away on a case, and the detectives were all over you. JJ, too, but they were too intimidated by Elle and Morgan, who just laughed at their attempts to impress you. It was borderline inappropriate, but you were too concerned with the victims and finding a serial killer to pay some officers and detectives you’ll never see again any attention.

Spencer noticed, though. And he couldn’t concentrate.

The detectives are dressed too well – by that, he means the suits and the Rolex watches are way above their paygrade – and they keep emphasising how good looking you and JJ are and how lucky the BAU is to have such dolls working on the team. What is this, the 40s? Who calls anyone doll anymore? And, yes, the team is very lucky to have you and JJ, but because you’re both great minds and wildly intelligent people that, yes, are also very gorgeous, but your looks aren’t all you have to offer, thank you very much.

There’s a detective approaching you, again, as you stand by the water cooler.

Spencer frantically looks around, trying to find a member of the team. “Morgan!” He weakly calls, because Spencer won’t scare him off. Maybe Morgan can chase them away like they’re stray cats, with his big muscles and scary eyebrows. Or Elle, who earlier merely lifted an eyebrow and the officers scattered like cockroaches.

All he catches of the conversation between you and the model/detective at the cooler is, “I appreciate it, but no thank you,” and that’s all he needs to hear.

He should’ve known someone would eventually make a move. You’ve said no, clearly, and Spencer doesn’t understand why. I mean, yes, he knows why – you have a prior engagement – but the detective… As much as he’s kind of a dick, he complements you better than Spencer does. Physically.

And there starts the spiral.

There must be something in the water, because every officer and detective and everyone in between is in peak physical condition with dashing looks to boot. They’re all straight out of a magazine, as if the popular kids from Spencer’s high school graduated and followed him here to remind him he is incredibly unworthy of you.

Spencer is lanky, unlike the broad men and curvaceous women here, and slicks his hair to the side rather than up like the others. He wears sweater vests, not blazers, and he’s so skinny that his trousers always look like hand-me-downs – nothing is fitted, like so many outfits are here.

They’re all everything Spencer is not. And Spencer is realising, quite quickly, that they’re the better ones – and that’s what you deserve. Better. The best.

It gets worse when they deliver the profile.

He finds his spot next to you, gives you a tight lipped smile, then looks at the outfits of his team compared to his own. Both Hotch and Morgan wear dark suits, well-proportioned and sophisticated in a way that Spencer is sure isn’t even in his calibre. Elle wears a deep green t-shirt, tucked into her tight black pants, and looks wonderfully intimidating with her double gun holster wrapped around her shoulders.

And you. You.

You wear a white shirt tucked into nicely tailored trousers, hair effortlessly styled with a pen tucked behind your ear. You all look like FBI agents. Intimidating. Prepared. Put-together.

Spencer… looks like he’s still in high school. He threatens no one, intimidates no one, and definitely does not make anyone feel inferior with his masculinity. He’s not an alpha male, is what he’s trying to say, and for each person he encounters in this wretched police department he feels himself shrinking.

So when they give the profile, he tries to say as little as possible. Tries to attract as little attention as possible, so when Hotch says his usual, “Thank you.” He can slip away unnoticed and hide from the superior beings.

It works, given everyone is too busy trying to save lives. Except you notice, and Spencer has to pretend he’s okay when you find him at the evidence board and tell him you’re excited for the date. He wants to believe you, truly does, but no matter how hard he digs into his brain to find a part of him that can fathom you see him as a better option than literally anyone else, it doesn’t exist.

You don’t seem to notice. He tells himself he’s glad, but there’s no denying the disappointment.

+++

Hotch calls it a night when the clock nears midnight. He says the team should get as much rest as possible and come in with fresh eyes tomorrow – despite this, the team knows most if not all of them will get little to no sleep, given that they’ll all be going over everything they’ve got so far in their hotel rooms.

