#anyway. off to go reread first base <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[sortagaysortahigh]

Slim Pickins | Joaquin Torres x Reader

A/N: omg guys im so glad ts is over, yall know I love reading fluff but writing fluff is a whole other ballgame for me. However, i had fun writing most of this, very dialogue heavy, friends to lovers/idiots in love, love confessions, all that jazz! Plus my comedic timing is here, idk if its funny tho ngl i might be rereading sections too often. Thank you to chicken @love-chx for beta-ing this for me, i love u chicken <3. Also tagging @anxietyandtacos bc casserole is my biggest supporter in my shitshow writing and i love her <3

Summary: Every Friday for the past few months you've been going on shitty dates, and at this rate, you're convinced that you're either ending this life alone or settling for another douchebag. You can't find a genuinely good guy, it's not like there's one right in front of you or something!

Warnings: 2nd person POV, might be use of y/n honestly i cant remember, Spelling and grammar errors (I am who I am), cursing, mentions of violence, reader does throw things at people, self-deprecating humor and 'I'm gonna kms' humor, reader has a shitty love life, SAMBUCKY SUPREMACY WOOO (implied sambucky intimacy <3), reader does threaten to murder joaquin a few times but it's fine!! they're friends!! SMUT: nasty kissing/makeouts, choking, minor spanking, MATING PRESS WOOOHOO!! (not too detailed), giggly sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, cum eating, squirting, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, spitting, drooling, biting/bruising/hickies, praise, finger sucking

Word Count: 20.1k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

Ngl guys, I NEED THATT BARK BARK BARK BARK!!!!!, anyways heres the fic:

Every Friday night ended in the same repetitive cycle of disappointment for you, and somehow, someway, you managed to continue the cycle over and over again. 

It was a simple routine, you’d spend the week talking to some random guy from some shitty dating app, or maybe you’d meet him in a random store, at the movies, hell, even a few guys from the Air Force base! You’d text, with the occasional phone call or Facetime sprinkled in. From there they’d ask when you were free, the reply was always ‘this Friday works for me’ because it was your only genuine day off.

From there they’d plan some lackluster date, and of course, like an idiot, you’d go. The date would be horrible from start to finish, they typically fell into three broad categories: The Narcissists, The Idiots, and The Wanna-be heroes. 

Those that fell into the third category were always the worst, mainly because they were overly full of themselves while simultaneously empathetic. It made zero sense to you, then they’d go on long winded tangents about how admirable the work you did was, or how amazing it would be to work side-by-side with heroes like Captain America and the Falcon. Then, after your third attempt of drowning their non-stop talking out with a drink, they’d subtly try to ask for a connection to Sam Wilson or Joaquin Torres.

As if you were the walking LinkedIn for hero networking.

You preferred to listen to the Narcissists constantly talk about themselves while trying to gaslight you into liking and sleeping with them. 

Maybe Joaquin was right and you really were a walking douchebag magnet. 

Tonight was no different, you’d gotten dressed up, opting to gaslight yourself into thinking that maybe things would be different, or the date would be enjoyable, or at the very least you’d get an ounce of good sex for the first time in months. It wasn’t as if there were a million and one options; genuinely good men weren’t actively lining up at your doorstep begging for a chance to take you on a date.

Of course, you’d been on a few dates with guys that seemed as if they were truly good for you and you’d even tried dating some consistently. However, around the one or two month mark, something would click into place and the potential relationship blew up in your face.

There was the guy who’d just finished veterinary school, he had a great relationship with his family, shared a lot of the same ideologies and beliefs as you, loved animals, spent his off-days doing volunteer work, and even knew how to actually do his own taxes. 

Everyone had faith in him—Joaquin and Sam had even nicknamed him ‘the tax guy’. 

Then he’d gotten black out drunk after a concert with you and vented about how much he missed his ex-girlfriend while simultaneously forgetting that you were his current fling. He’d even mentioned that the only reason he really liked you was because you were pretty and the fact that you shared a birthday with his ex so ‘it had to be a sign that she would come back’.

Plus he also said you gave great blowjobs. But that was neither here nor there.

To make matters worse, you had to call his emergency contact to pick him up from your apartment. That emergency contact just happened to be his ex-girlfriend.

To say you had a terrible dating history was an understatement.

Yet here you are, glaring at your own reflection and questioning every second that led up to being stood up in a lackluster fake Italian restaurant in the middle of Washington DC. The drinks were overpriced, you were practically stranded, and the straw that broke the camel's back was your server having the nerve to leave his number on the back of your receipt while he tried to ‘comfort’ you after watching you get stood up.

Said server didn’t look a day older than eighteen, and that was pushing it.

So you did what any responsible twenty-something year old woman would do. You yelled at him, practically screaming at the top of your lungs, made a scene, and then raced to the restroom to look at your angry blurry reflection.

The fitted black dress felt too tight, your heels felt too small, the restaurant was too hot, your skin felt sticky, and your bra was digging into your back to the point that you wanted to cry tears of frustration—not to mention your thong had shrunken in the dryer and was currently clinging to your hips to the point that you were convinced you’d get a rug burn. The icing on the cake. however. was the sound of ‘Rather Be’ by Clean Bandit playing over the bathroom speakers. 

This had to be your personal hell.

It wasn’t long until you were calling someone to pick you up. You sat outside for nearly twenty minutes on top of a random pile of crates that were left outside of the restaurant. The humidity left your hair frizzy and skin moist while you debated on running into moving traffic to end your misery.

Well, you were until a very familiar motorcycle pulled up in front of you. So familiar that you had to do several double takes to process who exactly was on the bike.

Then Joaquin took his helmet off, shaking his head like a dog fresh out of water, and if you had half a mind to actually consider your best friend attractive, then in that moment you would’ve realized that several women walking out of the restaurant stopped to gawk at him, one so drunk that she’d even whistled at him and proceeded to attempt to cat call him.

Sure you noticed them, but it hadn’t ever fazed you. Joaquin was objectively an attractive guy, but you saw him as your friend.That was that. 

It wasn’t as if one day you’d wake up and figure out that you were utterly in love with the guy that had to ask his own mother to make him ‘less spicy’ versions of traditional Mexican dishes.

Joaquin flashed the crowd of women a smile and a wink, but before they could approach him, you practically rushed through the crowd with your jaw clenched, looking like the epitome of irritation.

“Jesus Christ, Cabezona, you look like shit.” He smiled as he spoke, eyes quickly taking your disheveled appearance in. Then he glanced behind you at the few women still looking in his direction, debating on asking for one of their numbers while you pulled the extra helmet out, mumbling a series of curse words under your breath.

“Yeah, no shit. How the hell did you get Buck’s bike?” 

He blinked a few times before looking back at you and nodding. “Oh uh—he’s staying with Sam right now, and I was there when you called me. He said it’d be faster than taking my truck. Besides, I look pretty damn sexy on it, don’t I?” He elbowed you, wiggling his eyebrows up and down while you scoffed.

“Whatever you say, Quino—” Then you paused, now glancing at him, noticing he was looking past you towards the women near the entrance into the shitty restaurant. Then you slowly nodded “—I’m totally cock blocking you aren’t I? Oh my god, Quino! Go—flirt or something, tell them I’m your cousin or something!” 

Joaquin laughed, shaking his head while looking back at you. For a second there was something else in his expression—something you didn’t recognize. But the second you noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s alright, Cabezona. Now c’mon, Bucky’s gonna kill me if I’m not back with this baby in the next half hour. He’s doing paperwork or something with Sam, y’know after Sam’s whole ‘I’m gonna sue you’ fiasco. Now get on the bike.”

You rolled your eyes at him, shoving him lightly before pulling the helmet on.You glanced down at your dress, shaking your head before struggling to get on the bike without flashing the entire street.

It took a few minutes, and several curse words, alongside grasping onto Joaquin’s side—grip practically bruising as you attempted to slide your dress down lower while your legs practically clung to the sides of the bike. 

“If I flash D.C. my ass, you think people would respect me more?” 

He glanced back at you as he pulled the helmet on, a muffled ‘nope’ leaving his lips.

Then you were instinctively grasping onto his waist, helmet-clad face pressed into his shoulder while you squeezed your eyes shut. It wasn’t your first time on a motorcycle, but you hated it nonetheless. 

You met Sam and Bucky through Clint Barton. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant meeting, not when Clint had actively tried to kill you during his assassin era, but after managing to clear your name and cut ties with several illegal weapons dealers and mafia-based families worldwide, you needed a job.

That job practically landed in your lap about four years ago when Sam had called Clint for a favor, and you just happened to be exactly what he was looking for. Someone well versed in weapon’s mechanics with enough global intel to land you in the Raft for life. It was a no-brainer to work for Sam Wilson.

Working for Captain America meant you weren’t a criminal, and that was enough to get you to say yes. Then with Sam came Bucky Barnes. Truthfully, you had a theory that anyone who held the shield at one point came with Bucky, even if it was reluctantly. 

You and Bucky bonded fairly quickly, and in a lot of ways, he was like a father to you. Which was odd at first because you’d never had a great relationship with your biological dad, and prior to meeting the former Winter Soldier turned Congressman, you admittedly stated on several occasions that you would’ve fucked him.

However, you would not do that now—you weren’t into the freaky things that Sarah Wilson’s dark romance bookshelf held. Hell, you tried getting into that genre of romance novels, but the second Sarah handed you something by Penelope Douglass, you read three chapters and silently returned the book, opting to re-read Lord of the Rings for the fifth time. 

It’s safe to say you also silently judged Sarah, but then again, when you had nowhere else to go after being practically stranded in Louisiana with Sam, she gave you her couch and for that, you’d forever be grateful—even if she did read kinky freaky books. 

Joaquin laughed at the way you held onto him, and admittedly, it made his heart race a little bit. He always had moments like these, moments when you were a little too physically close for comfort, moments that would tear down the facade that you and him were just friends. That he only wanted to be your best friend, that you weren’t more than that to him.

But he knew you didn’t see him that way, and it didn’t bother him. For the most part, he never really thought about it—but it always crept up on him when he least expected it.

However, the second the bike was parked in the garage under Sam’s building and you practically fell off of it as you attempted to get off, Joaquin was easily snapped out of those thoughts. Now, he was focused on holding his own abdomen as he doubled over in laughter, meanwhile you were leaning against the side of Sam’s suburban, hands braced against the windows while you held yourself up with a panicked expression and unruly hair.

“Stop fucking laughing at me! I’ve had a shitty night, Torres!” You glared at him as you regained your footing, now smoothing out the dress and pointing a singular manicured finger at him.

He nodded a few times, catching his breath while holding in laughs, doing his best not to smile at you as you stormed towards the garage elevators. Arms crossed in front of your chest while you waited for him to catch up—the key fob being the only thing that would get the elevators to actually work.

It took him a few seconds to catch up to you, offering a wide smile while he scanned Sam’s spare key then hit the button for the elevator.

“So, what happened with this guy, uh, the electrician?” 

You scoffed. “No, the electrician was last week’s idiot. This week’s idiot just happened to be mister tortured artist with an obsession with Instagram. Completely stood me up at that shitty restaurant that he recommended. I got like 4 drinks, cost me like thirty bucks, then mister barely old enough to serve alcohol hit on me.” 

Joaquin’s eyes widened, lips rolling inward as he tried not to laugh, he noticed the way you sighed, shoulders slouching lower as you shook your head.

“Laugh. I know you want to—go ahead. Sam’s gonna laugh—he always does. Just let it out now, and the usual ‘I told you so’, I’m all ears.”

The elevator opening caught both of your attention, and he motioned for you to enter first. So you did, then he followed suit before pressing Sam’s floor number. As the doors shut he glanced back over at you, raising a single brow at the sight of you pulling several bobby pins out of your previously curled hair, now it was more of a frizzy disaster.

You held them between your teeth as you took bits and pieces out of the half-up, half-down style you’d spent far too long on. To make matters worse, the heat damage wasn’t even worth it—the asshole you’d gotten all dressed up for didn’t even show up! 

Joaquin held his hand out in front of your mouth, you easily dropped the pins into his palm, then you started handing them to him as you pulled each individual one out of your hair.

“How many are in there?” he looked down at his hand then back at you, slightly concerned.

“Beauty is pain—that’s why my thong is so far up my ass I might be getting a free fucking colonoscopy.” 

Your serious tone had his eyes widening in horror, then he processed your words, and the laughter that he’d previously swallowed down bubbled out. You shook your head at him, still dropping bobby pins into his hand as you rolled your eyes. Meanwhile his laughter echoed off of the metal elevator walls.

Eventually the two of you made it back to Sam’s apartment, your hair now framing your face in an awkward frizzy afro of sorts. But you knew Sam had hair ties somewhere in his apartment for his dates, so you’d just steal from his stash.

When you walked in, both Sam and Bucky paused. They had the perfect view to the front door, watching as you walked in, kicking your heels off with a frustrated pout, meanwhile Joaquin held the door open for you, then followed you inside before locking it behind him.

Sam and Bucky exchanged a singular look. Both struggled to understand how you and Joaquin could be so close and not see one another romantically. It made absolutely no sense to them, you were perfect for one another. Yet somehow, every Friday you went on terrible dates and Joaquin was always the shoulder you’d cry on after the fact.

“So, how was the plumber?”

You scoffed at Sam, glaring at him the second you managed to get the heels fully off of your feet, then you walked into his kitchen, thankful for the open floor plan. Everyone watched as you rummaged through the fridge, finally finding the bottle of mango lemonade that Sam always kept stocked in his fridge for you.

Several months ago you’d forced him to buy one, and now it was a habit.

You were quick to grab a glass from the cabinet beside the fridge, pouring yourself some juice while mumbling a jumbled mixture between English, Russian, and Spanish curse words.

First you took a drink, then you spun around, looking at them.

“It was terrible! That idiot stood me up! What the fuck?” 

Bucky slowly nodded, looking from the tablet in his hand to you. “Have you ever considered that maybe you should take a break from the DC dating scene, I don’t think it’s ever done you any justice. Or just delete the apps. I hear they’re terrible.” 

“Have I considered taking a break from dating? Well Grandpa, I have actually because no matter what the fuck I do, everyone just fucking sucks! What the hell is this? Some shitty rom com from the 90s?!” You were shouting now, frustration evident on your features while you gripped the cup in your hand so tightly that everyone was afraid it would shatter.

When no one replied, you groaned, putting the glass down on the countertop then storming to Sam’s guest room. 

He just watched from his seat on the sofa, shaking his head at you. “Torres, make sure she doesn’t burn my place down.” 

Joaquin nodded at Sam, following after you, only to find you rummaging through the drawer that had his own clothes in it. There had been several nights when he had to stay with Sam because of work, and of course, following his accident last year, he wasn’t exactly able to live alone—so he stayed with Sam for a while.

That led to him having several clothing items here, clothing items which you were currently going through like a madman. He shook his head at your frustrated expression, slowly approaching you, then grasping both of your wrists and carefully pulling them away.

“Cariño, calm down and go take a shower. I’ll find you something to wear.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, nodding your head.

It wasn’t as if you were genuinely upset, you didn’t feel the need to cry or anything of that nature. But you were just overwhelmed, and everything was bothering you to the point that you couldn’t even think straight. 

Somehow Joaquin always knew how to ground you, it was as if his presence alone was enough to calm you down. 

While you showered, he looked through the options, settling on a pair of loose sweats, and a Twilight shirt that you’d gotten him with the words ‘Chica where have you been loca?’ on it surrounding a heart with Jacob Black’s face in it. The clothes had been oversized because after his accident that’s all he could really wear, so he knew it wouldn’t bother you the way your dress did.

He slipped into the steamy bathroom and placed the pile of clothes onto the counter, then let himself out.

By the time that you’d gotten out of the shower and gotten dressed, he managed to make himself comfortable on the bed, gaze focused on his phone while he mindlessly scrolled through TikTok, even giggling to himself at the random thirst-traps and edits people made of him—Joaquin would be a liar if he said he wasn’t deep in the ‘Joaquin Torres edits’ and the ‘The Falcon edits’ hashtags.

He liked to watch the videos people made of his clips from press releases, interviews, and the occasional interaction he’d have during his daily life. Not only did it fuel his ego, but it also made him feel like what he did mattered—and of course it was nice to know people found him attractive enough to comment things like ‘bark bark’ and ‘my legs are wide open rn’.

As you walked out of the bathroom in his clothes, you focused on braiding your slightly damp hair, you’d done your best to not get it wet in the shower, knowing that once it was wet that would be a whole other world of issues.

Meanwhile, Joaquin shifted onto his side, gaze now on you. “You feel better now?” 

You nodded your head at him, opting to walk around to the other side of the bed before plopping down beside him. Once you finished with your braids you laid down, pulling the comforter over your body while turning to face him.

“I think my love life is utterly hopeless…I’m sorry for yelling earlier, I was overwhelmed and I felt like my clothes were actively trying to murder me.”

Joaquin laughed at you, nodding his head as he turned to face you now, his phone still in hand playing the most recent edit. Your brows knit together at the song playing from his phone, and before he could fully process what you were doing, you’d already snatched the phone from him.

Your jaw dropped at the sight of the video of him taking off Bucky’s helmet, clearly at a gas station. Then the beat dropped and several different clips of him biting his lip in interviews started playing, one transitioning into the next and so on.

His eyes widened, a rosey flush overtaking his features. 

“Seriously Quino! You’re over here watching edits of yourself! Oh my god! Wait do you save them into a folder—wait back up—!” you were laughing and giggling as he tried to snatch the phone from you, but you quickly tossed the blanket onto him, then used your legs to push him back slightly before rolling over and hopping off the bed.

While you moved you also went into his TikTok bookmarks, eyes widening at the several different folders, some labeled with emojis, others pertaining to workouts, a few having to do with places to visit, then there was a folder labeled ‘Cariño’ but you didn’t look at that one. Instead you focused on the one with the eagle emoji.

Then you looked back at him, watching as he practically jumped off of the bed. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

You shook your head at him, a wide smile on your face. “You do save them don’t you!” Then you flashed him his phone, now opening the folder, the several videos buffering through, and in the few seconds that you’d let your guard down, Joaquin was practically tackling you back onto the bed, now you were stretching your arm as far away as possible while attempting to shove him off. 

The mixture of your laughter and his practically bouncing off of the walls while you both rolled around the bed, then eventually you managed to pin him down, catching your breath as you held both of his arms above his head with one of your arms, straddling his waist, while you held his phone in hand.

Before either of you had a chance to process the position, the door to the bedroom opened, and Bucky stared at the both of you with wide eyes, his lips parted while he tried to process what he walked in on.

“Jesus Christ Sam, they’re about to have se-” before he finished his sentence, Joaquin’s phone was hitting him directly in the abdomen and Bucky practically doubled over as he choked on his words. Then you quickly got off of Joaquin, heat enveloping your features while you tried to process what you’d just done to Bucky.

Joaquin sat up quickly, blinking several times as he took in the sight of you rushing over to Bucky who was gripping his abdomen with his vibranium arm. Meanwhile Joaquin’s phone was now on the floor face down, but Ride by Sir-Mix-A-Lot was playing in the background.

“Bucky I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to throw it, I just reacted! Oh my god! Sam’s gonna kick my ass! Jesus this is it, I assaulted a congressman now I’m going to the Raft!” 

You were panicking while Bucky slowly stood up, nodding his head and catching his breath.

“Anyone ever told you that you have a strong arm, kid? You ever played softball?” 

You shook your head at Bucky’s question. Brows knit together as you tried to shrug off the shame and embarrassment of practically hurling Joaquin’s phone directly at Bucky all because you didn’t want him to finish his sentence. 

“You’re not going to the Raft for hitting me with his phone. Speaking of—” he squatted down to pick it up, eyes widening at the video playing before handing it to you, awkwardly clearing his throat before leaving the room.

You slowly turned to look at Joaquin who looked equally, if not even more mortified than you. Then you showed him the specific edit playing, a compilation of Joaquin shirtless when he played in a charity basketball tournament. 

“Y’know what, at least one of us is having a better day Cariño. Now, can you please, give me my phone back and stop judging me for supporting my supporters!” 