You slink up to Spencer, a pep in your step even though you’re running on pure caffeine and nothing else. It’s then Spencer realises he has to do it now, because if he does it in the police department then he’ll be called unprofessional, but if he waits any longer than that he’ll be cutting too close and that’s a bad look.

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop before the elevators, allowing the rest of the team to head up. “I need to say something.”

You nod with a smile, covering a cute yawn when he takes a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

You’re not sure what he’s gonna say, but you assume it’ll be to do with the date. Maybe a change of time, or a change of venue – he did mention the library café can get super busy on weekends – or, worst case scenario, the date will have to be postponed for whatever reason. And none are particularly bad, because you’re excited and just want to be with Spencer – it doesn’t matter if it’s not when he originally planned or where he originally planned.

But Spencer has always unwittingly been full of surprises.

“We can’t go on that date.”

Instantly you ask, “Why not?”

“Well-“ He seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to question the sudden change of heart, “It’s complicated-“

“I’ve got time.”

“We should go to sleep-“

“Is it your mother?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Of course you look empathetic when you consider his mother might need him – a stab to the start. Add in the flicker of concern in your eyes – two stabs to the heart. “It’s not her. It’s- it’s nothing. Just, can we cancel?”

“And reschedule?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment is clear on your face and makes Spencer feel so guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back. You’re not disappointed that you’re missing out on dating him, you’re frustrated that you’ve been building up to having plans on the weekend and they’ve suddenly been cancelled without reason. By Spencer, of all people. In a couple months’ time you’ll thank him, when you’re dating some bodybuilder who can grow a mean beard. You’ll thank him for not making you go on that date with him and forcing you to tell him you’re just not my type, Spence, and making everything awkward.

He can’t look at you. Maybe that’s why he misses the genuine sadness, the sudden glassiness of your eyes that humiliates you enough to make you angry. His words have ignited a fire in your chest that burns through your body like you’re made of gasoline, and you wish you could turn your thoughts off so you don’t start questioning how long he’s been wanting to reject you, if he even wanted to date you in the first place, how embarrassing it is to have been so openly eager when, apparently, he was very much not.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’ll do anything. He still can’t look at you and he feels like a coward.

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

He decides to take the stairs. You head for the bar, just for one drink.

+++

The following day, when an officer tries to talk to you, you blatantly ignore him. You tell him that unless it’s work-related, you’re really not interested, and word spreads quick that your pleasantries have died out and you’re not in the mood to tolerate creepy compliments.

There’s a permanent frown on your face that haunts Spencer the entire day. He knows exactly what’s going on – it’s his fault, after all – and he finds himself simultaneously avoiding you whilst witnessing your downcast mood.

Morgan starts investigating not long after you barely react to his terrible joke. He makes them for you, because you either choke on laughter or throw your pen at him, but this time it was like you weren’t even in the room. When Morgan poked you and asked if you heard him, your lacklustre reply was, “Hm? Yeah, good one.”

Morgan perches on the desk Spencer’s using. “You got any idea what’s going on with Y/N?”

“They’re mad at me.”

“You’re the reason they’re like this?”

Spencer doesn’t physically react, just says, as casually as possible, “Unless another person asked them on a date then cancelled without reason, then yes. It’s my fault.”

There’s no point in lying. Especially to Derek. Spencer doesn’t know how you’ll go about explaining your sudden poor mood, if you’ll curse his very existence or lie about it, but Spencer’s never been a good liar and the sooner everyone knows it’s his fault and he sucks, the better.

Morgan leans forward, attempting to make eye contact with the doctor who very much does not want to. “There’s a story there.”

“Obviously.”

“…You wanna go ahead and explain it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright,” Derek shrugs, “You stir in your sadness and continue being a sourpuss, I’ll go check up on Y/N and find out what really happened.”

Derek’s barely moved off the table when Spencer stops him, voice small like a child, “Wait, Morgan, I-“

You walk past then, too focused on a suspect list faxed in by Garcia to pay attention to anyone else. Spencer’s eyes follow you the whole time, and the look in Spencer’s twinkling eyes make Morgan slump back onto the table in realisation.

“Why’d you cancel, Reid?”

“I had to.”

“You had other plans?”

Spencer chews his bottom lip. “No. But I… I couldn’t take them on a date.”

Derek waits for him to elaborate.

“Have you seen the kind of guys hitting on them?” Spencer asks, scooting his chair closer so no one can eavesdrop. “They’re all… They’re- they’re like you, Morgan. All cool and put-together and actually look their age, for one, and I’m not that. I could never be that – and that’s what Y/N wants-“

“Have you asked them that?”

“No. But I’m a profiler, in case you forgot, and I think it makes sense that these big-shouldered, super muscly guys are all over-“

“But you haven’t actually asked them what they want.”

“No.” Spencer sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s your first, and most vital, mistake, my man.”

Spencer purses his lips, catching you watching him over Derek’s shoulder. You immediately look away, shooting off to the evidence room as an escape, and Spencer’s cheeks burn with guilt and embarrassment.

He can’t believe he thought he had a chance with you.

“I feel like this should be obvious, Genius, but Y/N said yes to a date with you, then turned down every offer that came from someone that wasn’t you-“

“That’s because they already made plans with me and they’d feel terrible if they had to cancel for another, better offer. I made it easier for them.”

Derek gives him such an incredulous look Spencer wonders if he should burn his PhDs. “Are you serious?”

The crestfallen expression on Spencer’s face is enough of an answer.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” Derek tugs Spencer up from his chair. “I need to show your dumb ass something.”

All that’s missing is classic spy music when Derek and Spencer sneak into the conference room the BAU is using. Only Hotch is in there, scribbling something down, barely glancing up when the two agents creep in like they’re on a mission.

Spencer doesn’t say anything until Derek reaches for your bag. “Whoa- Morgan-“

“Relax.”

Spencer just stares, brows halfway down his face, and watches silently.

“That’s they’re journal, Morgan, you can’t just read it-“

“It’s not, pretty boy.”

Hotch watches the interaction, mildly confused, then nods to himself when he realises what Morgan’s holding.

Morgan splays the journal on the table in front of them, flipping through pages with precision like it’s his notebook and not yours. When he lands on his desired page, it’s slid towards Spencer.

He reads it.

The Doctor Spencer Reid cheat sheet. (Because I do not have an eidetic memory and feel bad whenever I forget something he tells me)

He’s too stumped by the words cheat sheet to look further, so Derek does it for him, flipping to the next page where very basic information about Spencer sits – full name, date of birth, hometown. As he looks to the page next to it, he realises it’s full of his favourite things – favourite coffee, favourite candy (which has multiple answers, by the way), even favourite pair of socks. Like a switch has been flipped, Spencer comes to life, frantically switching between pages that are overflowing with facts and tidbits about him, from his favourite monologue from his favourite film to his favourite shelf in his apartment. All things he’s told you either in passing or when he’s confided in you at random times, you’ve taken note. You’ve listened, and for some reason you’ve written it all down so you’d never forget.

“What…What is this?”

“It’s everything there is to know about you, Reid.” Derek watches as Spencer slips through the rest of the book, filled with random to-do lists and phone numbers of various people, looking for the same information about the rest of the team. “There’s only one for you, you know. And if you ask me it’s a little creepy, but it’s saved our asses when it’s come to buying gifts for you a good few times.” He slaps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smirking at how Spencer’s awe-filled eyes never leave the pages before him. “They care about you a lot, Reid. More than you think. So…”

“I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, idiot, you do.”

+++

That night, Elle and Derek invite you to join them for some drinks at the bar, promising they won’t let it escalate to arm wrestling and childish bets like they always do. Even though they make a compelling argument, add on that you’re stressed and upset and really, really want to forget emotions exist more than anything else, you’re half tempted to accept and lose yourself in some cocktails.