You blinked a few times. “I think this makes you a little narcissistic, y’know. Or at the very least, chronically online. Now Buck is gonna tell Sam about this entire situation—Jesus Christ, he thinks we were borderline fucking! Oh my god, this is mortifying for me!” 

Joaquin sat up, raising a single brow, slightly offended.

“Would it really be that terrible? Damn, just call a guy ugly why don’t you?”

You blinked a few times, now looking over at him, tilting your head to the side as your eyes trailed him. “You’re not ugly though, actually—wait nevermind. Not important, what’s important is I have to live knowing I hurled your phone at James Buchanan Barnes! He’s like a dad to me! I just assaulted my pseudo-dad!” 

He laughed at your panicking, lips rolling inward as you glared at him, throwing his hands up in a surrendering motion as he got off of the bed. “Listen sweetcheeks, you’ll be fine! Besides, if anything, Sam’s just gonna make awkward eye contact with us for a few days, and that’ll be it! It’s not like we’re actually having sex.”

You nodded at that, now handing him his phone as he walked towards you. Then you let out a deep sigh, opening the guest bedroom door again and grimacing as you walked back out.

The both of you silently walked back into the living room, sitting beside one another on the loveseat, both mirroring the same awkward expression and tense shoulders the second Sam and Bucky made eye contact, then looked at you two.

A tense silence filled the room for about three minutes. Then Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, if you two are getting freaky, that’s fine by me, but save it for your own place—not mine, and don’t let it screw up work.”

Your jaw dropped at Sam’s nonchalant nature, then you looked at Bucky who simply shrugged. 

“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t influence work, then you two should be fine doing whatever it is you’re doing, just don’t do it near me, around me, in front of me, or within my vicinity—”

You cut him off, “All of those things mean the same thing Buck—”

He nodded his head. “That’s the point.” 

Then you shook your head again. “—Wait a damn minute, we’re not having sex!” You motioned between yourself and Joaquin. “We’ve never, not once, ever done anything under the umbrella of sex. We’re just friends, that’s it.”

Sam slowly nodded his head, very clearly not convinced, then he glanced at Joaquin who had a distant look in his eyes, very clearly zoned out and focused on something else. “So you mean to tell me, you two have never, not even after a long night of drinking, have ever hooked up? You’re just this close and comfortable with each other with no semblance of sexual or romantic feelings?”

You nodded your head, then glanced at Joaquin, who blinked a few times as if he’d finally zoned back in.

“Yeah, we’re just friends. Best friends at that—right Cabezona?” he elbowed you slightly.

“Mhm, now stop calling me that! My head is not that big!” 

He scoffed, raising a single brow. “Yes it is. Even if it’s not literally huge, metaphorically it is, little miss ego-maniac.”

Your jaw dropped at that, now shoving Joaquin with both hands, he hadn’t anticipated it, and had to grab onto the arm of the sofa to stop himself from toppling back. “Don’t be fucking rude Quino!” 

Sam and Bucky slowly nodded at the exchange before glancing back at one another and shaking their heads in sync. 

You two were truly hopeless.

Three days later you found yourself at the grocery store with Joaquin in tow. He decided that he also needed to buy groceries, and he’d practically yelled at you over text about waiting for him to pick you up so that both of you could go together. Something about having multiple sets of eyes making the process faster.

If anything, shopping with Joaquin made things ten times slower. He was like a little kid, going through every single aisle, getting easily distracted—and you couldn’t stand how he managed to touch every single thing! Hell, he’d tried to convince you to buy snacks that he liked for your apartment under the guise that he ‘spent all of his time there anyways!’ 

You were currently in the produce aisle, looking through the tomatoes, brows knit together, biting into your tongue slightly as you focused on finding ones that weren’t overly ripe and still firm. In one hand you held the clear plastic bag, in the other, you lightly felt several individual tomatoes and rummaged through the large wooden bin of them. 

Eventually you settled on eight that you actually liked.

Meanwhile Joaquin was weighing limes, hyperfocused on getting exactly three pounds of them. He’d roped you into making him ceviche based on his abuela’s recipe, and she said that he needed exactly three pounds of limes. 

You knew she was just messing with him. Clearly, Joaquin did not.

His abuela had called you directly and given you the list of ingredients, telling you to measure the seasonings based on taste and what you thought was enough. She said that she trusted your judgement while making several jokes about Joaquin’s inability to cook, not to mention his spice intolerance.

You’d met his family three years ago when Sam had sent you with him on a recon mission in Miami. The mission was relatively simple and had been completed earlier than expected, so it gave him the perfect amount of time to head home to see his family, and he’d dragged you along with him because you’d been complaining about missing home cooked meals.

His family loved you immediately, it also helped that during your years of not-so-legal work, you’d managed to pick up some Spanish. 

Although, it did take a lot of convincing for them to finally believe that you weren’t Joaquin’s girlfriend. Everytime you’d visit Miami with him, you had to go through the same process and the same ‘so are you two together yet?’ questions from his cousins.

But you didn’t mind, not when his family was so welcoming, and of course, you loved his Abuela the most—something you’d never tell his mother. While she was strict, she was also loving, and funny, and embraced you time and time again while also letting you tease Joaquin. 

Plus, every time she saw you, she’d do an egg cleanse on you while ranting about the importance of doing a ‘limpia’ every now and then.

By the time you moved on to the onions, Joaquin had finally perfected the three pounds of limes, tossing the bag into the cart. Then you glanced over at him, raising a single brow which led to him sighing and grabbing the bag, now handing it to you. 

You gave him the onions then proceeded to open the bag, grabbing each individual lime, making sure they were the right texture and color. Meanwhile Joaquin waited, swaying back and forth on his heels while he watched you.

“Y’know you can just tell me I did a good job now. I’m pretty good at the whole produce thing.”

You scoffed at him, closing the bag again and handing it to him. “You did better than last time, when you literally brought me a bag of half-rotten limes. Now can you go get the fish from the butcher area? I don’t like how it smells over there.” 

Joaquin shook his head, hands on his hips while he stared at you with a singular brow raised.

“You look just like your mom right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bring my mom into this, you know you’re supposed to go pick out the right cuts of fish!” 

You shook your head. “No, Abuela gave us both a list, you can read! Here—” you dug through your purse for a second, then handed him his glasses that he insisted he never needed.It got to the point where he put them in your purse anytime he’d have them on for more than an hour. When he didn’t take them from you, you shoved them right against his chest.

“Seriously?! Fine—but you owe me one!” 

You nodded at him, smiling triumphantly as he slipped the thin white wired-frames on. “Now go get the damn fish or I’m not cooking anything! Thanks! Love you! Bye Quino!” As you spoke you shoved him away from you, then clapped a few times, laughing at him as he tried to lightly slap your hands away from him.

He scoffed, shaking his head while turning around and heading towards the back of the store, leaving you to finish the produce shopping. 

About ten minutes later, as you were trying to get cucumbers, someone cleared their throat beside you. You glanced over to your right, confusion evident on your features as you made eye contact with none other than mister tortured artist that stood you up. His eyes trailed your figure, a single brow raised as he took in your fitted sundress.

It was hot, it made sense that you’d be wearing something breathable. What didn’t make sense was the idiot beside you having the nerve to clear his throat, then practically eye-fuck you in the middle of a grocery store produce aisle. 

“Can I help you with something?” his eyes met yours as you spoke, irritation and venom evident in your tone.

“Y’know, I was gonna call you, had an uh—family emergency. Damn, I didn’t think you’d be this hot.” His eyes were back on your body, which earned a loud scoff from you.

“Dude, fuck off. Besides, I’m glad you didn’t show, I got back together with my ex, I needed someone to pick me up and he just happened to be around.” The lie practically rolled off of your tongue, it wasn’t exactly a good idea, but there was no way in hell that you’d let this douchebag think he had any real effect on you.

“Oh, you sure? You don’t have to lie to me, I said I meant to call, we can always try again—maybe somewhere more private and intimate.”

He didn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he spoke.

Joaquin was your savior, walking right up to you and putting the now bagged and wrapped fish into the cart, then he noticed the way you were breathing, and your fists clenched at your sides while you glared at the artsy douchebag across from you. 

He didn’t need to know what had been said to know that you were pissed.

So he smushed himself right next to you, a hand wrapping around your waist, gently resting against your side as he planted a kiss to the side of your head. 

“You alright cariño? This guy bothering you?” 

You relaxed against Joaquin’s touch, glancing at him, a pleading look in your eyes that only he could recognize. “Yeah, I’m fine baby, this is the asshole I was telling you about. Remember? From Friday?” 

He nodded, now taking the time to look at the guy across from you. Joaquin knew his name was Dylan, that much you’d told him when you vented on the drive to the store, complaining about your terrible taste in men and rambling about how much you hated having to settle. 

Joaquin also didn’t know what you saw in this guy. Sure he was tall, but the guy was lanky, scrawny, and looked like he smoked two packs a day. Not to mention the way his ‘oversized’ clothes were mismatched in the worst possible way, and he had paint stains all over his jeans. Plus he had on god-awful boat shoes.

Maybe he managed to catfish you—that had to be it. 

Well, maybe he was funny, or something. Joaquin knew you’d ranted about constantly settling, but at this rate, the bar had to be in Hell.

“Ah, this is Daniel? Wish I could say it was nice to meet you man, but clearly, the circumstances aren't great.”

Dylan nodded slowly, blinking several times as he looked between you and Joaquin. “So this is the ex boyfriend that you’re back with? You sure you aren’t bullshitting me, I think you would’ve mentioned your ex-boyfriend being the Falcon.” 

You simply shrugged. “I like to keep my dating life private.”

Meanwhile Joaquin was doing his best to contain his excitement that someone recognized him in public. He had a fake boyfriend facade to upkeep! He couldn’t afford to squeal right now.

Dylan didn’t look convinced, and clearly he was persistent. To the point that it was starting to piss Joaquin off. So he did what any rational best friend would do in this situation, he leaned into your space, and littered the side of your neck with kisses—right in front of the guy. At first, he’d only left a few pecks—then he lightly traced his tongue along your skin.

Your eyes widened, shock evident at the feeling of Joaquin’s lips and tongue along your bare neck.

You didn’t know whether or not you wanted to whimper or gag. Either way you’d be kicking Joaquin’s ass over this later.

The public display of affection was enough to earn a loud scoff from Dylan as he walked off. 

Then you were shoving Joaquin back slightly, now whisper-shouting at him. “Seriously dude! Maybe that was overselling it!” 

Joaquin shrugged, matching your tone, “What? I had to sell it! I mean come on, ex-boyfriend?! You could’ve said I was a one night stand turned into a three night stand or something!” 

You shook your head at him. “You didn’t need to fucking lick me! You pervert!” Then you ran the back of your hand along your neck, wiping away the remnants of his spit from your skin as you grimace.

He threw his hands up in surrender. “God forbid a guy acts a little freaky with his fake girlfriend!” 

Your jaw dropped at that.  “You’re so chronically online! You freak!” 

Joaquin watched as you rummaged through your purse, finally pulling out a small pack of makeup wipes, practically ripping it open as you grabbed a wipe and ran it along your neck. He raised a single brow at the dramatics of it all.Okay, maybe you weren’t being that dramatic considering he did run his entire tongue along the column of your throat in the middle of a grocery store produce aisle,but he had a point to make!

Besides, he’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. If you’d let him do it again, he would without an ounce of hesitation.

It wasn’t the first time you had to put on a fake show of intimacy and affection in public. 

But usually that was done under the guise of working recon missions, having to blend into large crowds at fundraisers and banquets, going undercover with one another, posing as a happy—and sometimes unhappy—couple. 

Hell, once he had you pinned against a hallway wall at a masquerade ball, his lips on yours while he held one of your thighs up, wrapped around his waist as his fingers dug into the plush skin. 

He thought about that night sometimes, having to shake his head and force himself to snap out of it. 

“I am not chronically online! You’re just chronically offline!” 

You rolled your eyes at that, tossing the used makeup wipe into the nearby trash can before looking down at the list of groceries and essentials that you needed for your apartment, and the list of things for the ceviche. “Let’s go get my coffee before I wring your throat.”

“As long as you tell me I’m pretty while doing it.”

Then you shoved him again, now pushing the cart towards the coffee and tea aisle.

By the time that you’d actually made it back to your apartment and put everything away, it was nearly four. Then you’d spent half an hour chopping up vegetables while forcing Joaquin to handle cutting the fish.

He was reluctant the entire time, making faces as he tried to avoid getting any fish juice on himself. He’d even opted to wear a pair of latex gloves and one of your frilly aprons.

“This is so disgusting.” 

You laughed at his complaining, nodding your head while you focused on juicing the limes into a bowl. “Well, you were the one who practically begged your Abuela for the recipe, if you hadn’t opened that big ass mouth then we wouldn’t be here! Besides, it’ll be good when it’s ready.” 

Joaquin shook his head, now putting the last bits of the cut up fruit into the large container, then he moved his knife and cutting board directly into your kitchen sink, pulling the gloves off and tossing them in the trash can before turning the water to the hottest setting to wash his hands.

“You better wash that cutting board too! Just wash it once and leave it in the sink, I’ll put it in the dishwasher when I’m done here.” You focused on pouring the lime juice overtop the fish while you spoke, ensuring that all of it was saturated. 

“It’s fine Cabezona, I’ll do the dishes too. I owe you one after licking you like a dog—even though I’m positive you liked it!”

You nearly dropped the bowl at his words, a loud scoff leaving your lips. “Joaquin! You’re such a perv!”

He nodded while he washed the dishes, then unloaded your dishwasher, stacking each bowl and plate on the counter before putting them in the right cupboards. “I’m just saying, everyone likes being a little freaky every now and then. Besides, you’re always wound so tight—I guarantee you’re into that nasty shit.” 

You tried to drown him out as you closed the container and put it inside of the fridge, focusing on cleaning up and putting the container of cut vegetables away, followed by the additional lime juice that you’d squeezed for later.

“Joaquin Torres, now is not the time to talk about my shitty sex life! We can’t all be you!” 

He turned around, now shrugging your apron off and leaning against the counter. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You raised a brow at him, looking over at him from your position next to the fridge. “Well lets see, anytime you get laid you walk into the office, my apartment, Sam’s apartment—hell you walk anywhere and you’re all smiles and laughs as if you’ve had the best night of your life. So clearly, only one of us is having good sex here, and it’s most definitely not me.” 

Joaquin’s expression was unreadable for a few seconds as he stared at you.

“Don’t even start pitying me either, and please, I don’t have time for another ‘you just have shitty taste in men’ speech, I’ve heard it enough from literally everyone. Maybe I’m just like an idiot because I genuinely can’t find a good guy to save my life.” 

Then you shut the fridge and moved back towards the small island that you were previously standing by, now focused on wiping down the countertop as Joaquin stared at you.

“Have you ever considered that you’re blind as hell?” 

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions to look over at him. “I’m pretty sure every good guy that’s left is either dead or in a committed relationship, so either I’m blind, or an idiot—or maybe both. I’m thinking I should just call a Nunnery and join a convent.” 

Joaquin sighed, shaking his head before turning back towards the sink, now loading the last few cups before shutting the dishwasher and washing his hands again. After he patted them dry on his pants, he was at your side again, leaning against the island while you reorganized your small fruit basket, putting the oldest fruits on the top to make sure you’d get to them before they went bad.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve dated guys that don’t know the difference between their, there, and they are.” 

You nodded at that. “Honestly, probably. Jesus, even the tax guy turned out to be an asshole. Maybe I’m like a douchebag magnet! What does a girl have to do to find a guy who isn’t a piece of shit,like, men are all shitty. No offense, well you don’t really count.”

He blinked a few times, arms now crossed in front of his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean? You always say I don’t count.”

“Because you don’t count. You’re my best friend, I don’t see you romantically. Yeah. I can admit that you’re attractive, but I wouldn’t ever date you.”

Joaquin didn’t know whether or not to be offended, so instead he pressed further. “Okay, elaborate on that.” 

You looked over at him, a bit confused. “Why?”

“Because, I’m pretty sure I should be offended—but I can’t tell.”

That earned a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t mean to offend you, it’s just, you’re my friend and I see you as a friend. I mean, if I wanted to, I’m positive I could see you romantically, but I just don’t. I like what we have and given my shitty relationship track record, I don’t want to ruin my friendship with you just for the chance to bone you. Besides, your abuela would kill you if we stopped being friends. Y’know she likes me more than you.”

He slowly nodded at that. “But you would—hypothetically bone me?” 

You shrugged again. “Why’s that important again?” 

Joaquin ran a hand through his hair, staring at you with that far-away look in his eyes again. “Can you just answer the question without answering with a question.”

You sighed, now standing up straight, hands on your hips as you turned to face him fully. “Hypothetically speaking? Like full on mind-wipe? Forget I ever said it?” When he nodded you took a deep breath, eyes trailing his figure for a few seconds before meeting his own again.

“Yes. Hypothetically, I’d bone you—but I think you’d be boning me. You’re too overconfident and cocky to be submissive at first.”

It wasn’t as if Joaquin was unattractive, there was nothing unattractive about the man. Of course, he wasn’t the tallest guy around—however he made up for that in almost every other department.

He had nice teeth, sure they weren’t perfect, but you loved his smile. His hair was always done, and his curls were to die for, they were always soft anytime you’d touch them, and you knew he spent time taking care of his hair. Physique wise? He was a wall of muscle, tan skin that was perfectly toned from years of being in the Air Force and now being an Avenger. 

Joaquin’s eyes always held so much emotion, they were deep pools of chocolate that you could drown in—if you really wanted to.

Not to mention his hands? Jesus Christ you could write a book about Joaquin Torres’s hands.

But outside of all of his physical traits, Joaquin was genuinely a great guy. He cared deeply for everyone in his life, and even those he hardly knew. He was observant and knew how to read people well—especially you. 

His words snapped you out of your daze.

“I’d definitely do the boning.” 

You scoffed at that, shoving him again. “You make me sick!” 

Joaquin smiled, nodding his head. “Well, it’s true! Besides, you’d love my hypothetical boning! Now, not to totally void the mind-wipe, but I was thinking that maybe, possibly, we could, well—y’know at least try once. You could use it.”

You blinked a few times. “Joaquin Torres, are you asking to bone me?” 

He nodded, jutting his bottom lip out slightly for a few seconds. “I guess so yeah, it doesn’t need to be like romantic—you just need to get laid, and lucky for you, I’m great in bed.”

“You’re literally offering to pity fuck me. Oh my god, is this what my life has really come to? My best friend has to pity fuck me? Jesus Christ!” With that you stormed off, leaving Joaquin standing in the kitchen with a confused expression on his face.

He wouldn’t really be pity-fucking you. 

Okay, maybe he did pity your lackluster lovelife and even shittier sex-life, but having sex with you would’ve been a win-win situation for the both of you. Joaquin would probably be able to get rid of the random fantasies about you, and you’d actually get to have a real orgasm that doesn’t require a vibrator.

Maybe Joaquin should’ve been more bothered by your blatant rejection—yet somehow he still had a semblance of hope that you’d cave. It wasn’t as if he’d ever force himself onto you, but based on the amount of stress you’ve been under, alongside your lackluster love life, this was something you needed.

Although, maybe volunteering to be the person to sleep with you wasn’t the best idea in the world.

He should’ve known you’d overreact to the simple suggestion. 

You were constantly a walking ball of emotional tension waiting to explode. He’d been used to it, and he was one of the few people that knew how to calm you down and help you relax. Granted, there were also other ways that would most definitely help you relax—but now you think that he offered to ‘pity fuck’ you, which was an insane thought in the first place.

You had to be blind. Joaquin was positive you were blind. 

Even Sam had made several quips in the past about the way that Joaquin looked at you when he thought no one else was paying attention. He was constantly overly possessive when it came to you, and sure, he did take things a little too far at times—hence the grocery store incident—but you outright refused to see him as anything other than a friend!

It was infuriating in a way that he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t just go on and yell at you or be mad that you didn’t see him romantically, not when your reason for it all was so valid and made perfect sense. You and him were best friends, you’d almost instantly clicked, it was rare to meet someone that you meshed with so well. 

If you didn’t want to ruin the friendship, that made sense to Joaquin and he didn’t want to push the issue. But he was currently trying to swallow down the minor sting of rejection while considering the best course of action.