Then you spot Spencer talking in hushed tones with Gideon and everything comes flooding back. So you tell Elle to have a drink for you, please don’t make a ruckus when she gets back to your shared room, and bid them adieu.

In your room, you distract yourself by renting one of your favourite movies. It’s overpriced, and a part of you wants to look over the case files again, but being sad and burnt out won’t lead to any good outcomes.

It’s a futile attempt at switching your brain off so you don’t have to think about how excited you were for the date. You’ve had twenty-four hours to get over it, but every time you see him you’re thrown back into the bitterness you feel – bitter that you fooled yourself into thinking it’d work out, bitter that your hopes were so high, bitter that you let your feelings for Spencer become such a big part of your life.

You’re lying on your scratchy hotel bed, thinking about Spencer and how he’s going to be complaining to Morgan about said scratchy beds, when there’s a knock at your door.

Naturally, you assume its Elle. She reminds you so much of your older sister who used to slide you some money so you’d stay up late into the night and quietly let her back into the house after she’s sneaked off to go to a party – except Elle is probably swaying outside your hotel room after losing her keycard rather than swaying on your doorstep.

So when you open the door, teasing quip ready, you legitimately choke when you’re faced with a fidgety Spencer Reid.

He tries to ignore how the way your face drops when you realise it’s him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Hey-“

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You-what-“ He’s never seen you so flustered. “Are you lost?”

Just in case, Spencer leans back to check the number beside your door is in fact 208. It is, and he turns back to you, “Please don’t slam the door in my face.”

It slips out. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your pretty face.”

You’re humiliated that he has this effect on you, the ability to obliterate all your filters and common sense just by existing. But the look on his face alleviates the want to jump out of the window – his mouth opens, twitching into the smallest, most bashful smile before it falls and morphs back into disbelief. You just… You just called his face pretty, a word that makes some feel emasculated but no, never with you. You compliment people and mean it, which makes Spencer’s guilt worsen and the urge to tell you he loves you with his entire heart more intense.

You speak at the same time.

“Why are you-“

“I wanted to-“

You roll your lips together, holding back a smile, and nod for him to go on. He does the same, so you shake your head with a, “I was just asking why you’re here.”

He holds up a finger, signalling one moment, and opens his satchel to start rummaging in it. “I know this is a complete invasion of privacy, and theft, really, but Morgan showed me it and I just- Why do you have this?”

You gasp.

In his hand is the journal you’ve been working on since a month into your employment at the BAU. The gifted notebook was initially used to jot down any bits of advice your superiors gave you (on your first day, Elle gave you a list she lovingly titled “If I wasn’t an FBI agent I’d sock these people in the mouths”) but, before you knew it, it had an entirely different purpose.

It started when you witnessed Derek stumble when asked Spencer’s favourite colour, to which he said no one remembers stuff like that! Aptly followed by Spencer reeling off everyone’s preferred colours (even delving into second favourites and favoured colour schemes) and you realised then that… Spencer’s whole life, he’s remembered so much about the people around him and very rarely have they returned the favour. So, in an attempt to build friendship and because you had the fattest crush on him already, you started the Spencer Reid cheat sheet.

You didn’t think he’d ever see it, even if it’s always used by the team on various occasions. It was the team’s little secret, bar Spencer, that assisted in nearly every decision made on Spencer’s behalf – what to order from restaurants, drinks, birthday and holiday gifts, how to comfort him when he’s stressed or upset.

The responses vary. Derek thinks it’s weird, as did Elle at first, but JJ and Garcia insist its sweet and, really, no matter what they think they’ve all come running to you when time has called for it.

“How… Did you steal it?”

“Yes,” He tells you, guiltily, “I had to read it – it’s incredibly accurate, by the way.”

You don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.

“So… Why?”

“I don’t know,” You say, a bold-faced lie and Spencer can tell, but he lets you continue, “You remember everything about everyone else, so I wanted to… do the same for you, I guess.”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

You airily laugh – does he think you forgot that? “I know that. Doesn’t it get tiring recalling all this information about your friends and not having it reciprocated?”

He clicks his tongue at that, eyes falling back to the notebook in his hands that he fiddles with while he thinks. It is tiring, he supposes, but that’s how it’s always been. He remembers everything, the people around him just… don’t. He realised at a young age that he’ll often have to remind himself that friendship isn’t measured by what they remember, but by other ways – like this. You, with your unassuming journal that is full of things Spencer assumed no one would ever care to remember.

You, with your tensed jaw and fluttering eyes because you’re embarrassed.

You, who’s done quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it’s been happening for years right under his nose.

You, who he cancelled a date with because he was so sure you were dating him out of pity, out of obligation after he asked and you felt forced to say yes, but now he realises you care about him just as much as he cares for you.

Touched feels like an understatement.

“Y/N…”

“If you find it weird, I’ll burn it the second we get home. Pretend it never happened, we can… discuss a restraining order if we must-“

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.”

He smiles at you, hands tight on the book in his hands, smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and his teeth show and he looks gorgeous. It tugs directly on your heart strings and just for a second you forget that he cancelled your date, forget that you’ve been pining for years, and bask in the warmth that radiates from him.

“This is… Insane, really.” He laughs, “But also so… so cool. I don’t deserve this, at all, and to think we could’ve gone on a date but I chickened out-“

“What?”

He shrugs with faux-nonchalance. “The-um- the reason I took back the date was because I think you deserve so much better than me. In a, you deserve someone like all the police officers down at the PD, kind of way. I don’t want a pity date-“

You scoff, then with an indignant, “Come in here,” You grab Spencer’s satchel and tug him into your hotel room, closing the door with a forceful push as he turns to face you.

With your hands on your hips, you stare him down with furrowed brows and a look that screams really? “Is that really what you think, Spence? It was a pity date?”

“Well, yeah,” He tells you. The conviction in his voice is so strong that, if you weren’t this riled up, you’d probably tear up at how sure he sounds.

You give another scoff. “Not only am I offended you think I’d do that to anyone, but I’m also mad that you don’t see how I look at you! Spencer, I’ve been into you since I started working here-“ His mouth falls open. You’re exasperated. “-and the notes were a way to get to know you, yes, but they were also because I couldn’t stop watching you and had to play it off like I was doing it for a reason. You’re my favourite, Spencer.”

His heart aches a little, full of such a tenderness he’s never quite felt before. He feels loved, and so, so touched that someone would put so much effort into getting to know him and… years. Literal years you’ve liked him, and he’s been blind to it.

“I like you a lot.” You’re breathless after your little speech, “And if you still don’t want that date, that’s okay. But I like you, Spence, I really like you.”

Your gaze never wavers. Spencer wants to scoop you up and place kisses all over. For the first time in a while, he feels worthy. Like what you’re saying isn’t being said for the sake of it, because you’re his friend and you have to support him, but because it’s what you genuinely think and feel and Spencer might be in love.

He swallows deeply before speaking.

“I really like you, too, Y/N. And I’m-I’m sorry that I cancelled the date and- I should’ve talked to you, maybe, before doing it, but… We’re here now, right?”

“You want to have a date right now?”

Thumbing through the book, he says, “Actually, there’s some blanks in here I’d like to fill, if you’re not busy…”

You’re very clearly on board with the suggestion, basically skipping to your bed, plopping down and patting the space beside you with a grin. “I’m not busy at all, Doctor Reid. Tell me everything I don’t already know.”

So he does, thigh pressed against yours and blush on his cheeks when you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

The night is spent giggling over the most random information you’ve gathered, correcting only one mistake (his favourite socks change every week, not your fault), and adding onto the already plentiful fact file.

And the date that weekend happens, ending in a sweet kiss on your doorstep that leaves you both with shy smiles and thundering hearts.

It’s the first date of many, followed by the creation of a new journal full of all there is to know about your and Spencer’s relationship.

+++

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