He could easily play it off, acting as if he was joking and hadn’t meant for the joke to get that far. The only issue with that was the fact that he was a terrible liar and you always saw right through him, something about knowing his tell—whatever the hell that meant.

Joaquin could also just swallow his pride and chase after you, which seemed to be the most realistic option here. It wasn’t as if you were on the verge of starting World War III, well, not this time at least.

So he took a few deep breaths, ran his hands through his hair, then made his way to your bedroom, glancing over at the sofa, spotting your black cat sitting and staring at him as he stopped walking—hesitating as he debated on actually walking into your bedroom. 

“Binx, this is a terrible idea isn’t it?”

A meow was her only response, Joaquin pretended that it was a meow of encouragement, however he knew the cat didn’t exactly like him. If anything, she was probably shaming him for his terrible timing and horrendous ideas.

Then Joaquin walked down the short hallway, knocking on your bedroom door a few times. Of course you didn’t respond—he should’ve expected that. 

So he slowly opened the door, met with the sight of you laying flat on your bed, feet hanging off the edge slightly while your face was pressed into one of your many pillows. Then you let out something between a muffled shout and groan, raising a single hand, middle finger facing him.

“Oh come on, Hermosa! You can’t really be in here pouting right now!” He opened the door wider, arms now crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, looking directly at you while you let out another muffled shout.

“I have no idea what you’re saying right now, you do know that, right?”

Then you were sitting up on your elbows, groaning again as you looked over your shoulder at him, eyes squinted, brows knit together, and an evident pout on your face. “Fuck off Joaquin. I really don’t need your pity right now, it’s bad enough Bucky gave me relationship advice yesterday! A man who hasn’t been on a real date since the 1940s has a better dating history than me!”

Joaquin slowly nodded. “I mean, I think he’s technically dating Sam? Actually—I don’t know what the hell those two are, but I know I’ve heard some suggestive sounds from Sam’s room before. That was enough for me.”

You groaned again, face back against your pillows. 

He finally walked into the room, grasping your ankles and dragging you down slowly, ignoring your squeal as he leaned against your bed to usher you onto your back. Then he plopped down beside you, both of you staring up at the ceiling fan. 

“I didn’t mean to insult you y’know. I just figured it would’ve been a win-win. Besides, you said it yourself, you don’t see me romantically, so I thought it would avoid the whole awkwardness thing.”

You sighed, hands now folded together over your stomach, eyes following the slow rotation of the fan’s blades. “Okay, I might have overreacted. But Quino, my love life fucking sucks. People are always yapping about how your twenties are supposed to be like full of great experiences and I mean, yeah so far most of my twenties haven't been horrible—outside of being like a criminal for the first two years—but I have terrible luck with relationships and even worse luck with sex.”

Then you finally turned to look at him, eyes trailing his side profile, taking in the different curves and ridges of his face. “This shit sucks.” 

He laughed at you, a smile on his face as he finally looked at you, neither of you fully processed how close you actually were to one another until this exact moment in time. Your faces were inches apart, he could feel your shallow breaths against his face, and the smell of your minty gum lingered between the two of you.

Joaquin’s eyes traced your features. “Y’know, you’re really pretty, Cabezona.” 

You raised a single brow. “Yeah, because every girl wants to be called pretty, followed by an endearing nickname about how big their head is.” 

He bit his bottom lip as he smiled, nodding a bit before speaking. “It’s part of the Torres charm. Besides, you know how my family is, everyone has a nickname—at least yours isn’t something like Lindito. They basically call me a cutie pie because I was a cute kid—it was fine when I was six, now I’m almost thirty!”

You laughed at him, raising both brows. “Don’t make me call your Abuela and tell her you’re talking about her!” 

Joaquin scoffed, brows knit together. “I’d never! Now, can you please get up and stop wallowing in pity and embarrassment. If anything, I should be the one wallowing, you just brutally rejected me.” 

You rolled your eyes then looked at him again, except this time you made direct eye contact with him. “This is literally embarrassing, I can’t get laid to the point that you offered to bone me.”

Now it was Joaquin’s turn to roll his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything offensive by it, but let’s face it—you need to get laid. Like properly, not whatever mediocre shit you’ve been doing with guys.”

Then you sat up, shaking your head. “Yeah, but it won’t be with you, mister hot shot, now c’mon, we have to finish cooking and call your Abuela before she kills you. Not me though, I’m her favorite.” 

A grand total of four days have passed since the night that you brutally rejected Joaquin and assumed that he was offering to ‘pity-fuck’ you—whatever the hell that meant. 

Within those four days, you managed to walk in on Sam and Bucky in a very intimate position in Sam’s office, which led to you yelling at them both while they shrugged their missing remnants of clothes back on—honestly, you were glad they weren’t full blown fucking when you walked in because you probably would’ve stomped your foot and yelled at them even more.

Then you spent an hour laying on the sectional in the room with your head in Bucky’s lap as you vented about your lackluster love life and fear of commitment, which was followed by even more relationship advice from him—which you screamed into a throw pillow over.

It also didn’t help that both Sam and Bucky were acting incredibly awkward following you walking in on them, but you simply brushed it off, telling them you couldn’t care less about what they did with one another, while emphasizing the use of locks on doors.

Sam tried to argue with you about needing to knock, which you rolled your eyes at, while telling him this office was technically government property, and it was a shared space with Joaquin as well—so technically, you were within your right to walk right into the space without a care in the world. Especially since the door was unlocked.

It didn’t help that your younger sister had called and told you that she was engaged to her long-term high school sweetheart. You hated him—but he made her happy so you tolerated him. Although, given the opportunity, you would kick his ass, so you congratulated her and told him he was always on thin ice.

That sent you into a minor depressive period because truthfully, you felt pathetic. You knew there weren’t that many good guys left in the world, but the fact that your younger sister had managed to settle down before you really sent you over the edge.

Joaquin told you that you were just being dramatic when you told him that you would just end up alone with seventeen cats, you were already on the way there! Binx was your first cat, but what was to stop you from adopting seven more!.

Even today as you sat inside of Sam and Joaquin’s shared office, you were irritated and venting. 

“No you guys don’t get it! I have shit luck with love! Y’know this is the first Friday in months that I haven't had a date? Mind you, each date was shitty. But damn, at least I was trying! Now I feel like a sack of moldy potatoes. My little sister is gonna get married next year and I’ve never even been in a real committed relationship!”

Sam shook his head. “You do know you have your own office in this building, right?” 

You scoffed at him. “So what? Now you don’t even want to talk to me? You’re in a relationship with my pseudo-dad so you’re basically my step dad that doesn’t love me Sam!” 

Joaquin groaned, spinning around in his desk chair to look at you. “Cariño, you need to calm down and stop yelling at everyone, it’s three thirty, and for the first time in a while we’re not on some high-stakes mission or on crunchtime with some Avengers related deadline to meet, or handling a potentially world-ending crisis. You can’t be mad at Sam for wanting some peace and quiet.”

You blinked a few times, jaw clenched as you squinted, staring directly at Joaquin, wishing you had magical powers to light him on fire. “Peace and quiet? Coming from you? You never shut the hell up!”

He took a deep breath, over the past few days you’d progressively gotten snappier. Joaquin figured it was because you desperately needed to get laid, you were so wound up and tense that anything sent you spiraling into a fit of rage. It was most likely because you hadn’t had your weekly dose of mediocre sex to keep your inner turmoil at bay.

“Jeez, have you always been this mean and whiny?” 

You glared at Sam, who shook his head, raising a single brow. “Listen, I’ve got a sister, you don’t scare me. I’ve also fought literal aliens from outer space—wait put that down! What the hell are you doing!” 

Then you were hurling your plastic water bottle at him. He ducked right on time, eyes wide and jaw dropped as he looked at you, then he shook his head, now standing with his hands on his hips.

“That’s it, get out! You’re on time out. Go work on a report or something, get the hell out of my office.” He stared at you, eyes wide as he pointed towards the doors.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind you. They both winced slightly at the sound. The doors into the room weren’t exactly easy to slam—it was as if you’d put all of your strength into the action.

“You really are acting like her dad, man.” 

Sam scoffed, now looking at Joaquin. “And you’re acting like her shitty boyfriend. Go console her, give her a kiss so she stops letting all of her frustration out on everyone! It’s obvious you like her! Can’t you go confess your feelings and help her deal with her inner rage demon. She’s never this bad. She tried to shoot me once, but I think I’d prefer that over her hurling full bottles of water at me, in my own office!”

Joaquin’s jaw dropped, eyes wide as he stared at Sam. 

“Oh please, don’t look at me like I’ve got three heads, it’s obvious to everyone but you two. You’re basically in love with the maniac, and she’s so hellbent on just being your friend that she can’t process how un-platonic the both of you actually are! I mean come on! Her dating history is trash because she’s too slow to see what’s right in front of her, and you won’t man the hell up and tell her how you feel!”

Joaquin pursed his lips, eyes shut as he nodded a few times. He knew Sam was right, but he didn’t need the tough love, not today at least. “Listen man, I don’t know what to do about her, she’s just so—well you know how she is! Y’know I offered—”

Sam cut him off, blinking several times before speaking. “Offered to what? Don’t tell me you tried the whole ‘lets just have sex as friends’ thing. That never works!”

“Okay, it wasn’t exactly like that, in those words! But come on! She told me she doesn’t see me romantically! How’s a guy supposed to recover from that? I get it, we have a great friendship but if she doesn’t want to flush it down the drain, I get that, I just have to respect her boundaries, I can’t just bug the shit out of her until she snaps and fucks me.”

Sam grimaced, shaking his head. “Okay, a little too vulgar for me, kid. Were those her words, like verbatim?” 

Joaquin nodded. “Kind of, sort-of? She said that, but she also told me, she probably could see me romantically if she tried, but she doesn’t want to try so why should I push it? Besides, she’ll eventually relax! It’ll just take some time.”

“Yeah, how about you actually, y’know, act like the adult that you are and talk to her about your obvious feelings, and maybe little miss anger issues, might actually put two and two together and realize she’s practically in love with you, thinks you’re unattainable, so she settles for idiots and assholes.”

That conversation sparked one of Joaquin’s less-than-great plans. Instead of talking to you about things, he opted to simply do boyfriend-ish things around you while simultaneously being a little too up close and personal with you for several days, hoping you’d get the message, or at the very least, full-on reject him so he could actually move on.

It started the day after he spoke with Sam. That Saturday Joaquin showed up at your apartment with a bouquet of sunflowers—thankfully they were actually in season—and when he handed them to you, you were utterly confused. 

He was starting to think that maybe you were really that oblivious. Your reaction only emphasized that. The second he handed you the bouquet, you asked if he was apologizing for something, or if you’d forgotten about an important date—or if maybe these were ‘thank you’ flowers. 

Joaquin stared at you, utterly confused.

Who the hell just randomly shows up at someone’s doorstep on a Saturday with ‘thank you’ flowers—most people would just get them delivered. It also didn’t help that you simply shrugged, focused on trimming the stems before putting the flowers in water without any other questions. You were quiet the entire time, which also had him overthinking the gesture.

Mainly because you hadn’t been quiet in a while.

Then you decided it was time to grace him with the terrible news that you had a date on Monday. Who the hell goes on dates on a Monday?!

“Well, he seems nice enough I guess. He actually works on base, not directly with us, but I’ve seen him around. He stopped me yesterday on the way back to my office. I can’t even promise that he’ll be different—maybe if I’m lucky he’ll actually be good in bed.” 

Joaquin was glad you weren’t looking at him, he couldn’t even control his facial expressions, right eye twitching slightly at the news.

So he opted to step his game up, that day as the two of you spent time together, he stood closer than usual, and as he moved behind you, he made sure to place his hand on the small of your back, or he’d grasp your hips slightly, shimmying past you as if there wasn’t enough room for him to move without touching you. 

Throughout the entire day he helped you with your mundane tasks, and the domesticity of it all was getting to him—to the point that he had to give himself a pep talk in the bathroom

He even helped you unbraid your hair, fingers massaging against your scalp just enough to make you blush.

His final move that night was pulling you directly against his chest on your oversized sofa, arms wrapped around you, fingers gently grazing the sliver of exposed skin on your hip between the hemline of your shirt and the pajamas you wore. Hell—he even intertwined his legs with yours. 

Sure you’d cuddled in the past—but never like that. 

When you tried to question it, he hummed against your scalp, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while his gaze remained focused on the shitty slasher movie that you chose.

By the time the movie ended, the both of you had fallen asleep.

Sunday morning you were awoken by the sounds of Binx’s loud meowing and the rays of sunlight shining through your half-opened blinds. As you tried to get up, you then realized that Joaquin was still holding you in place—the motion had an unfamiliar feeling bubbling through you. 

Something similar to butterflies? But that wasn’t right—that was something associated with childish crushes and you’ve never had a crush on Joaquin Torres.

So you shoved his arm away, which in turn woke him up. Then you were up, walking to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the only goal of feeding Binx before she managed to start a feline uprising at eight in the morning.

“G’morning Sunshine.” Joaquin sat up as he spoke, yawning and stretching. Taking the time to roll his shoulders back then crack his neck slightly. The couch wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, however after a night of sleeping in the same position—he felt stiff. 

His voice was raspier than usual, and that didn’t help with the foreign emotions you were currently feeling. Your brows knit together as you looked down at Binx, who was now purring while rubbing herself along your calves. Of course the cat would be happy now that you were awake to feed her—she couldn’t give you thirty more minutes of sleep.

“Uh—morning Quino.”

Your voice was strained, and you cringed the second you finished speaking, glad he couldn’t see your face.

“So what’s on today’s agenda? Now that Sam and Bucky are on good terms, it looks like we’ll have a lot more free time.” 

You nodded your head without looking at him, now squatting down to give Binx her ceramic bowl of wet food, then you looked around, trying to find things to do that would help you avoid Joaquin’s stare. You were unfortunately, very unsuccessful, especially when the second you stood back up, he was already in the kitchen, one hand on your lower back as he walked past you, taking the time to brew a new pot of coffee.

You rushed to the bathroom, eyes wide, panic evident on your features as you looked at your own reflection. Maybe you were just imagining things, he’d always been touchy-feely with you, and it hadn’t ever affected you before. What was so different now? Maybe you were just overthinking things, this was Joaquin—your Joaquin.

There wasn’t anything different between the two of you. You were friends, best friends at that. You trusted him with your life, so why the hell did it feel like your skin was tingling from where he’d touched you, and why the hell were you blushing like a schoolgirl.

You tried to take longer with your morning routine, hoping that you’d be able to waste as much time as possible—maybe he’d get the hint and go home.

But instead, he walked right into your bathroom, which wasn’t exactly unusual for the both of you. Then he placed another hand on your hip, squeezing past you to grab his spare toothbrush and the toothpaste. Then he was brushing his teeth, standing right beside you—except he was closer than usual.

Or at least he felt like he was closer than usual.

You had to be losing it. This was normal, there was nothing different about this interaction—so why the hell did it feel so different?

The bathroom wasn’t exactly huge, so of course you’d be close. The counter only had one sink, it wasn’t as if this was a large dual-vanity bathroom with extra walking space. The bathroom had barely enough room for the both of you behind the wide-set counter, even then, you had your own organized chaotic mess of things along both sides of the white countertop.

Plus, with where Joaquin stood, his left shoulder was brushing against one of your plush towels hanging on a hook, and he hardly fit into the space between the wall and you. Usually he’d opt to lightly shove you closer to the wall, so you weren’t exactly sure why he chose that side today, maybe because it was closer to the toothbrushes.

While you swished your mouthwash, he flossed, humming the tune to Love Story by Taylor Swift. Then as you both made eye contact in the mirror’s reflection, you raised your brows at his song choice, taking a second to spit the mouthwash out, and in seconds, you were both scream-singing in sync.

“Little did I know! You were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles and my daddy said stay away from Juliet!” 

You were both incredibly off-key and pitchy. Bursting into a fit of laughter while trying to keep up with the song, except both of you only knew some of the lyrics, so you ended up mumbling and making up words while singing together.

He held one of your brushes in hand as he sang to you. “I've been feeling so alone—something about waiting for you—something something something—marry me Juliet you’ll never have to be alone!”

You laughed at him, a wide smile on your face while you shook your head, shoving him slightly before snatching your brush out of his hand. Then you opted to moisturize your face, using two fingers from each hand to rub circles against your face before tapping your under-eye cream on.

Joaquin watched you the entire time, brows knit together, focused on your movements. “The hell is all that even for? Can’t you just slap some lotion on and call it a day?”

You blinked several times, now turning to look at him, brows knit together in confusion. “You only use lotion?”

He nodded, shrugging “I mean yeah, I wash my face, then put lotion on. That’s really it.”

You shoved him once, then scoffed and shoved him again. “Of course you’d have nice skin just because. I can’t stand you, y’know that? Only using lotion, my ass—now c’mere!” 

Joaquin wasn’t exactly sure how he could get any closer to you, but then you stepped back a bit to grab one of your fancy little moisturizers, unscrewing the cap of the glass bottle, a dropper now in hand while you grasped his jaw—the motion catching him off guard, then you were focused on dotting the liquid along his face.

Before he could fully process it, you were rubbing circles into his skin, and he was staring with wide eyes and parted lips. 

“Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

“So you’ve got flies in here? That’s disgusting, cariño. I think you actually should call someone about that.” Then you shoved him again, shaking your head at his antics.

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence as you moved on from one serum to the next, applying each product carefully to his skin as he stared at you with another unreadable emotion.

Maybe if you weren’t so blind you would’ve realized Joaquin had nothing but unending adoration in his eyes as he focused on your face, taking in each and every detail, committing this moment to memory.

Before he could get too caught up in the domestic fantasy, he cleared his throat. “Cabezona, are you finished yet? I think I’ll be fine without your ten step skin care routine!”

“Don’t you have your own apartment to be at? Instead of bothering me on my peaceful Sunday?”

He shook his head at you. “Nah, but I’m thinking, we should go out today. I heard about this great spot in Chinatown, you’ll love it, I promise! After we can go to the aquarium, you know you love seeing the octopi.” Joaquin sounded so excited and admittedly you were too—he was right, you did love seeing the ever expanding Octopus exhibit.

“Okay fine, but I have to get ready. No way in hell I’m going looking like I just rolled out of bed.”

“Works for me cariño, I think I have some clothes somewhere here too, gotta go find it in all of your shit.” Then for some reason unknown to him—he planted a firm smack to your ass as he walked past you.

Your surprised breath had him realizing what he’d done. It was something similar to a high pitched gasp—hell if he wasn’t so focused on the rush of heat throughout his entire body he would’ve registered it as a slight moan.

Joaquin froze in the doorway, and you froze in place, jaw dropped while you slowly turned to look at him. At the same time he was slowly turning around, absolutely mortified—the domesticity was really getting to him—to the point of no return.

“Did you just smack my ass? What the hell, Joaquin!” 

He slowly nodded “I don’t know—shit I mean yeah—but I don’t know what came over me! I’m sorry! I just—you and then me—and then—I’m sorry. God don’t kill me—I didn’t mean to, I just—I think I’m losing it here!”

You blinked several times, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to figure out what to say to him. 

“Listen Hermosa, I really didn’t mean it—like really. Oh my god—holy shit. I’m really sorry, like seriously sorry, don’t murder me—please you look like you’re about to kill me!”

He was full on panicking, this wasn’t part of his plan, hell his plan was supposed to be long and drawn out, he’d spend a week pestering you, doing relationship-esque things until you finally got the hint, then he’d do some grand gesture and ask you out on a real, genuine date. Not the shit that you’ve been so used to.

After the date he’d also fuck you until you forgot your own name—but now it was looking like he wouldn’t live to see that potential date ever happen. Not when your shocked expression was quickly warping into your usual glare. The glare was like a silent warning telling him to run, so that’s exactly what he did.

The moment you reached for your brush again—he was off, sprinting out of the bathroom, down the short hallway, and running away from you.

You were quick on your feet, chasing after him with your brush in hand, throwing several random things at him while he ran circles around your living room, then into the kitchen, then he’d ducked behind the Island for a few seconds to catch his breath before practically hurdling himself over it to get away from you.

“I’m sorry for smacking your ass! To be fair! It’s a nice ass!”

“You’re such a pervert! I’m gonna fucking kill you Joaquin!” Then you threw the TV remote at him, he barely managed to smack it out of the way mid-air, wincing at the impact on his palm. 

Now you were both at a stand still, the only real piece of furniture separating you both was your small sectional, he stood on the side closest to your bedroom door, you stood on the opposite end closer to the apartment door. He wished he had ended up on that side—then at least he would’ve been able to run down the building hallway.

“Come on Hermosa! I didn’t mean anything by it! I just—something came over me okay?! You don’t need to murder me—you’ll go to the Raft or something—Sam would kill you! Actually that’s a good point! If you kill me, Sam’ll kill you!” 

You blinked a few times. “Then let him kill me! At least I’ll kill you first you freak!” 

“You’re so mean! Take it as a compliment! Actually—shit! Don’t take it as a compliment, that's not how my mom raised me! But fuck—you’re so—just God—I can’t ever get you out of my head! Then you go and do shit like that! With the thing on my face and my heart is racing—and it’s not because I’ve been running. You just don’t get what you do to me Cariño!”

You paused, dropping the brush in your hand, it hit the floor with a shallow bang. You stared at him, brows knit together in confusion, his words didn’t make any sense to you. 

It wasn’t the first time you’ve done something like that for Joaquin, you two were close, extremely close, so why was everything suddenly so different?

“Then you look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about! But I know you do! I know you feel it too! I spent all of yesterday trying to get you to really feel it! Then I had this whole plan about how I was going to act around you for a week—and honestly, I was just gonna do stuff that I’ve always wanted to do with you! But then waking up with you in my arms had my brain feeling like mush and my heart hammering in my chest—and you—you’re just—you’re everything to me.”

His confession had you in shock, brows raised, lips parted, heat enveloping your features while you struggled to process everything. 

“Fuck, last week you rejected me, and y’know what? I earned it, asking my best friend to have sex with me was a bit shallow, I can admit that!—but then you said you don’t see me romantically—which yeah it hurt, but you followed it with you could see me romantically if you wanted to, and that gave me enough hope that maybe you do feel the way I do, maybe you just don’t see it—or haven’t let yourself—but at this point, I have to let it all out because I literally smacked your ass like you’re my girlfriend and now you’re probably gonna behead me with some evil makeshift guillotine in your closet!”

As Joaquin spoke, he moved his hands rapidly, emphasizing certain words and phrases. He’d always done that—talking with his hands—but right now, something about it had your heart racing.

Or maybe it was the realization that Joaquin Torres had romantic feelings for you.

“Then I talked to Sam, and he told me that maybe you’re just settling for shitty guys because somehow, in the back of your mind, you won’t let yourself see what’s right in front of you.Not to sound like a narcissist here, but I’ve swallowed down my feelings for so long, and every now and then they come bubbling up and I have to gaslight myself into thinking that I’m just insane and don’t actually like you in the romantic sense!”

That’s when you realized why your heart was racing, not because Joaquin Torres has feelings for you—no. It was because you have feelings for Joaquin Torres. 

You really did settle each and every time, going for asshole after asshole and somehow convincing yourself that you just had bad luck and would never find a single guy that was actually kind hearted and cared about you beyond just having sex. Then you’d end up on a series of shitty dates, being heartbroken, angry, and frustrated—and the first person you always called was Joaquin.

Joaquin Torres who had every single positive trait that you wanted in a man. 

Joaquin Torres that knew you like the back of his hand.

Joaquin Torres who’s family absolutely adored you—and you adored them.

Joaquin Torres, the same Joaquin Torres that you’d instantly clicked with when you met several years ago.

You’d managed to completely drown out Joaquin’s mixture between ranting, venting, and confessing his feelings for you. Then you shook your head, walking around the sofa in three long strides until you were toe to toe with Joaquin.

“If you’re gonna kill me, at least tell me I’m pretty fir-” you immediately cut him off, rolling your eyes at his terrible attempt at humor. One hand tugged on his shirt, the other caressed the side of his face, practically pulling him into you as you smashed your lips against his. 

Joaquin was practically frozen in place for a few seconds until he felt you pulling away—clearly reading too much into his lack of reaction. So he gently grasped both sides of your face, kissing you back, pouring all of his frustration into the kiss. 

Things started slow, however the second you parted your lips, letting him in—things picked up very quickly. He kissed you as if he’d never be able to again, like he wanted to memorize this exact moment, and he held you firmly against him—one hand moving from your face to your hip, pulling your lower body flush with his own.

He bit your lip as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours for a moment while you both stood in silence, your uneven breaths filling the space.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years—Christ the day I met you I wanted to kiss you. Then when you came to the hospital to see me after I got my ass handed to me by that Flag smasher? All I wanted to do was kiss you until I couldn’t breathe.”

You bit your bottom lip slightly, eyes finally meeting his as he leaned back a few inches. 

“I think I might be an idiot, Quino.” 

He nodded at that, thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Oh absolutely, your taste in guys emphasized that.Would now be a bad time to ask if you want me to bone you?” 

You laughed at his joke, shaking your head with a smile, before lightly shoving him and taking a step back. “You’re such a freak!” 

“I never said I wasn’t! Come on, you’re basically my girlfriend now, let’s all be honest here—you could be my wife if you wanted to, I’ll propose right now, drop down on one knee and everything.” Both of his brows were raised while he shrugged, hands out in front of him and a smirk on his face.

“Oh my god! Quit being yourself for ten minutes Joaquin Torres!” Then you walked away from him, towards your bedroom. 

“Wait! Where are you going?!” 

You glanced over your shoulder with a single hand on your doorknob. “What, did you think you were gonna defile my couch?!Now, come on—I prefer having sex on a bed, besides, I haven’t even had sex in my bed.”

He blinked a few times. “Like ever?” 

You nodded. “I usually don’t bring my dates here, besides, letting random men know where I live isn’t the safest bet. Honestly, I think I settle for car sex the most. Wait—does my vibrator count?” Then you giggled as you walked into your bedroom, mentally counting to five to see how long it would take him to follow you. 

You only made it to three before he was practically running through the door and shutting it behind him. Then his hands were back on you, walking you towards your bed before pushing you down.

Before you knew it, he was shirtless and on top of you, his lips back against yours. He kissed you like he had a point to prove, lips moving against yours, kissing you deeply, moaning against your lips while you fought him for control of the kiss. 

Joaquin knew he’d won the second you whimpered as he rolled his hips against yours. He was perfectly situated between your thighs, and your toes curled at the feeling of his evident bulge pressing against your clothed core. 

Your hands were all over him, tracing his chest, then his shoulders, then his back. Eventually, one settled in his hair, lightly tugging at the curls, earning a low moan. But he hadn’t stopped kissing you, his lips perfectly moulded against yours, and you were both lost in one another. You had years to make up for. 

Eventually he pulled back for air, heavy breaths against your lips while he struggled to fully regain his composure. Then his eyes scanned your features, your eyes were slightly hooded as you looked up to him, an evident flush on your skin, and your lips were swollen.

“You’re so pretty.” 

You laughed at him, raising both brows. “Yeah, you aren’t too bad yourself, Torres.” Then you moved the hand in his hair to his jaw, thumb grazing against his bottom lip, tugging on it slightly while holding eye contact with him. 

He smirked, nodding a few times. “I always knew you were a freak in the sheets.”

You scoffed. “You’re so annoying!”

Joaquin smiled. “That’s why you like me, isn’t it?” 

That earned an eye roll. “Isn’t there something else you could be doing with your mouth instead of annoying me on purpose?” 

Then there was a glint in Joaquin’s eye, and he tilted his chin down slightly, just enough to pull your thumb into his mouth, lightly sucking on it for a few seconds before letting it go. 

The sight had your eyes widening.

“Yeah—there’s something I’ve been dying to do with my mouth. Promise you’ll love it.” Then his lips were on yours for a few seconds before he trailed open mouthed kisses along your jaw, taking the time to run his tongue against your warm skin, then as he kissed down your throat, he nipped a few marks into the skin, smirking at the sounds of your quiet whimpers.

Then he ran his tongue along your freshly bruised skin—the motion so familiar that it made you giggle. Well at least you giggled until the found the spot below your ear, which earned a surprised gasp from you—and that was all Joaquin needed to hear before he was kissing against your skin, sucking your skin into his mouth, teeth lightly tugging at it—your fingers digging into his back at the feeling.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he started kissing back down your neck, and along your exposed shoulder in your cut up t-shirt. His hands focused on pushing the shirt up from your waist, exposing more and more skin until he was met with your bra. 

You pushed him away, slightly embarrassed at the older plain black bra, it was your comfiest bra—it even had a few holes along the band closer to the hooks on your back. 

“What’s wrong, Hermosa?” He sounded so soft and concerned, looking at you as if he was afraid of breaking you.

“Nothing—don’t judge my ugly bra.” 

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “You think I’d judge something that’s coming off anyways?” Then, he was sitting back on his haunches, gently pulling you up before his hands grasped the edge of your shirt—making eye contact with you, waiting until you nodded—then he was pulling it upward, helping you take it off.

The second his eyes landed on your chest, he groaned, biting his bottom lip at the sight of your tits—even if they were confined in the plain bra—he didn’t give a shit about that, to the point that he was pushing you back onto the bed, lips back on your skin. Joaquin started from your shoulder, then moved along your chest to the swell of your breasts.

He took his time with you, a trail of bruising kisses along your plush skin, then he reached behind your back with one hand, fumbling with the clasp of your bra—the motion making you laugh as you shook your head.

He glanced up at you from your chest, a rosy flush overtaking his cheeks. “Don’t laugh at me, you’re gonna give me performance anxiety!” As he spoke, he finally managed to unclasp the bra, taking the time to pull the straps off of your shoulders, then he squeezed his eyes shut as he took it off of you. 

“Quino, what the hell are you doing?” 

He laughed, “Giving myself a grand reveal! Duh.” Then he opened his eyes, lips parted as he stared directly at your bare chest. He blinked a few times, then licked his lips while nodding his head. “Yeah—you’re so fuckin pretty, all of you—Christ.” 

You gasped as he practically dove into you, lips back on your chest, one hand massaging against your right side, his mouth focused on the other, a mixture between bruising kisses and low groans being left against your skin. Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple—gently sucking on the hardened peak, earning a high pitched moan from you.

Eventually he moved onto your other breast, repeating the motions until your back was arching into him while you pulled his hair so hard that it stung—although that wasn’t why he stopped. Joaquin opted to kiss along your stomach, even taking the time to bite into the soft skin, smirking against you at the sounds of your quiet whimpers.

By the time that he made it to the waistband of your pajamas, he paused, now looking up at you, giving himself the chance to process how truly wrecked you really were. Your hair framed you in a messy halo, your eyes were hooded, swollen lips parted, and you stared at him as if he was everything and more.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants. “Can I?” 

You nodded at him “Please—” 

Joaquin didn’t need to be told twice, he was pulling your pants and panties off in one motion as you lifted your hips, easing the process along. Once they were full off, his eyes focused on you—taking in every single detail of your body, from the budding bruises he’d left, to the scars, stretch marks, hell even the few moles and birthmarks he’d never seen before.

His stare made you feel insecure in the moment, opting to sit up with your back against your pile of pillows leaning into the headboard, legs pressed together and arms wrapped around your chest, as if you wanted to hide from him.

“Mi Vida, don’t hide from me, you’re so beautiful, everything about you is beautiful.” His voice was full of adoration as he stared at you with a fondness you’d never really experienced before.

Joaquin stared at you as if he was in love, and that alone was enough to have you sitting up further, grasping his shirt and crashing your lips against his. He laughed against your lips, smiling into the kiss as his hands found their way to your waist—one at your thighs, pushing them apart to slot himself between them once again. 

Your hands were all over him, moving from his hair, to his cheeks, to his jaw, then down to his chest again, now beneath his shirt, fingers splayed against the toned ridges of his abdomen. The warmth of his skin was comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.

He moved away enough to pull his shirt off, tossing it aside somewhere, lips back against yours. The kiss was somewhat sweet, but now it was a mixture of teeth and tongue as he deepened the kiss, mouth practically overtaking yours.

Joaquin Torres had always been competitive, it was clear that his competitiveness was incredibly prominent in every aspect of his life—to the point that you felt as if you were drowning in him trying to keep up.

Eventually you pushed him away to catch your breath. He smiled at you once before moving back down, following his previous trail of bruising kisses, except this time with light open mouthed kisses. He’d even grazed his tongue against a few of the blooming marks along your skin.

Then he was between your legs, kissing along your inner thighs, gently biting into the skin—doing his best to leave marks. He’d always been possessive, and to him, you were his girl. The world didn’t need to see every single mark he’d leave against you, some were just subtle reminders for you.

Joaquin used both hands to spread your legs—wide. He was a bit shocked at how wide he was able to get them, raising both brows with a satisfied smirk. “Never knew you were this flexible.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze, feeling the flush of embarrassment taking over as he stared directly at your wet center. 

“Can I?” You didn’t look at him as you mumbled a quiet ‘please’. Too embarrassed to actually meet his gaze. 

Joaquin smiled, shaking his head at you, you’d never been the shy type, but maybe the intimacy was getting to you—however, he reveled in it. He’d never felt more in love.

He didn’t hesitate to lick a flat stripe along your cunt, the motion caught you off guard, eyes widening as you looked down at him, giving yourself a better view of him.

“That's it baby, I want you to look at me—promise I won’t be mean.” Joaquin’s teasing tone made you groan, both hands covering your face for a few seconds before you shook your head.

Joaquin winked at you before repeating the motion, this time with more pressure—starting at your sopping hole, ending at your clit. “You’re so fuckin wet—taste so good too. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long—wanted you for so long.”

Then his tongue was back on you, he hadn’t started slow, if anything he’d dove straight in—as if he was a prisoner on death row and this was his last meal. 

You couldn’t stop your moans and whimpers, Joaquin had been a man starved and he clearly had a point to prove. Your hands were in his hair, tugging at his curls, back arching into him while you tried not to roll your hips against his face—doing your best to keep some composure.

He knew you too well, and he noticed the way your thighs had already started tensing up. His tongue moved against your clit, alternating between small circles to rapidly flicking against it, the mixture of sensations eliciting borderline pornographic moans from you. He wasn’t stopping anytime soon—and he wanted you to let go. 

Joaquin knew you needed this, and honestly, he needed it too.

So he hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder, bringing you even closer to him, pulling your clit into his mouth, harshly sucking on it while moaning against you, his eyes now shut as he let himself get lost in the motions.

You looked down at him again and nearly lost every sense of composure you had left, his brows were knit together, eyes shut, and as he sucked on your clit with his fingers gripping your thigh, he moaned against you—as if he was doing this for his own pleasure, not yours.

Then you noticed the way his hips rolled into your mattress—that had you whimpering his name, biting your bottom look as you tugged on his hair, fingers grazing his scalp while you finally let go—now grinding yourself against him.

Joaquin let go of your clit, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips at the feeling of you grinding against his face, then he moved lower, nose now pressed against your pearl while his tongue lapped at your dripping hole. 

The second he slid his tongue into you—you whined his name like a prayer. Now fully rolling your hips against his face, moaning at the pressure from his nose against your clit and the feeling of his tongue licking into you—practically darting in and out of you at a brutal pace.

Your body was on fire, the coil in your abdomen wound so tight it felt as if you were about to explode, and all you could focus on was the feeling of Joaquin Torres’s tongue fucking into you.

He managed to press his face deeper against you, moaning at the taste of your cunt, drowning himself in it. His hips were grinding against your mattress as one of his hands held you against him, then he slid his tongue out of you, two fingers now prodding at your hole, his tongue back on your clit as he slowly slid them inside of you.

The stretch of his fingers alongside his tongue moving against your clit sent you over the edge—practically gushing against his face as you came with a high pitched “Quino!”.

Joaquin’s eyes fluttered open as he looked up at you, your lips parted, brows knit, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as your orgasm consumed you—fuck you’d never looked more beautiful.

You expected him to stop, but he was far from finished with you. Fingers now curling into you, fucking you through your orgasm—prolonging it. One of your hands moved from his hair, now on his shoulder—nails digging into his skin as you held onto him, unknowingly grinding yourself against him even more—rolling your hips over and over again—using him for your own pleasure.

“That’s it Hermosa—use me—fuck just like that.” His words were muffled against your core, you didn’t even fully register them as he finger fucked you through your high and into the world of overstimulation. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, your nerve endings on fire and all you could think about was Joaquin.

He brought your clit back into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked on it, tongue swirling over it slightly—just enough to have you seeing stars as his fingers brushed against the velvety spot inside of you that left you gasping his name. Joaquin focused on that spot, fingers moving rapidly and purposefully, moaning against your clit at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him.

This was downright sinful, prior to this moment, you were positive you’d be going to hell—but Joaquin Torres’s greedy mouth on your cunt had you convinced there was a spot dedicated to the both of you.

It wasn’t long until you were toppling over the edge again, vision blurring as a white heat overtook your entire being—practically screaming his name as your eyes watered slightly.

He looked up at you, eyes hooded, mouth still focused on your clit—moaning at the sight of you, knowing that he was the one bringing you this much pleasure was enough to have him on edge.

Thankfully, as you came down from your high, you gently pushed him away, whimper and shaking your head, voice breathy while mumbling. “It’s too much—fuck—give me a second”. 

When he finally moved away from you, he licked his lips, now staring at you with a dopey smile on his face. You should’ve been embarrassed at the shiny layer of your essence along his lips and chin—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. 

Neither of you said a word as you held eye contact. 

Something unspoken in the air, an evident shift in your entire relationship—but neither of you cared. Not when he’d already confessed his feelings for you and made you cum twice in the span of twenty minutes.

Especially not when you knew that you were practically in love with Joaquin. It’d just taken him slapping your ass and word-vomiting a confession for you to realize it.

Your eyes moved from his, trailing along his body, stopping at his waist—the evident tent in his sweats had your eyes widening slightly. You’ve always had an inkling that he was big just based on the way he carried himself—but now you knew you were right and your mouth was already watering.

“Take them off Joaquin.” 

He nodded at your request—although it was more of a demand.

You laughed as he stood up, rushing through the process of taking off his sweats and briefs—stumbling a bit as he kicked them off. However, the second your eyes landed on his cock you stopped laughing, lips parted, mouth watering slightly—just enough that you were drooling.

He was big—huge even—thick and girthy in a way that you knew would make your head spin, a few defined veins traveling along the shaft of his cock, and the head had a pink-ish flush to it, already leaking precum. 

The sight was salacious.

Joaquin watched it happen, the sliver of spit gliding along the edge of your open mouth—then in seconds he was back on you, his tongue trailing along your chin, gathering it before kissing you. It was downright filthy, the way his tongue explored your mouth—the taste of cunt still fresh on his tongue. 

You moaned against his lips, one hand on his jaw, the other sliding along his torso, then down to his cock, fingers trailing the length of it, before you grasped him in hand, his hips bucking into you. You kissed him as your hand slowly pumped along his shaft—thumb spreading his precum along the tip, dragging it down his cock—using it to move faster, gliding along the length of it all.

He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours as you jerked him off, pausing for a moment, long enough to spit on your hand—then it was back on him. 

“You’re gonna kill me—y’know that?” 

You laughed at him, head rolling forward the slightest bit, gaze focused on his cock—biting your bottom lip as you tighten your grip on him, speeding your motions up just enough to make his abdomen flex. “I want you in my mouth Quino.” Your words were quiet whispers, then your eyes met his again, faces only a few centimeters apart.

“Not today—fuck don’t think I’ll last today—shit” he moaned, heavy breaths against your lips while he rocked his hips forward—chasing his own high. But he needed more. “I need you, Corazón”.

You smiled, kissing him softly before shoving him away from you. 

“You’re giving me whiplash baby—but if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” He laughed at his own joke, smile on his face while you looked up at him, shaking your head, biting your lip, holding back your own grin—or at least attempting to hold it back.

“Tell me how you want me, Joaquin.” 

His eyes widened at your seductive tone, you’d never sounded sexier—it made his cock twitch, and he was blushing. How one sentence managed to make him blush was insane, considering he’d just had his face between your thighs to the point that you were practically squirting against his tongue.

“Shit baby—on your back, but trust me okay? You said you’re flexible right?” 

You nodded at him, brows knit together as you slid down the mattress, now flat on your back with your legs bent at his sides. Then you watched as his palms met the backs of your thighs, lifting them slightly until you got the message and raised them up—legs now in the air. 

You were laughing at him, and soon enough, he was laughing too.

That was until he rested your ankles on his shoulders and leaned closer into your space, practically folding you in half. You were in shock at his position of choice. “What the hell, Quino? Basic missionary too boring for you or something?” 

He smiled, nodding his head. “Trust me—you’ll love it, I promise. Oh shit wait—I don’t have a condom.” His movements faltered as the realization dawned upon him, minor panic evident on his features.

“I’m on the pill—and I’m clean. I’ve never let anyone else ever—y’know without one. Wait—you literally go to the clinic with me to get tested!” 

Joaquin shrugged, which in turn made your legs stretch a bit more—earning a short gasp. “Well, when you put it that way corazón, I might end up cumming inside of you—I gotta ask now, are you okay with that?” 

You blinked several times “Quino, you literally have me folded in half and you’re asking if I’m okay with you cumming inside of me when I just gave you the okay to fuck me raw? Are you hearing yourself right now?” 

“I made you cum twice and you’re still so mean—jeez. God forbid a man wants full consent before creampie-ing his girl.” His hands left your calves, now up in faux-surrender as he spoke. The motion made you both start laughing again, but the second he moved his hips forward the slightest bit—his cock nudged against your clit and you gasped.

Then you were making eye contact again.

He hesitated for a few seconds. “You sure?”

You nodded, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That’s all the encouragement he needed. Joaquin teased you the slightest bit, running the tip of his cock along your dripping folds—tapping it against your swollen clit a few times before lining himself up with your entrance.

Then he slid in the slightest bit—and the immediate stretch had your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp leaving your lips while he slowly rocked himself into you, inch by inch. 

“You’re so big—fuck Joaquin” 

He nodded, shushing you in a comforting manner “‘s okay—you’re doing so well baby, fucking cunt feels so good—just like that, relax into it cariño.” He kissed along your calves as he focused on filling you to the hilt, taking his time with you, letting you adjust to his size. 

Your hands gripped the comforters, knuckles practically white as you bit your bottom lip, doing your best not to clench around him—trying to relax, trying to let him in fully. The stretch stung in a painfully pleasurable way, something you couldn’t put into words, it was too much and not enough all at once. 

He was so deep—and you had a feeling the position also had something to do with that. It was like you could feel him in your stomach. Your toes curled while your back arched into him, head lulling back, brows knit, all the while mindless moans and mewls filled the space.

When Joaquin fully bottomed out he moaned your name, eyes focused on where your bodies met, you held him in a vice grip, he wanted nothing more than to ruin you—fucking you so hard you forgot about every single shitty guy that you’d been with—making you his and only his. 

But he also wanted to take his time with you, wanted to be slow and considerate—wanting to make this good for you.

It was as if you could read his mind, eyes fluttering open as you met his gaze. “Quino—I need you to fuck me, hard—” before you could even finish your sentence he was pulling out of you in a swift motion, to the point that only the head of his cock was inside of you, then he practically slammed back into you.

You screamed his name.

Your words snapped something inside of him, and as his fingers gripped your legs—he focused on fucking you into the mattress, hips unrelenting as he rocked into you, moaning at the feeling of your cunt. 

“So fuckin tight, you’re making such a mess baby—fuck look at that, just like that Hermosa—just like that” he praised you while he fucked into you, eyes trailing your entire figure, then pausing at your cunt, moaning at the sight of you practically sucking him back in, his cock coated in a layer of your slick, pussy practically drenching him.

Then he leaned even closer to you, one of your legs slipping off of his shoulder, however he still held you in place, hand on the back of your thigh, practically folding it against the mattress as his lips found yours again. 

The kiss was sloppy, neither of you could really focus on it, but Joaquin needed to be as close to you as possible—needed this moment to last. 

You couldn’t think straight, Joaquin clouded your every sense to the point that all you could do was moan and whimper a mixture between his name and slurred praise. Your thighs were tense, hips practically burning, and the pleasure radiating through your body was too much.

You tried pushing him back, but you didn’t want him to stop—you just couldn’t focus on anything but the fire raging throughout your body.

“‘S okay baby—you can take it, I know you can. Fuck you’re so good for me Corazón—mean the world to me too.” Joaquin was rambling, letting your other thigh go—giving you a quick sense of relief, but his thrusts hadn’t let up, and he wrapped a single hand around your throat—applying the slightest bit of pressure—testing the waters.

Your moan was the very definition of desperate as you grasped his forearm, holding him in place, eyes slowly opening, meeting his intense stare.

That’s what sent you over the edge, holding eye contact with Joaquin as he roughly fucked into you, his hand wrapped around your throat, and you finally realized the odd emotion you’d always seen in his gaze was just love—pure, undevoted love.

“Fuck—I love you Joaquin” your words were mumbled as you moaned, eyes squeezed shut again, legs shaking as your final orgasm hit. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure sweeping through your body in waves, when you thought you were alright—it was like mini aftershocks kept hitting you.

He hardly processed your words, part of him couldn’t tell if he was hearing things or not, but it hadn’t stopped his hips from tensing up, cock twitching inside of you as he buried it to the hilt, thick ropes of cum filling you with an overwhelming warmth as he moaned “I love you—fuck love you so much—.”

Joaquin practically collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, shallow breaths hitting your flushed skin, meanwhile he intertwined his fingers with yours, his other hand grasping the comforter below as if it was a lifeline while he came down from his high.

The weight of him on top of you was relaxing, it was everything you needed in the moment.

Then your doorbell started ringing, and it wasn’t just once, no it was several times in a row—something only Sam did when he was irritated and couldn’t get a hold of you.

Your eyes widened and so did Joaquin’s, he lifted himself up, using his hand on the mattress to brace himself as he looked at you.

“Is that—?” 

You nodded, then you looked over at your bedside clock, ‘10:38’ showing. Then you realized you were supposed to send over the finished satellite reports by ten thirty today, meaning it was eight minutes late, but also, you most likely had several missed calls and texts from Sam.

“Oh my God, he’s gonna kill me!” 

When the doorbell started ringing again, you groaned. Then Joaquin slowly pulled out of you, kissing your forehead as he whispered apologies against your skin, hearing your subtle wince. He was quick to stand up, pulling his sweats back on, then he looked between your open thighs, pausing in his motions—eyes trailing your fucked out cunt, practically moaning at the sight of his cum leaking out of you.

“God—I should take a picture of that. Fuck—shit Sam can wait another second—” Then he was back between your thighs, tongue lapping at your leaking hole, your eyes widening as you whimpered, one hand already in his hair, meanwhile Joaquin’s tongue was back inside of you—the motion outright filthy.

It didn’t take much for you to cum again, you were already too sensitive, you felt like a live wire.

A few seconds after Joaquin started rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb, you were moaning his name and gushing—this time you were genuinely squirting, legs shaking, and body tense.

You pushed him away from you—thighs clamped shut as you caught your breath. Both of you exchanged a look before glancing at the clock, five minutes had passed.

“That’s gotta be a record for you huh? Five minutes was all that one took?” 

You shushed him, slowly sitting up, looking around the room for your clothes. But he was already off the bed, wiping his forearm against his face—doing his best to clean himself up before opening one of your drawers, pulling out a pair of shorts and tossing it at you.

You’d already found his shirt, so you pulled that on, then slipped into the shorts on wobbly legs.

“You really are a fucking freak Joaquin.” You spoke as you tried to find your footing, grasping the edge of your nightstand and taking a deep breath. Your legs were already sore, so was your abdomen. 

“Yeah, but you liked it, besides, I didn’t miss the way you reacted when I choked you, you love that shit don’t you?” He wiggled his brows as he teased you, now helping you stand up straighter, both of you looking at one another before walking out of your bedroom. Then he sat on your sofa while you opened the front door.

Sam was clearly annoyed as he looked at you. That’s when you noticed Bucky was also outside of your apartment, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

This was about to get even more mortifying.

Sam practically invited himself in, already ranting. “Y’know kid, the job’s been relatively easy lately, and all I asked you to do was finish those reports because you’re the best data analyst I’ve got. You know everything about illegal and legal weaponry, practically specialize in foreign and alien-based tech, and you can spot an anomaly a thousand miles away, and yet here you are, damn near fifteen minutes past the deadline which I gave you on Wednesday—when usually you’d have everything over a day or two early.”

He paused, now turning to look at you again, shaking his head—he still hadn’t registered Joaquin sitting shirtless on the couch. “Then I called you, several times, I called you yesterday and today, you didn’t answer, I thought you died or something! How would I feel thinking you died when the last real conversation we had was me kicking you out of my office!”

Bucky cleared his throat as he looked at Sam, the first time Sam hadn’t noticed, then he did it again, which led to Sam looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yes, Buck?!” 

Bucky then nodded his head in Joaquin’s direction, Sam easily followed the motion.

Joaquin awkwardly smiled and waved at Sam. It didn’t help that he had red scratches along his chest—something you hadn’t even realized you’d done to him. Then of course, his hair was disheveled, and he looked a little too relaxed. 

That’s when Sam looked back at you, eyes taking in your figure, now noticing your own messy hair, the U.S. Air Force t-shirt you had on, and he noticed the way that you leaned against one of the countertops closest to you.

“Oh my god—are you two serious?! Didn’t I say don’t let this get in the way of work! I’m over here dragging that walking museum piece around because I thought you were dying, meanwhile you’re over here screwing Joaquin?!” 

You nodded. “Bucky’s the one who told me I needed to pursue less shitty guys.” 

Bucky shook his head at you. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t throw me under the bus here, he’s already pissed because I forgot to make brunch reservations—I don’t even like brunch.”

Then Sam looked over at Joaquin. “Did you at least tell the girl you’re in love with her before sleeping with her?” 

Joaquin shrugged, grimacing slightly before replying. “Does it count if I told her while we were having sex?” 

Sam blinked several times. “Those are details I didn’t ask for. Jesus Christ! Get those reports done and sent to me by tonight! And at the very least, answer your phone calls! Torres—you need to answer yours too! Let’s go Buck, before I lose my mind.” 

Then Sam was leaving, Bucky gave you an awkward smile, and a final, “for the record, I’m glad you came to your senses and realized you like him” before following Sam out.

Once the door clicked shut, you locked it. Now left with Joaquin.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” You spoke as you walked to the sofa, plopping down across from him, feet now resting in his lap. 

He just stared at you for a few moments. “Y’know I do love you, right? It wasn’t a heat of the moment thing. I’m in love with you, and I was serious about the whole having to gaslight myself into thinking I’m not into you when I know I am.”

You laughed at him, smiling as you leaned against the couch cushions. “I can’t believe I’ve been this blind for so long, y’know how many shitty dates I could’ve avoided? Like genuinely—also you’re still a fucking freak.” 

Joaquin smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah? What—was the head too much at the end? Want me to tone it down some, I dunno, I think I might’ve set a record for you today, four orgasms? That’s more than you’ve had in months.”

You scoffed at his teasing. “Oh, shut up! It’s not my fault I didn’t know you were Mister munch!” Then you paused. “I need a shower.” 

He watched as you stood up, walking away from him, then you turned back, clearing your throat, waiting for him to meet your stare. When he did, you smiled. 

“Well, are you coming or what?”

Joaquin was positive he’d never moved faster, following you right into the bathroom, but before he could fully process what you were doing, you pressed him against the bathroom wall, a mischievous smile on your face.

“For the record, I’m positive that I love you too, Quino.” Then you were kissing him.

-

Thanks for reading my super hot and sexy ppl <3 Im literally posting ts from my job rn bc im so over working on a Saturday

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ᴇx ᴘᴛ 3 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ (이민호)

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader, exes to lovers

summary: based off of ex by stray kids

tags/warnings: angsty, bittersweet, slow heartbreak, quiet pain, two povs, not fully proofread, odd ending kinda?? its stiff feeling

a/n: omg the series is over! not one of my best but this is the first series i actually finished 😭 i have one series in my drafts rn and the ending to its okay im okay as well, so stay tuned everybody!! (this is a scheduled post.)

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3

masterlist!

It’s strange, falling for someone you already loved.

You expected it to feel the same as before, like returning to the comfort of something familiar. Like rereading your favorite book, one you could quote by heart. But this feels different.

It’s quieter. Slower. Like planting something new in soil that once held something else.

This time, you’re not rushing. You’re just… learning.

You begin seeing Minho again. Not every day, and not in the way you used to. But he’s there.

Sometimes it’s coffee after work. You sit across from him and listen to him talk about small things, like the neighbor’s cat or the new ramen shop he discovered. Sometimes it’s late-night calls, when neither of you can sleep, and he reads something off his phone just to hear your laugh.

Sometimes it’s silence. And that’s okay too.

Because now, it’s a silence that feels shared, not empty.

It’s early spring when he asks you to go for a walk. The cold still lingers in the air, sharp against your jacket, but the trees are beginning to bloom.

He walks beside you, close but not quite touching.

Then, out of nowhere, he says it.

“I never stopped loving you.”

You freeze on the sidewalk. The words hang in the space between you, weightless and heavy all at once.

You turn to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

He looks at you, eyes soft. “Because I thought it’d sound like I was just trying to fix what I ruined.”

“Aren’t you?” you ask.

“Maybe. But I’m not trying to go back,” he says, voice steady. “I just want to try again. This time with the version of us that knows what we’re risking.”

And something in your chest eases.

Not because everything is fixed. But because he finally said the truth out loud.

You end up sitting on a park bench, hands just barely brushing between you.

No grand declarations. No kiss to seal it. Just the quiet understanding of two people who still care, even after everything.

He reaches for your hand slowly.

This time, you don’t pull away.

You let him hold it, like something sacred. Like something he won’t let go of again.

And maybe that’s what healing really looks like. Not forgetting. Not pretending nothing broke. Just choosing to stay anyway.

He walks you home. When you reach your door, he doesn’t ask to come inside.

He just holds your hand a little longer and looks at you in that way he used to, like you’re the only person in the world worth his time.

“So,” you ask with a small smile, “what are we now?”

Minho tilts his head, thinking. Then he gives you that crooked smile you missed so much.

“We’re figuring it out.”

You nod. That’s enough.

For now, it’s enough to be here. To be trying. To be real.

hope yall enjoyed <33

todays playlist...

all in by stray kids, ice on my teeth by ateez, easy by stray kids, rude by magic!, deer hunter by &team, confessions by flo rida, heeseung, jake, and paul russell, on my mama by victoria monet, panic by beomgyu, love scenario by ikon, daydream by enhypen, butter by bts, strategy by twice, so fresh so clean by outkast, best part by giveon and h.e.r, attitude by ive, fri(end)s by v

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

@rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @highway-143 @hvseunq143 @hyuneskkami

[natihoneybee]

Kagi-kun & the Basketball Team and HiraKagi Theories Post Chapter 29

In my free time, I spent the last few days rereading all of Hirano & Kagiura (including the novel) and then skimming through all of Sasaki & Miyano for Easter eggs. I wanted to compile as many details as I could find that’s related to Kagiura and his basketball team. I’m doing this to organize my thoughts better, and piece together details about the team.

While going through the material, I did come up with more theories for the upcoming chapter(s). But I might have to make a separate thread depending on how long the post gets. Anyway, I want this post to have facts and key details, so I’ll try to include volume and page numbers, too.

The first half of the post about Kagi-kun & the basketball team possibly has some spoilers for Ch. 29 but not really. Just in case I’m putting it under a “read more” line.

What we know about the basketball team

These are the names of basketball players mentioned so far: Shirahama Kyouji, Tomonori Kuda, Yamada, and Muroi Yuuki. These are the basketball players’ numbers we know about so far: Kagiura is #11 and there are two players who are #7 & #4 from a Shirahama flashback (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-19).

We know that Kagiura and the basketball team go to the city to watch basketball games or play outside of practice at a gym (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Kagiura tells Hirano that there’s an arena nearby where a pro basketball team plays. And that the school basketball team sometimes takes the school buses (Vol 1, chapter 4, page 17). Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in the next volume. But I will address that idea at the end in the “Basketball Retreat Theory” section.

Kagiura Akira

*I'm gonna be brief with Kagi's section because I could go on and on about him hehe

I’m really excited to see more of how Kagiura interacts with his teammates on the basketball team. While rereading, I focused on the scenes of Kagi with his basketball teammates and these scenes from (Vol 5, ch 23a) really stood out to me. Kagiura overhears another player complaining about him “getting out of cleaning” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3). And when he meets up with Hirano later that chapter, it’s revealed he’s late because he stayed behind and that “they needed help cleaning up” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 8). I think that really goes to show the type of person Kagi is and how much he cares about the basketball club. He really works hard at it and doesn’t want anyone questioning his dedication to it. I'll get into this trait of his later in the Basketball Retreat Theory.

Jealous-kun

*I saw someone in another post say that this guy^ complaining about Kagi “getting out of cleaning” from (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3) is the same guy in (Vol 6, chapter 29). And OMGG you are totally right!! GAAAHHH!! Idk his name though. If anyone could come up with a nickname while we wait, that would make talking about him easier (i’ll prob just call him jealous-kun for now). I'm assuming based on the translation, that he's also a second year.

Back to Kagi

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is a scene from (Vol 3, chapter 14, page 10-12) where a girl tries to give chocolates to Kagi on valentines day. I think her near confession is very precious. Kagi is so sweet about kindly turning down her chocolates. He seems really serious about what she has to say to him, too: he’s genuinely listening, asks her for her name, thanks her for watching their games and offers to walk her to the station. And the words she used to describe him “you looked so cool and mature when you were focusing”, definitely stuck with him in the context of Hirano: “I wonder if he’d think I’m cool and fall for me if I acted more mature”. Just something to think about. Now, this valentine’s day scene reminds of a scene in sasamiya with Shirahama, but I’ll get to that in his character section below.

Shirahama Kyouji

Shirahama in HiraKagi

Shirahama and Kagiura seem to be close, they frequently play basketball together even when there’s no practice scheduled, like during lunch (Vol 3, chapter 12, page 9-19) and on weekends (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Someone in another post called them “basketball buddies” hehe. I think we’re definitely going to see more of their friendship as teammates in the upcoming chapters. Shirahama talks a lot about wanting a girlfriend, and often whines about how Kagiura is so popular with girls (Vol 4, chapter 20.6, pages 2-5). In the extra “Something About White Day”, Shirahama learns that Kagi has an unrequited love though, so I’m wondering if they will talk about love later on or if Kagiura will open up about his crush on Hirano to Shirahama. And even though Shirahama lightly complains about Kagi’s popularity with girls, he definitely cares about and respects Kagi enough to defend him from other players who are jealous of Kagi (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3).

Shirahama in SasaMiya

Now jumping to the sasamiya series real quick in their third year: Something I’ve noticed is shirahama becoming more of a regular character since Vol 8. And we finally get a character name tag for him in (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4). Since he’s becoming a bigger role in the sasamiya series, this goes back to my idea of shirahama possibly having a bigger role in hirakagi, too (i.e. he and kagi talking more about crushes or relationships). When I reread the parts of how Shirahama reacted to sasaki and miyano’s relationship (with the context of hirakagi) I started thinking: Does Shirahama know something about Kagiura and Hirano (to some extent)? Like maybe he knows that Kagiura has a crush or at this point is in a relationship that’s secret. Before learning about Miyano and Sasaki, maybe shirahama’s only example of how a couple acts was Kagiura and his experiences. Since, Shirahama seemed really surprised that Miyano wasn’t keeping his relationship a secret, I wonder if maybe Kagiura ever confided to Shirahama about his feelings for or eventual relationship with Hirano and if it was kept secret at some point because they were roommates (this is only the case if they start dating while being roommate, but I think they start dating in Kagiura’s third year tbh).

For Reference, here are the page numbers in sasamiya with Shirahama that I’m referring to: (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4-8), (Vol 9, chapter 43, page 8), (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). And these are the specific Shirahama scenes/lines that stick out to me in the sasamiya series that may or may not back up my hirakagi theory involving shirahama (or I’m just delulu *shrug*):

In (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4) Shirahama says “I’m never gonna get the chance to stay late at school getting everything ready for the cultural festival and then leave with a girl after I tell her it’s dangerous so she should let me walk her home!” He says it’s from a sim game, but it’s really specific and actually reminded me of Kagiura on valentine’s day haha. I wonder if this will happen to Kagiura in his 2nd year in the upcoming cultural festival.

“Let’s say I don’t find a girlfriend before college. Then I’m gonna end up getting a job and going out drinking, saying, ‘I wanna get married…!’ I feel like I’m gonna end up sounding like this guy on the team, and I don’t want that.” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 5).

“You scared me…!! You can’t just say that! It’s a secret!” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 7)

Shirahama says “Is that really what couples usually do…? Guess I was overthinking it.” (Vol 9, ch 43, pg 8)

I’m really interested in what y’all think about the scene in (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). It seems like Shirahama really doesn’t want to miss basketball practice and the flashback scene he recalls actually hits a nerve. Do you think maybe Shirahama is feeling insecure about his role in the basketball club here? Like maybe he’s not always part of the main team in tournaments? I initially thought that this was a Kagi cameo, but the jersey’s say #4 and #7, and I’ve read somewhere that Kagi’s jersey number is #11.

*Side note: I can’t remember which page in sasamiya it was, but Shirahama mentions going on group dates a lot. Is he going with some guys from the basketball team? If anyone knows, please please pleasee let me know. Obviously, I don’t think Kagi would go, but I can imagine him being asked to go to help the other guys out or “evening out the numbers” haha OR being asked NOT to go because he’s too popular with girls. It could be a funny scene to see idk.

Okay, I think that’s all I have to say about Shirahama on the basketball team for now. I’ll probably refer back to him later though.

Tomonori Kuda

I think he’s the one Kagi mentions in these passages in the HiraKagi light novel on pages 22 and 26. And I think that they might have a “rivals to teammates to friends” type of relationship. At least, that’s the impression I got from the novel when Kagi cheers for him at the Sports Festival and thinks “I’ve gotta tell him how glad I am that he joined the basketball team.”

Also, you can see the name “Tomonori Kuda” in Kagiura’s phone call log, and before Hirano called, he was the last person Kagi talked to on the phone (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 31). So, I’m kinda hoping that they’re close and we see more of that. When the regular players are called over at practice, Kagi and Kuda’s names are both called, and we get to put a face to the name (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 4).

Yamada “Run, Yamada!”

Someone is named Yamada (unknown given name) on the basketball team. This is literally just based on this one background character during practice when Shirahama is talking to Sasaki in (SasaMiya Vol 9, chapter 46, page 11 ) lol.

Muroi Yuuki “headband-kun”

I saw someone referring to him as “headband-kun” in a tag and I thought it was the cutest thing. Muroi Yuuki is a newer character we’ve just been introduced to, and we know he’s Kagiura’s kouhai. He’s a first year, while Kagi is a second year. I believe his first appearance is (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 4 & 7). In the scene where Kagi is helping Muroi with paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), we see a close up of his name and his reason for staying off-campus. We see quite a bit of him in Chapter 29: where he’s on the school bus with the basketball team, he asks Kagiura which activity he’s doing, introduces himself to Hirano telling him he’s on the basketball team and then asks to have Hirano’s contact information. So we know that 1) he will be at the off-campus basketball retreat, 2) he’s a kouhai on the basketball team, 3) He really looks up to Kagiura. I think he’s adorable and I am soooo looking forward to seeing more of Kagiura and Muroi’s kouhai/senpai relationship. I am so glad Kagiura finally has a kouhai of his own! Also, that part where Kagi gives Muroi his phone to watch a game… so cute, it’s giving ipad kid lmao 🤣😭.

HiraKagi Theories (Spoilers for Chapter 29!!!)

Okay! So that’s it for what I have on the basketball team profiles. I’m gonna get into what I think is going happen after Chapter 29. This section is definitely going to have spoilers!

Basketball Retreat Theory

I think there are going to be multiple arcs coming into play during the months May-October of Hirano’s 3rd and Kagiura’s 2nd year (Hirakagi Vol 7 and onward). First, I’m going to address my Basketball Retreat Theory. Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is actually going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in this coming up volume.

I can’t remember exactly where this image^ is from, but it got me thinking: Does Kagi become the new captain for the basketball team? I don’t think that’s something that has been confirmed or not but it just makes sense, right? I just get the feeling there’s gotta be more behind the question that Hanzawa is asking Shirahama, especially since Hanzawa is so familiar with Kagiura and his character. I mean like Hanzawa had asked Kagi about being an RA at some point. Kagi was in the running for being an RA without even realizing it! Tashiro (who became ping pong captain) mentioned that he started getting scouted for the position during the summer/ cultural festival season, which is coming up soon in the hirakagi timeline.

Now, back to the basketball retreat and upcoming tournaments: If Kagi’s senpais on the basketball team are going to start scouting for the new team captain, I am absolutely positive they are going to partially determine who to choose based on how well things run smoothly at the retreat and tournaments. Going back to Kagiura’s profile from earlier, we know he’s Basketball Team Captain worthy and Hirano has even said to Kagi that “They’re well aware of how hard you’ve been working” (Vol 5, chapter 23b, page 6). Not to even mention, Kagi in his 2nd year has now been training and teaching the younger members too! So, following this theory that Kagi is in the running for becoming the new basketball team captain, I think this definitely adds to the possibility that we will see some basketball team drama. Especially if Jealous-kun is another 2nd year basketball player in the team interested in that position.

Homophobic Jealous-kun Theory

Now, this other theory involves Jealous-kun much more. My other theory is that Jealous-kun, who has a history of intently watching Kagiura, catches Kagiura having a moment with Hirano—and like Hirano with Inchinose—Kagi makes eye contact and realizes they were caught. Only, Jealous-kun isn’t as sweet about it and reacts homophobically. If this does happen, I actually think this might go a really angsty route where Hirano and/or Hanzawa get involved. Like… I’m wondering if there will be a physical fight between Kagi and Jealous-kun (which just thinking about that scares me so much cause idek if Kagi can fight??) But the reason I think this is a huge possibility is because of some clues in both hirakagi and sasamiya series.

It’s been brought up multiple times that Hirano is good in a fight, in (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 14) Sasaki tries to reassure Hanzawa that “Hirano’s good in a fight. If anything happens, he’ll be fine… I think”. To which Hanzawa replies “That ‘I think’ doesn’t really make me feel better”. So I’m wondering if there will be a point in the story where we will see Hirano get in a physical fight. Either he fights someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* to defend Kagi or Kagi is in a physical fight with someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* and Hirano gets involved to try to split it up.

If this does happen, I think Hanzawa could be a witness to this situation. Fast forward to the scene from sasamiya (Vol 6, chapter 30, page 12). Hanzawa says “Some of the guys in my life are gay, and I’ve seen them get in fights before. It’s scary. Whenever they get hurt, I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends…” Now, when I first read this scene I only thought about it in the context of Hanzawa’s brothers past relationships (maybe they dealt with domestic abuse). BUT in the context of hirakagi (it’s interesting that Hirano is pictured here), it’s definitely not the case of domestic abuse or toxic relationships.

I think the wording here is on purpose because 1) Hanzawa used the phrase “some of the guys in my life are gay” instead of just using “brothers”. So I immediately thought of Kagiura. 2) When he says “I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends”, I feel like it could have a double meaning where “that something” that “happened with one of their boyfriends” could be Hanzawa and Hirano finding out that Kagiura is in a fight with someone and Hirano dashes to him (we all remember how fast he ran when kagi was overtired).

*sigh* Just thinking about this situation is stressing me out. So for now I’m moving on to another thought process and that’s Hirano’s confession, but I’ll get back to Hanzawa later.

Hirano’s Confession

As of right now it’s May in the hirakagi timeline, the sports festival just happened and in the sasamiya timeline this is when Sasaki (awkwardly) confesses to Miyano. 

In the sasamiya series in (Vol 3, chapter 15, page 21), we have this beautiful moment between Hirano and Sasaki that happens in June. Hmph. So, Hirano’s reaction definitely feels personal, right?? Because there’s definitely a window between May and June, I wouldn’t be surprised if Harusono stretched out that period of time. Still, I’m pretty positive that Hirano is going to confess in June right before or right after this scene with Sasaki. Hirano’s comment: “Stop making excuses and just tell him already!” Absolutely confirms to me that there is going to be something on Hirano’s mind that he might use as an excuse to wait to tell Kagi, that will delay his confession, or that will just make him feel hesitant. And I think that something could be related to the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous kun theory, or how Hanzawa feels about gay relationships (at this point in the series). And when he tells this to Sasaki, I think he’s also saying this to himself (maybe).

Hanzawa’s Involvement

Time to get back to Hanzawa. In the sasamiya timeline, we’re officially introduced to his character with a name tag in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8). At this time, it’s July. I think it’s really interesting that Harunsono chose this point to officially introduce Hanzawa, especially with Hirano’s dorm life brought up on the same page and Hanzawa seeming to be unphased. Later in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 22, page 19-20 & 24) Hanzawa and Miyano are discussing what love is. At this time, it’s September during cultural festival preparations. I saw someone in another post say that it feels like Hanzawa is repeating someone else’s words. I believe this is definitely the case. In the Sasaki and Miyano anime, Hanzawa’s speech actually overlaps with scenes of Hirano & Kagiura and Kuresawa & Ogasawara on the phone with their respective girlfriends. And the reference to Hirano and Kagiura feels like such an obvious clue now looking back at it. The conversation between Hanzawa and Miyano (in the anime and manga) goes like this: 

Miyano: What do you think it means to like someone?

Hanzawa: I think it depends on the person. Like wanting to do stuff with them? Or like wanting to be together. Wanting to hold hands. Wanting to touch them. Wanting to kiss them. Wanting to hold them. Or wanting to have them all to yourself. … Love is when you can’t stop thinking about the other person, or so they say.

Everything that Hanzawa says and uses as an example of Love literally relates back to Hirano and Kagiura. So, it could be that this is a speech that Hirano has said to Hanzawa before. Even the phrasing reminds me of Hirano. Like in hirakagi (chapter 29, pages 12-13 & 16) when Hirano is talking to Ichinose, Hirano asks “Have you ever wanted to kiss someone? … And try various things. … I’m fine with touching them”. Hirano is sorta still figuring out the type of “like/love” he feels for kagiura (although in chapter 29, page 34 it looks like he’s realized it’s the same as kagiura’s like/love), but once he figures it out completely, I think he’s going to share this information with Hanzawa. And explain it to Hanzawa with personal examples: 

Kagiura and Hirano feel love differently (it depends on the person)

Sometimes it’s wanting to try various things (like wanting to do stuff with them?)

Wanting to continue living together as roommates (like wanting to be together)

Wanting to hold hands (something Hirano and Kagiura have done)

Wanting to touch them (the 10 seconds touch everyday)

Wanting to kiss them (something Kagiura or Ichinose want to do when they like someone)

Wanting to hold them (hugging)

Wanting to have them all to yourself (dating and Kagi's "More than anything, I want to be with you" in chapter 29, page 28)

When you can’t stop thinking about the other person (literally Hirano every moment of everyday and Kagi when Hirano leaves)

And I think this is going to happen in July, since that’s when Hanzawa was introduced to the sasamiya series and seems to be more open to gay relationships by this time. I just think that Harusono is very intentional with their characters and would set it up this way. Especially since in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8) Hanzawa doesn’t seem to be as worried as he did before about Hirano and Kagiura’s dorm life as roommates (him no longer being an RA might be a factor as well, but I think it’s mostly because Hirano has talked it over with Hanzawa regarding his closeness with Kagi).

*Side Note: Now this isn't really about Hanzawa's involvement, but on the topic of Hirano’s feelings and for the sake of sticking to chronological order with referencing chapter 29 so much, I'm going to put it here. Are we going to get a kiss in the next chapter?? Before they were interrupted by Muroi (chapter 29, page 30), it seems like they were talking about trying it (when they have more privacy, like maybe back at the dorm?). Because like… Hirano didn’t say no, just not here. Ya know?

Hirakagi Timeline Post Chapter 29

Okay, so I think I’ve addressed everything I wanted to. But to lay it out in a more organized fashion, here is a timeline based on all my theories and how I think it could pan out post chapter 29:

May -> Right now we’re at the Sports Festival

May - June -> basketball retreat/tournaments/team drama that Kagiura is gonna have to face; the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous-kun theory? (could happen anywhere between May-July)

June -> Hirano’s confession!! (hopefully)

June - July -> Hirano and Hanzawa’s heart to heart moment

September - October -> Cultural festival; possible basketball tournament (shoutout to @rubyrose143 for finding this easter egg in sasamiya chapter 23.1)

December - January -> New Year’s Eve (Kagi is sick; Hirano goes to the shrine with Sasaki and meets Miyano, Kuresawa and Tashiro there in the "Special Drama CD My Wish", also shown as an extra chapter in sasamiya Vol 3)

Well, that's it. I hope this was somewhat helpful and entertaining to read. Thank you all for interacting, please let me know if I missed anything, and please please please tell me what you think! ❤️

[giratinazero]

everything here is from free chapters, but I've put it under a cut anyways in case someone isn't caught up, because I do discuss some season 2 stuff. screenshot-heavy, talking about Ada.

so we know that Ada, obviously, just wants to be loved. mainly she leans on the idea of romantic love, but she clearly just wants any kind of acceptance, given that her reaction to Morella cutting her off seems genuine before she starts blustering again.

I also think her attempt to connect with Lenore in 37 was genuine, because Ada seems to be a pretty bad liar, or at least bad at "being bad," so I don't think she's faking this conversation.

Ada also quite clearly seems to believe she has to earn love or be useful somehow. On a meta level this is reflected in her original life as a maid, and in-story still manifests as doing whatever Montresor says, even before Prospero rejected her. From the start she's been doing what she's told for no reason other than to "belong" somewhere.

in comparison to Montresor [eager as hell] and Will [at least neutral], Ada also doesn't seem down with walling up Duke, but she goes along without really complaining because it's what they want her to do.

Ada wants to be useful no matter what, because then she'll finally be loved this time, right? and what's the best way to be useful? to be strong.

Maybe it's because I reread the dreamland/amontillado chapters a lot, but it seems that Ada is incredibly quick to pull out her specter. We've seen her at least 3 times in a [relatively] short span; first manifesting in 69-71,

then reappearing again in 82-88,

and most recently in 110-111.

That seems fast, right? In comparison, Berenice and Eula have only manifested once, Pluto has only really used his specter once-- he didn't do anything with it in the maze, only in the tower-- and I believe we've only seen Montresor once as well, maybe twice if my memory's bad. Ada defaults to her specter as quickly as possible because it's the only way she feels confident in her usefulness.

So where am I going with all this? I think Ada's going to lose access to her specter for a long, long time.

the stag clearly overloaded her with power, right? it didn't seem to drain her at all-- it made her so strong, her body couldn't handle it anymore.

based on this, I think it can go in one of two directions, and I think they're equally likely. either 1: Ada can no longer manifest at all. this would put her at a massive disadvantage in comparison to other students, but it would put her on equal playing field with Lenore specifically, and could be an interesting way to actually develop a proper connection between the two. Especially given that there's a chance Lenore's group experiences some strain in their relationships, there's room to work Ada in. of course she'd regain her ability eventually, but it would probably require more #trauma along the way.

or 2: because of the stag's residual power, Ada's become so strong that she can no longer control it. she's a liability now. sure, she's powerful, but what good is that power if you can't use it properly? Annabel is running a tight ship, and I don't think she'd be interested in relying on a volatile transformation that might hurt her group on accident instead of Lenore's friends on purpose.

whatever ends up happening on that front, Ada is once again stripped of what she considers her only value. She was useless to everyone before she manifested, and after finally proving herself, she's been forcibly reverted back to step one. As far as she knows, Monty won't want her without her specter, but Morella has made it clear there's no room for friendship without an attitude adjustment. Ada is going to be alone again, even though for the briefest moment, she finally had what she wanted. it's a fantastic chance for character development, because if you can't be loved, be useful; if you can't be useful, what's after that?

[imbecominggayer]

How To Write Cuddling

This my third part to my series where I get specific requests from people about what advice they want. Here we have @12-cluh to explain what about cuddling is getting them confused:

"Idk how to really describe what I'm going after. I'd say I'm more confused on how to describe the way the bodies are laying together? That sounds weird but you get it-"

Perfect, so our key problem is how to establish a character's positioning in the cuddling!

First: How Are These People Cuddling?

Here is some great writing advice for all manners of situations: try to physically establish where the characters are

Heck, you could draw a nice stickman cuddling session in order to get everything down.

This is mostly to prevent a type of "I gently wrapped my arms around her in an unending hug as I let my free hand grasp onto her colder fingers." situation. If you didn't notice, human character grew a third hand and certainly didn't tell me.

And obviously, reread your material out loud so your pesky brain wont perform it's own autocorrect

Next, there are tons of different cuddling positions that evoke different types of atmospheres from the sultry to the affectionate to the hilarious.

Based on what I googled, there are many different names and Shingles is the weirdest thing to name a cuddling style.

Since this cuddling is taking place between "a couple who finally get a day off. (featuring her tracing his scars! :3" I'm guess that @12-cluh is probably going for affectionate.

I probably would recommend "Sweetheart's Cradle" or "The Honeymoon Hug" if you are going for an ultra-affectionate cuddle.

If you are looking for something more casual yet still affectionate then "The Spoon" and, uhh, "Shingles" . The "Sweetheart's Cradle" could still work here but that's up to your interpretation of what Romance On The Go is talking about.

2. Actual Description

Quote: "...how to describe the way the bodies are laying together?

Obviously, it's hard for me to give specific details on how to describe the scene since it's feelings which change the world and influence how it arrives to the audience.

If this is a somber affair, based on the scar tracing, then that's obviously going to influence the atmosphere. If it's a highly affectionate get-together then that's the diction.

However, in general, you don't need proper "he laid down on her" type of weirdly phrased descriptions.

You just need to get the emotion across.

For example, "He lowers them onto the bed once again, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She latches onto him and refuses to let go for the rest of the night. She refuses to let go for forever, actually. She prayes that she wasn't alone. That this isn't just another dream or mistake. When the sunlight glimmers through the curtain, she will thank the gods for this blessed union."

I hoped I communicated the deep love and desperation between these characters :3 God, I am such a bad writer.

Anyway, as you can see there wasn't a lot of detail focused on where my female character was latching onto. All the detail you need is for the movements that display emotion such as the caressing

Here is a more comedic example for more proof: "What nobody told him about cuddling is how f*cking uncomfortable it was. What should've been a delicate and affectionate affair was instead a mess of limbs and sweat as his boyfriend's ability to light up his life was far more literal then he wanted. But even if his hand may never function again as this brick shithouse of a man has lovingly passed out on it, the feeling of just being together in this shitty cot makes his soul tremble in the sweetest, strangest way. "

I regret writing examples of this. I am going to get destroyed in the comments for my shitty writing ability :`(

Anyway, there is little set-up for what limbs are where and what everyone is specifically doing.

There are other things you can do to show the audience where your characters are. "Our breath mixed together". Or "I could hear his heartbeat".

And now I need to ask you "doth that satisfy thou my liege?" I tried to do this advice right since it's you and for some reason I care about you more then I should, darling.

So please give me my validation and feel free to ask me for more writing advice. I am forever at your beck and call.

[calware]

Do you have any advice on how to write Dirk and Hal or know of anyone I could get tips from :0?

okay so first of all i want to say that i don't think that i'm really an 'authority' on the subject, or that anyone else really can be aside from andrew herself. but i do have some thoughts and opinions that i'm willing to share

#1 piece of advice is to reread the comic once in a while. or at least reread bits and pieces if that's too daunting or not feasible. the POV cam extension is really helpful for that because you can specifically reread just the parts where dirk is there (does not work for hal though iirc which is where the dialogue directory is the next best thing) anyway i suggest doing this because it's always better to have their canon depictions fresh in your mind so you aren't accidentally working off of purely fanon ones

i think this is more of just a writing tip in general but try to think about how much you intend to transform the character. and by that i mean how much you want to stick to canon characterization. no matter how far you go with it, your depiction should always be informed by canon, but you can go as far with it as you want as long as it's intentional. so for example, if you want to stay really close to canon characterization, go for it. but if you want to stick them in an AU, ask yourself how that will change their behavior, personalities, etc. and it you specifically want them to act differently than they do in canon, that's okay too as long as you justify it and make it believable to your reader. you don't have to be afraid of changing them as long as something happened to cause that change

i feel like these are the two biggest pitfalls people fall into, usually a combination of the two. either they just don't understand the character well enough to give a believable portrayal of them, they don't give the audience enough reason to believe their portrayal of them, or both. for example there are a lot of hal fics out there where he is evil and kills people for fun, which to me just tells me that the author didn't really get him. but the takeaway isn't that you should never make hal evil and kill people, just that you need to provide basis for the audience to believe that he would be evil and kill people while still feeling in-character for doing so. that's what i mean by intentionality, you need to understand why you make the artistic choices that you are making

i wrote down some common tropes (?) of hal writing i tend to see that are along the lines of "i see these a lot and they wouldn't be bad if the author just made them feel believable" if that's at all helpful. i can do some for dirk as well if anyone wants me to

3. avoid being reactionary. the homestuck fandom is so reactionary with its portrayal of characters, meaning that one mischaracterization will get popular, and people will complain about it and swing the complete opposite direction, leading to a different mischaracterization becoming popular. an example of this is everyone thinking dirk is the coolest ever, and then switching to think he's the lamest ever. just try to focus on your own perceptions of the characters based on what you read from the comic and what you agree with others on, don't form perceptions based on trying to break away from something else

4. this goes more for dirk than hal because hal isn't as popular, but just keep in mind that dirk isn't the main character. i think a lot of people attribute main character energy to him when they don't really have to. obviously if you write a fic about dirk, he's literally going to be the main character, or if he's your favorite character you're going to care about him more than the others. but that doesn't mean he's any more important, more special, more traumatized, more mentally ill, or what have you, than any other character. going back to the example from above, the people who treat him as both the coolest OR the saddest character are both portraying him as the Special Boy. when the reality is that they are all pretty special and he's not an exception

i hope that all made sense... if not feel free to ask and i can explain further if needed

[eddiernunson]

The Taste of You | Modern Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader | 18 +

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

Warnings: lowkey unrealistic, alcohol, oral (f + m receiving), marking, begging (both), no protection, cream pie, use of aftercare

MINORS DNI

Based on my friend @bebe07011 going to a concert and DM'ing one of the band members (who looks a lot like Eddie) about how much she was enthralled by his performance and him responding back. This one's for you <3

Thank you so much to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you again for editing, you're my lifesaver.

-

You lean on the counter at work, distracted by your Instagram feed. Well, not distracted, per se. There are several more productive things you could be doing, but with your manager out on an errand and no customers to serve, there isn’t really anything stopping you. A post from Corroded Coffin comes up, a few images from their latest stop on tour. You can hardly prevent an excited squeal from escaping your lips, scrolling through their images, and rereading the end of the post over and over. ‘See you next, Indiana!’

You’ve been looking forward to this since buying tickets at the announcement of their tour nearly four months ago. It’s been a summer of anticipation; each post a countdown to your own concert date.

You discovered Corroded Coffin through suggestions from Spotify, the algorithm having picked up on your tastes in rock music and suggested a more modern band. Their music is good, you discovered. Their first album Freaks in the Streets came out about two years ago, and it’s raw in its talent but their latest album, Hell’s on Fire (And So Are You) shot them into stardom. You had it on repeat for months, and their lead guitarist being hot as he was had nothing to do with your fixation.

Okay, discovering Eddie Munson, (said lead guitarist) the main lyricist on the album, had everything to do with your fixation. Every late-night TV host offered a slot for them to play their music and Eddie’s charisma as he cheekily answers questions about his off-putting lyrics drove you into over-excitement mode. You can still hardly believe you're going to be able to watch his sweaty chest perform live.

Your concert date is tomorrow, and you have everything set up. You booked it off from work, got the perfect outfit, and the tickets are waiting on your apple wallet. You set your phone down, locking it. As always, the phone lights up when it faces up and you catch the image of the glistening sweat on Eddie’s chest during a performance from a tweet that went viral a few weeks ago, a photo you immediately saved for your phone. God, he’s mouthwatering. There were several hundred women in the retweets praising him as well, so, of course, there’s no chance in hell.

But it’s nice to fantasize.

-

You sit comfortably in the level 100 seats, dressed in a somewhat alternative outfit, high waisted black shorts with a fringe hanging off them, a chain on your belt loops, and a ripped crop top with the bands logo you found in an urban clothing store. You hold a beer in one hand and your phone in the other, recording the opening act as they sing to an audience that is only half paying attention.

Luckily, you know some of their songs on their short 8-song setlist, half-heartedly singing along but saving your voice for the main act. Though, you know your heart isn’t in it when you notice the placement of the jewels you glued to your temple is awkward. When you squint your eyes in a certain way they seem to threaten to fall off. Whatever, they were dollar store jewels, anyway.

The band finishes their less than overwhelming act, thanking the audience, and teasing them with the fact that the main act is backstage and apparently excited to put a show on for their home state. Somehow, it keeps escaping you that you happen to live about 60 miles away from where Eddie Munson grew up, Hawkins, Indiana. That place certainly had a reputation for itself.

You make small talk with your best friend, who is as excited as ever, if anything, to see your face when you melt to the floor. Natalie isn’t into their music like you are, but she can admit that their music is objectively good. Free concert and the power to tease you? Natalie is SO in. “What outfit you think he’s gonna wear tonight?” You shrug, sipping some wheat water. You don’t like beer, but the venue’s options when it comes to alcohol are…limited to say the least. Natalie leans in to you. “You think he’s gonna wear a shirt this time?”

You elbow her, your cheeks heating up. Some places he wears a shirt, and it’s a day of tragedy. Some places he comes out with his chest already bare, and it’s pure heaven. Although, he is known to rip a shirt off occasionally, and you have far too many videos of that saved on your phone. “I don’t know. We’ll find out when he comes out.”

You’re in the middle of a conversation about the politics of the latest show you’re watching together and the lights go down. An electric guitar is heard but out of sight. Subconsciously, you grab your friend’s forearm as your eyes widen in anticipation, your ass literally hovering on your chair as you’re at the edge of your seat. You hear her laugh, but you can’t focus as the lights on stage dramatically light up two at a time, and out of nowhere you can see the four band members, Eddie second to the left. Oh god, he’s wearing an open jacket with a metal chain. Holy shit.

You’re on your feet and screaming lyrics before you even know it.

The night goes by in a blur, and none of the videos you’ve seen online do Corroded Coffin any justice. Their online stage presence is unstoppable. And while Eddie was a large part of the crowd draw in, you watch as he interacts with each band member, using their energy to amplify his own. He really couldn’t do this without them, which is why he’s so insistent in every interview he’s given. Halfway through the show, Eddie does a quick run backstage, claiming his jacket was ‘too fucking hot’ and when he comes out in a fishnet shirt, the crowd goes absolutely nuts.

You sit in the back of a cab, buzzed and rewatching the multiple videos you’ve taken repeatedly, smiling giddily to yourself. “That was such a good show.” You mumble to yourself, sipping from the drink you promised to the cab driver you wouldn’t spill from. You’re so drunk you barely even notice the taste of the beer anymore.

The cab driver pulls up to the hotel and you drunkenly climb out, handing him four 20-dollar bills on the way, making sure he’s tipped well for having to put up with your drunk ass. He doesn’t seem to mind too much, but then again, you’re too busy rewatching your thirst caught in 4K to even notice. God damn, the video really doesn’t put his glistening chest any justice. It was even better in person. If you could just lick up his chest, you knew every problem in your life would be solved.

Your best friend laughs behind you, escorting you to the hotel room. As the hotel room door opens you just want to climb into bed and scroll through your phone, but Natalie makes you wipe off your make up and get dressed into some pajamas. You check your Instagram, Corroded Coffin’s post from tonight at the top of the feed. There were some high-quality shots of him in his fishnet shirt that you immediately save, going over to Eddie Munson’s personal Instagram from where he’s tagged in the post.

God, he must get hundreds of DMs in a day. One raindrop doesn’t affect the ocean. I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance. Your thumb hovers over the send button, but you’ve sent several messages to celebrities before, and they never respond. So, you hit send, and you’re asleep within minutes, your lamp still lit next to you as the water from the shower in the bathroom less than ten feet away from you lulls you into a deep sleep.

-

Your 10AM alarm rings, yanking you out of a deep sleep.  If you could, you’d spend the next ten hours sleeping to shake off the hangover, but you've gotta get up to have time to pack up and get changed before check out. You can shower tonight at home. As you sit up on your bed, dismissing the alarm, the headache kicks in, making you groan. Oh, fuck, are you hungover.

You check your phone quickly, and as you scroll down your notifications, you triple check a notification just to make sure you’re reading it right. At first, you’re confused. Why would he be messaging you? Your eyes widen as you promptly yeet your phone to your friend's bed when you remember what the fuck you sent to him last night. You curl in on yourself with your knees up against your chest and your hands over your mouth in disbelief.

Natalie comes out of the bathroom after hearing your phone bounce off the bed and land on the floor. “Whoa,” Natalie breathes, seeing your stunned stature. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, shellshocked.

“Okay, can you at least tell me what happened? You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“I sent a really, really thirsty message to Eddie Munson last night and I saw a notification saying he responded.” You admit, no higher than a whisper.

“What?!” Natalie nearly shouts, a bit loud in the quiet morning of the small hotel. “Well then open it and read it! What did he say?”

“I’m scared too look!” You admit, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to your chest.

Natalie grabs your pillow and tosses it to the side, her wet blonde hair shining prettily in the morning sun. “Get up, you big baby! Open the goddamn message!”

Fuck, Natalie’s right. Doesn’t mean you liked it. You bend to pick your phone up, sitting next to her on the bed as you open your Instagram notification. Fuck, he responded only fifteen minutes after your message. “Oh you sent him a very thirsty message.”

“Look what the fuck he wrote back.” You whisper, eyes wide as your heart pounds out of your chest.

apricothamster147: I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance.

eddiemunson: Well, damn baby, are you still in town for tonight’s show? Come backstage and we’ll see about making that happen. (Send me ur email for tix)

“Holy shit.” Natalie mutters out loud, her eyes bugging to his response as well. “Well? Are you gonna accept?”

You chortle, holding your hand out to her comically. “Do you have enough money for another night?”

Natalie shrugs. “I have my dad’s credit card.”

“Are you allowed to use it?”

“Only when I need it.”

“Shit.”

“Honestly, girl, you need it. Go ahead, send him your email, I’ll get us another night.”

Your thumbs move fast, hoping his offer wasn’t due to a lack of sobriety or a glitch in the Matrix. If you’re still accepting my offer, my email is apricothamster417@gmail.com. You add a heart emoji just to be safe and send off a message to him.

Your best friend is in the middle of a phone call with her father to get him to call the front desk. They would only accept the credit card if they could speak to him. “Thank you!” Natalie hangs the phone up, looking at you. “Hotel is taken care of!”

You’re lying on your bed at this point, still in your pajamas with your palms stacked on your forehead. “What the fuck am I even gonna wear?”

“You brought multiple outfits, right?” Natalie asks you, sitting on her bed and laying down now that she no longer has to get ready to leave.

“Yeah, I brought some back-ups.” You sit up quickly, eyes wide. “I need your expertise in styling it, though. I have to look hot.”  

Natalie sits up as well, serious as she can be. “Oh sweetheart, he won’t know what hit him.”

-

An hour into her crusade, styling your hair, your phone lights up in a notification. Your phone is closer to her, so you ask her to check it, Natalie knows your passcode, anyway. You know what it is immediately based on the expression you see on her face in the mirror. “Did he respond?”

“Yes!” Natalie answers, placing the hot tool down and putting the freed hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, gimme that!” You respond, too impatient to wait for her to calm down.

eddiemunson: See you tonight (with a winky emoji)

“Oh my fucking god.” You let out, and suddenly it occurs to you that you’re seeing him in concert again. There’s even a slight possibility of you meeting him, however slim that he may remember to even do it.

A notification from your gmail rings, and you see ticketmaster. You hit it hard, seeing First Name, ‘Unknown’ Last Name, ‘Stranger’ has gifted you two VIP Floor Tickets with Back Stage passes, apparently just scanning the barcode will get you backstage. No. It wasn’t…no. This isn’t real. You stared off into the distance, eyes up from your phone. This doesn’t happen…

“Babe!”

You’re snapped out of it, realizing you zoned out in disbelief. “I’m just…a little in shock.”

Natalie smirks at you, tilting your chin on her fingertips gracefully. “Well now we know it’s fucking real, so let’s party hard, babe!”

Your eyes roll at her antics, but you love them. “Thanks for asking your dad.”

“Bitch, what’s a rich daddy good for if not for my friends?” Natalie laughs, starting to use the iron on your hair again.

Your makeup is done, rhinestones on the inner corners of your eyes, and you're wearing fishnet tights under a jean skirt and an oversized Corroded Coffin band tee. You usually used it as a sleep shirt, but Natalie insists it would work its magic.

Butterflies invade your stomach as soon as your black boots hit the pavement outside the hotel, the sunset cascading across the sky in a beautiful haze of orange and pink. As your thighs feel uncomfortable against the fabric of the cab, you hope your insides will feel as nice as the outside looks right now.

You pay your cab, all on the card, and get out, your stomach in knots. Well, it's now or never. Hesitantly, you hold your phone out for your ticket scanner on the main floor and she approves, giving you the thumbs up. “Wait.” the ticket scanner holds her hands out when she notices the big red letters, BACKSTAGE PASSES. You think you’re in trouble when you’re both handed the Backstage Pass Lanyards, decorated with the Corroded Coffin logo.

This is where you start to believe that you might’ve died last night with alcohol poisoning because there’s no way in Gods’ Green Earth is this real.

You both thank the attendant and walk to your seats, front and center, third row back. You could see the scratches on the sticker on the speakers from the inspector in the factory. Damn, were you close. “We’re going to go deaf.” Natalie comments, a half smile on your face. “Need a drink?”

“Please.” You answer, eyes wide. Natalie laughs and gets up to walk towards the bar, which is much less crowded around in the VIP section of the floor. Fucking wild.

You hold your phone and sing along to some more of the opening act's songs tonight, now gaining some familiarity with it. They’re great musicians, but they’re just not on Corroded Coffin’s level yet. They definitely have the potential to get there.

Their set list ends, and you notice that the lead singer is close enough for you to see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Oh god, you’re going to die.

Natalie tries to keep you entertained by chatting about anything she can, but it does so little to prevent time from crawling by at a snail's pace.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it’s a message from him. Wish Me Luck! You swear up and down it’s immediately after when the lights go down and the guitar starts playing off stage. Did he really just text you right before he started his show? Did that really just happen?

If there’s one thing about being in the third row with little to no one to block your view, it’s that no amount of high quality photos on twitter will ever amount to the real thing less than ten feet away. The sweat that drips down his leather vest for the night is mouth watering, the dark eyes in his expression as he performs hypnotizes you. You sing the lyrics, and jump and dance and occasionally drink, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t tear your gaze away from him.

And for a few moments, it’s like he holds your eye contact. No, that’s crazy. Nothing is happening. He has a million other girls to choose from, why would he choose you?

The concert happens in a blur, Eddie flings off the vest about halfway through the show, splashing some of his hair with his sweat. Your friend laughs at the sharp inhale that leaves your chest as you watch it. Man, he really had you in his clutches.

Eddie holds his arms out for his band as they close off the last song, all bowing together. “Thank you, Indiana! You’ve been a fucking fantastic crowd, thank you!”

“You ready?” Natalie asks you, holding out her lanyard cheekily.

“Nope.” You admit, taking a large gulp of the beer you barely touched. “After another beer I might be.”

“You really wanna meet him tipsy?” Natalie asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“I don’t wanna be afraid to say anything!” You shoot back, leading her to the bar. You buy another one, and it’s down your throat within five minutes. You inhale deeply, wiping your face off from the excess beer around your mouth. “Does my mouth smell like beer?” You ask, suddenly worried.

“If you have to ask, I think you already know.” Natalie tells you, patting your back and leading you to the sign that says BACKSTAGE in all caps with an arrow pointing left.

A big security personnel blocks the big black curtain to the backstage area. You hold out your lanyard to him, and he gruffs as he holds his hand out for it. He takes a scanner to check out its legitimacy, and once both lanyards are in the clear, his face breaks into a smile, stepping aside to allow you through. It's almost comical.

The backstage area is busier than you had expected, arrows pointing you to where the visitors go, narrowly avoiding the crew as they bustle around. You both walk into a large area where several band members talk to friends or family, all sporting towels to dab their sweat away.

“Oh my god thank you for sending that DM.” Natalie whispers to you, looking around while starstruck. “I’m sure half these people aren’t even celebrities, but this is so cool! I’m going to go and mingle, you stick around for—”

You grab her by the collar, “Don’t you dare leave me alone here.”

“Ok, how bout we both grab some food? Maybe sober up?”

“Only because I’m hungry and free food tastes the best.”

You’re slowly picking at the fruit tray when you hear someone near you call out, “Eddie! My man!” You turn around to face him, the half-eaten strawberry you drop landing on the plastic tray loudly. You quickly finish the fruit and watch as he hugs his bandmate. “What, no shower, bro? You stink!”

The room echoes in laughter, and you join them. He does stink, and he stinks marvelously. The very scent makes you salivate. His laughter, it’s even better in person. He’s never laughed like this in any interview, all calm and toned down for the camera. This is genuine, heartfelt laughter.

You turn around to lean on the table, Jesus you need to calm yourself. Seeing him up close is sending a heat to your center that you're going to need to resolve quickly.

“Fancy seeing you, here.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, barely five feet away. You turn and face him, your breath knocking out of your chest. Words cannot describe how little all of the photos in the world do him any justice. He is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Thanks for i-inviting me.” You answer, gulping at the slight shine his sweat still gives him. “You’re a really great performer…” You find yourself distracted by his chest. He’s probably going to get all sticky soon… he smelled even better up close…

“I’m gonna go mingle.” Natalie says, pointing towards a crowd of people talking to the band members. “Text me to let me know if you’re meeting me at the hotel.” Natalie gives a shy smile to Eddie and walks away before you could answer.

“Thank you.” He nods his head, giving you a smirk. Then, the unthinkable happens as he uses his thumb and pointer finger to lift your chin to capture your eyes with his own. How are they so pretty? “Are you going to make do on your promise?”

You gulp, your eyes flickering down to his pink lips. You’ve stared at his lips, how many times now? You nod slowly, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more quiet, then.” He offers, extending his hand for you.

You take it silently, his rough hands feeling warm and rough, but perfect. He leads you about ten steps down the hall, a doorway marked with his name over the words Dressing Room. As the door shuts behind him, he locks it, flinging his towel across the room. “C’mere.” He offers, extending his hand to you. You follow his instructions, sitting next to him on the couch. “You haven’t said a goddamn word, yet your message said fucking everything. Is the pretty girl shy?” He asks, thumb caressing your cheek.

You nod your head, gulping as his touch lights your skin on fire. “I—I was six drinks in when I sent you that message. …I wouldn’t have even remembered unless you replied.” You admit, leaning into his touch.

“C’mon baby, let’s see it.” You raise your eyebrows, inquisitively, wondering what he meant. “Your message! Couldn’t stop thinking about my after-show treat all day, a pretty girl begging to lick up my sweat. Show me.”

You nod to him, your near trembling hands reaching out for his chest. Eddie nods, a wild look in his eyes that nearly has you passing out. A loud exhale leaves your body as your hands reach out and reach contact with his chiseled, tattooed, chest, some sweat beads still lingering. How, you weren’t sure. Your eyes rake across his chest, taking in every tattoo you can, your heartbeat racing faster as you lean in, to finally, finally, rake your tongue up from his stomach to his chest, breathing heavily when the taste of the salt and his pure essence is even better than you imagined.

“Holy shit, she’s a fucking freak.” Eddie mutters, you feel his breath getting shallower under your mouth working on him.

You lean in again, nails digging into his skin as you give another long stripe across his skin, the taste of salt and delicious B.O. on your tongue and you let out a sigh of contentment. You crawl up to his collarbones, having noticed a pool of his sweat there gathered while he was performing.

Your tongue slides into the dip, moaning at the salty taste. Your teeth graze the bone, nibbling a little to leave little tiny bruises. You can’t wait to save the HQ pictures with these marks.

You leave one last long stripe on his treasure trail, having stared at many photos where his pants sit low. You’re nuzzling at it, breathing it in when you can feel him. Holy shit, Eddie Munson’s cock is only inches from your face.

You look up at him, and the back of his palms are connected to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and his chest heavily breathing. He looks down to meet your gaze, and suddenly he sits up, grabs your face and plants a wet kiss to your lips. Your entire body tenses up, barely able to believe that it's real. Your brain eventually catches up, responding in kind, crawling so your bodies fit closer. Eddie pushes you back lightly before you get too close, having you lie down on his couch.

“Can I, sweetheart?” He asks, moving down to where your cunt has been begging for attention.

“A-are you sure? I don’t mind just sucking you off.”

He chuckles, leaning in for another kiss. “Oh baby, you just earned so much more than that.”

Eddie trails down your body, placing kisses on your exposed neck, lifting your shirt lightly as his hands move to cup your tits. You whimper in kind. “Baby, do you know what it’s like having the most gorgeous woman in the world offer to lick sweat off you? If you just give her a chance? I saw your picture you posted from the concert and fuck, you’re a goddamn smoke show. Those eyes, your gorgeous tits, your thighs, oh my god, baby, your thighs.” He talks through wet kisses trailing down your body until he’s face to face with your jean skirt.

He pulls twice, asking permission. You place your hands on your button to undo it and Eddie playfully swats your hands away. Your skirt is pulled off your body, leaving the fishnet tights and your thoroughly soaked panties. He leans in between your thighs, and your thigh muscles slightly convulse as you feel his hot breath against it. “Shh, haven’t even touched you yet, baby.” He hushes you, his big hands gracing your thighs gently. He leans in and you can’t tell what he’s doing until he starts pulling down, and you notice one of the strings from the tights in his mouth. He can’t seem to pull them off like he wants to, and after a last try he gets frustrated, ripping them off, instead. “There, that’s fucking better.”

You let out a tiny giggle, and then you feel so exposed to him, your lacy panties drenched as he stares between your legs.

If you told yourself this would be happening 24 hours ago you’d call yourself insane…or a silly goose. You were incredibly inebriated.

He flings the fishnets across the room and reaches out to touch your soaked panties, the touch inducing a whimper from you. “You’re soaked, huh, baby?” He murmurs, petting along your panties gingerly. You whimper in response, your hips lifting to meet his delicate touch more firmly. He chuckles, watching your face all scrunched up. “If you want me to touch you, beg for it.”

“Eddie, fucking touch me please, want it so bad.”

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?”

You nod, starting to hopelessly grind your hips up. “So fucking bad, please.”

He smiles, watching the outline of your pussy as you get wetter. Without warning, he hooks his fingers around your waist band and tugs it down, and suddenly you find yourself exposing your pussy to the man who took most of your gallery's storage space on your phone. The way he looks at your pussy is damn divine. His eyes darken with lust, pink lips shine with spit, and his cheeks flush; it makes you want to close your legs in embarrassment.

They stay open, because you’re afraid to move, this must be a dream. This is too fucking good to be real.

“Fuck, I knew your pussy would be pretty, but I didn’t know a pussy could be this fucking gorgeous, look at you.” He rambles, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. He places a thumb gently on your slick, stroking lightly up and down, the sensation sending fire rippling across your skin. He sees your thigh shake the littlest bit. “Feel good?”

It does, but you want so much more from him. “Mmm hmm.” You answer, toes flexing with anticipation.

“Do you need something?” He asks, stroking your lips too lightly, not necessarily getting closer to anything. He just narrowly avoids your clit, watching you squirm as your eyebrows furrow lightly.

“I need more-I need more.” You choke out, your hips desperately rutting against his fingers. “I want you to touch me harder, or move faster, I need more.”

Eddie chuckles, hardly believing how much better you had turned out to be. “You need more? Okay, sure. I can give more.” He leans in to lick a stripe right on your neglected clit, and your hips rut up in surprise, a yelp of pleasure jumping out of your throat. It doesn’t even phase Eddie, now that he's tasted you, he doesn’t want to let go. “How do you taste so fucking good?” He asks, his voice low and husky. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense, this should be a fucking crime.”

You moan, hips grinding up against him, head back in pure ecstasy. “Your sweat shouldn't taste so good. I could bottle it like ketchup and eat it on everything.” You admit, your fingers flexing as a wave of heat runs right through you.

Eddie barely lets up, even as the sentence makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. He pumps one of his digits into you, a ringed finger, no less. Your jaw drops as he fucks into you, the hot pool of pleasure in your stomach starting to form. It's the best this has ever felt by a long shot.

Eddie continues to attack you, adding a second finger as his tongue swirls over your clit repeatedly. “Eddie…fuck…so good.” You can barely talk, your bliss radiating in every extremity. “K…Keep doi’ tha’…”

He stares up at pride at your cocked out expression, panting heavily as you feel yourself on the brink. Out of nowhere Eddie picks up his speed into hyperdrive, and you fucking keel over him, high whines escaping your throat as one hand flies into his hair and the other on the couch’s arm rest to keep you grounded.

The orgasm hits you slowly but leaves your thighs shaking underneath him in its wake. It's the best goddamn orgasm you’ve ever had. Eddie continues to place kisses on your pussy, licking up your cum from your entrance, seemingly quite satisfied with his hard work.

You're breathing heavily, looking up at him desperately through half open eyes. “You have to let me suck your cock, please Ed.”

He gives you a half smirk, you’re barely recovered and you’re begging to suck his dick? Did he win the lottery? “No, I need to feel that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock before I cum from the sounds you’re making, alone.”

You lift your heavy head up in confusion. “Sounds?”

“Have you heard what you sound like when you cum? If I had the patience, I’d be making you cum here, all night, but I fucking don’t. I need to know what the fuck your pussy feels like.” Eddie admits, and his voice sounds desperate.

You let your head fall back down, your legs falling down in unison, spread eagle. You shoot a smirk at him. “What if I told you to beg for it?”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, and you see a light flicker on in his eyes.

“Beg for my pussy, Eddie. Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

Eddie grins widely, fuck, you just keep getting better. “Please, baby. Please. Let me fuck that tight, perfect pussy of yours. Please let me feel those hot, warm walls fucking pulse around me while I give it to you hard and well, just like she deserves.”

It's more than you could ever hope for, but you find yourself feeling greedy. “Hmm…not desperate enough. You don’t really sound like you want to fuck me all that badly.”

To this Eddie actually whines and groans in frustration. “C’mon, baby, please. Let me fuck you, I will do anything to feel that perfect cunt around my cock.”

Your legs hitch around his hips, pulling him in so his hard on in his jeans meets your bare pussy. You lean into his ear, inhaling his shampoo. “If you let me mark up your neck so I can have all those petty bitches be jealous of me at your next show, then go right ahead.”

“Oh, fuck, deal.” Eddie yanks his belt and his jeans and underwear off in one fell swoop, and the sight of his cock is better than anything you could’ve imagined. He kicks them off smoothly, lining himself up with you again in a matter of minutes. “Shit, you want a condom?” He asks, used to fucking bare back.

“I’m on birth control.” You tell him as he hovers over you.

“Oh that’s a good girl.” He mutters, leaning in to kiss at your neck. “You ready?”

“Fuck me, already, Ed, I’ve been ready since this morning.” Eddie chuckles and he slides himself in, the head of his cock burning only slightly, but feeling fantastic. “Oh, oh my god.”

“Fuck…” He grunts, waiting for your go ahead. “Better than I thought you’d feel. God, is this heaven?”

You giggle in response, your pussy pulsating around him in beat. “Your cock…so fucking full.” Eddie lifts his hips experimentally, and you let out a gasp at the burn and the pure pleasure it sends through you. “More.” You choke out when he doesn’t continue right away.  

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to listen to your request, your arms wrapped around his back as you clutch onto him for dear life. He ruts into you harshly, his hips snapping as it hits your g spot intentionally at every rut.

Your mouth seems like it’s trying to form words, but your head is so foggy by the time you open your mouth, the sentence is nowhere to be found. “Look at this cock drunk little slut.” Eddie laughs, watching your fucked out face.

Your hands tug on him, forcing his chest closer to your mouth. He lets his arms buckle down, slowing his pace down as his face finds refuge in the smell of your hair, while you start sucking lightly on his chest, leaving little bite marks. As you suck on his chest, your pussy sucks him in simultaneously, causing Eddie to moan from both sensations you were giving him.

Eventually, you have purpled your way across his chest, admiring your hard work as he continues moving slowly over you. “Eddie, can you go faster again?”

“Sure, baby. Be a good girl and turn onto your hands and knees.” You listen and turn around, tilting your ass up so it’s easy for him to slide in. “Oh, thank you, baby. Now lift your head up.” You do and he yanks on your hair, pulling a good chunk at the root. “That’s good.” He puts himself back in you, causing a guttural moan to leave your lips.

“Eddie…” You gasp out, the first hit surprisingly harsh against your hips. Not a part of you remotely minds, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as Eddie seemingly fucks you as hard as he can.

“You wanna still blow me, baby? Because I’m about to blow…” Eddie doesn’t have to say another word, you getting up and onto your knees on his animal carpet to wrap your lips around his cock and bob your head. “Use that pretty mouth…”

The feeling of you choking on it, your mouth desperately trying to take his whole length sends him over the edge. Eddie moans loudly, and you do everything you can to memorize this moment for the rest of your life, because nothing will top this.

Your mouth is overloaded with his thick cum, and one last load shoots out of him onto your face as your mouth pops off him, and ok, now nothing will top this.

He’s breathing heavily, staring down at the white shiny substance that made it’s way all over your nose and lips, some dripping down your chin to land on your tits. You start to gather it on your fingers, dipping it onto your tongue like it’s donut frosting. You hum to yourself at the salty taste, looking up at him through your eyelashes for approval.

“Shit, ain’t that a sight.” Eddie mutters, watching as you hopelessly attempt to clean yourself up before his cum goes everywhere. “Here, hold on.” Eddie yanks on a pair of low sweats and grabs something, walking towards the sink in the dressing room. He walks up to you and cleans his mess off your face and your tits, his hands behind the warm cloth gentle. He tosses it to god knows where and grabs one of the waters from his mini fridge.

He hands you the water and watches you as you slowly come back to yourself, the haze in your eyes raising. Your phone buzzes on the table next to the couch, and Eddie picks up the phone to give it to you and you call out to stop him a moment too late.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at your choice of wallpaper, it couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than thirst. The sweat glistening, his hand holding the microphone delicately, his face looking rather passionate about what he was singing about. Damn, that's a good photo, Eddie thinks. “So, did I just check something off your bucket list?” He asks, holding your phone out before tossing it to you.

You get up from your knees on wobbly legs, still needing some water, apparently. “Uh,” you take a sip, wondering how to answer as a wide smile settles on your face. On the one hand, you’re embarrassed. On the other, he had to know how viscerally thirsty you were after him. “No. I just did my bucket list.” You answer, taking another sip of your water as you stand in front of him, still head to toe naked. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Eddie laughs at this, the same genuine laughter you heard from earlier.

You walk around the couch, bending over to locate your skirt.

“Lookin' for something?” Eddie asks, playfully pushing your buttons.

“My skirt…” you answer, peering across the room at this point.

“Can I be honest?” He asks, peering over your shoulder comically as you look around.

“Hmm?”

Eddie’s hands land your bare hips, tugging them backward so his boner hits your ass. “I could go for round 2.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You whisper, turning around to face him. Eddie guides you, your steps messy as you back up to his vanity, a few brushes and the eyeliner he sports scattered. He lifts you easily onto it, your legs wrapping around his torso, pulling him in. You can’t tell when he removed his sweats, but the head of his cock unexpectedly against your heat already pulls a high whine out of you, sighing in relief. “Put it back in.”

“Fuck, don’t need to ask me twice.” He mumbles, lining himself up.

Your jaw drops as he pushes himself in, watching with a heavy chest as Eddie stares down at the sight of his cock entering your slick, a gulp leaving his mouth. “Holy shit, baby.” He mutters, exhaling as he bottoms out, his eyes closing. “How have I already forgotten how good your pussy is around me?”

Your breathing is shallow, watching with heavy eyelids as Eddie closes his eyes to seemingly gain his composure. “Eddie.” You whimper, your legs around his torso tightening. “You’re the…the hottest person I’ve literally ever seen in my life. Nothing will compare to this.”

You can feel his cock twitch in response, and you flutter around him as if to second it.

“Good.” Eddie grunts out, moving ever so slowly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Nothing better fucking compare, your pussy is too good for that shit.” His tongue sweeps a long lick in the crook of your neck, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as it feels dirty, in the best way. “May I return the favour?”

You’re about to ask when you realize his question is rhetorical, and you feel his teeth start to nibble, bite, and suck hard at your throat. He feels you suck him in as you breathe out little whimpers, the relief of his tongue against your skin followed by more stinging of his teeth working on you was everything, your nails scratching down his back in an involuntary response.

“Eddie…” you moan, head tilted back in ecstasy, nearly colliding with his mirror. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Baby, fuck.” He mutters, his breath hot against your neck. “I wanna mark you up everywhere.” You fucking tighten up in response, drawing a nearly cruel laugh from him. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Uh huh…” You admit, the feeling of his hips slowly drawing in and out of you and his hot breath on your chest becoming too much, but perfect at the same time.

His tongue makes its way further down to your tit, one hand rubbing your sternum desperately as his teeth work expertly on your bud. He’s not too harsh with it, knows the exact amount of pressure to make it hurt in the best fucking way. “So fucking pretty, baby.” He mutters, his hips starting at a faster rate. He lets off your tit with a pop after sucking on it gently, admiring the bruising that’s starting to take shape across your sweaty form.

You can do nothing but cling to him, all coherent thoughts gone the moment he started sucking on your collarbone sharply.

“Got any…any summer plans?” Eddie asks, out of breath. He moves a leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, deeper than before.

You let out a gasp of pleasure, the sound nearly feral. “Y-you.”

Eddie laughs, his ringed hand rough as he grabs at your thigh on his chest. “Oh fuck baby, I’m close again, your pussy is so fucking good.”

“Cum in me.” It almost sounds like you're begging. 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, his jaw dropping comically as he takes in your request. “Fuck, you sure?”

“Want you to fill me up, Eddie. Please.” You plead, and who is he to deny such a pretty girl?

“Gonna cum with me, pretty girl?” He asks, watching in marvel as you look more and more cocked out. You pull on him, yanking his lips to yours. You kiss him wantonly, deeply, all teeth and tongue as you do your best to express what you cannot with words. You don’t have a big enough vocabulary for the moment, anyhow. Eddie takes the lead and tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a high whine out of you. “Gonna answer me?”

The edge is so close, an all encompassing heat invading your lower stomach as a palm of his hand toys with one of your nipples. Suddenly you’re aware this could be the last time you ever get the chance, so you sweep one last lick on his chest, lapping at the fresh coat of sweat like it was your first drink of water after a long week in the desert.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” He doesn’t even finish his sentence, his hips stuttering as you feel his sticky ropes of cum fill you up so deliciously.

In his haze, his fingers latch to your clit, expertly working on it in small circles to send you over your edge as well, your pussy fluttering perfectly around him.

The smell of sex in his dressing room is evident, the air thick as you both catch your breath. Your leg falls down off his shoulder like a weight is stored in it, your foot landing harshly on the linoleum tiles of the stadium. Your head rests against his chest, eyes closed as you breathe in the stench of his sweat. You need to memorize everything you can, sure you’re about to be escorted back to the main party.

Eddie surprises you, his hands soft as they cup your face, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. His mouth is gentle as he works it against yours, the light taste of pre-show alcohol on his breath. He methodically uses the kiss to distract you as he pulls out, but you still whine desperately into his mouth from the loss. A laugh escapes his lips, and you swallow it, still needing his gentle kiss. He finally separates from you, kissing your forehead as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“So…are you?” He asks, taking in your fucked-out face. Maybe you’ll let him take a post sex selfie if you reject him to remember you by.

If. There’s no way on this earth you would ever reject him, but of course, Eddie doesn’t know you’ve been stalking his Instagram.

“Hmm?” You ask, not a thought in your head for the moment.

“Doing anything this summer?”

You shake your head no, gulping. Eddie saunters around his dressing room, grabbing his sweats and another white cloth. He returns to situate himself between your legs, sporting his sweats, the hot cloth causing you to yelp in surprise.

He laughs quietly, a fond smile on his face as he continues to clean up the mess he left in you. At least, you think it’s fond. “You feel like following a ragtag band of misfits around for the summer?” He asks you, voice soft as he holds your eye contact while his hand moves idly.

“Ragtag?” You ask, remembering their electric energy. They’re rockstars, no doubt about it. There’s not one person who can deny that they earned their spot on the stage.

Eddie breathes another laugh, tossing his cloth to the side. “We are as ragtag as it gets, doll.”

You sigh, searching those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes for any signs he was joking. “I-I will quit my job…are you serious?”

He laughs, caressing your forearm. It occurs to him you’re still naked, so he walks to the couch to gather your shirt and skirt. “Dead serious. I can’t let a face like yours and a pussy like that go very easily.”

“Okay…” you answer, your heartbeat loud in your chest. You were so sure this was just a one-time (two rounds) thing that the idea of him wanting more of you never even occurred to you. It’s just too good to be true, no one is this lucky. “If I quit my job, I can’t afford to pay my own way…”

Eddie smiles, handing you your clothes. “If you don’t want to wear that skirt, I can get you some sweats from the merch table.” He offers, before sitting on the chair a few feet down from you. “Baby, I’m on the cover of Rolling Stone. You’ll be fine.”

Your jaw drops open, staring openly at the man as he watches your facial expression. “I’ll need to go and pack up…”

“Babe.” He stops you, getting up to hold your shoulders with his hands. “I don’t even know your name, yet.”

“Y/N”

He lets out an exhale, fuck, that makes sense. “I didn’t even know your name, and all I know is if I let you go then I will never be able to get you out of my mind. Whatever is stopping you, I can throw some money at it or call someone to get it done. Do you want to stay with me?”

“Yes.” It leaves your body in a sigh of relief, like coming home. Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead; you can feel his lips moving upward into a smile. “Also, sweatpants sound really nice.”

Eddie saunters over to a walkie you hadn’t noticed. In fact, you start to look around his dressing room, noticing a duffle bag by a rack with empty hangers, half opened bottles of water, and his phone sitting faced down at a table nearby. When he asks for your size, you provide it, putting the graphic tee over your head. He plops down on the couch, waving you over to sit right next to him. “Need to text your friend?” He asks, teasing you.

“Actually, can I invite her in? Natalie’s my best friend and she won’t let me live this down if I send her back without bringing her in to introduce you.”

Eddie shrugs, starting to pat his pockets for his phone. You grab it on your way to sit next to him, falling easily into his arm. “Yeah, sure, if you’re ready for her to tease the shit out of you.”

“Are you kidding?” You ask, somewhat giddy. “I’m about to go on twitter after your next show and see dozens of people asking where the hell you got your hickeys. Nothing can bring me down from that right now.”

Eddie chuckles, crossing one leg over the other in an L shape. He plants a kiss on your lips, his tongue sweeping against yours delicately. “Fuck, I’m so glad you fucking DM’ed me.” There’s a knock on the door, your sweatpants from the merch stand are delivered.

“You have no idea how much I keep thinking I’m about to wake up.” You confess, your fingers playing with the light stubble on his chin. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.” The laugh that escapes him is melodic and gorgeous. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Chatterbox (M, cold, 'drabble')

A little prompt-based fluff for you guys :) Reed and Greyson go out to dinner, but Reed realizes something is up when Greyson won't shut tf up lol. I'm loving writing this relationship, I can't lie, so sorry if it's too much Reed and Greyson lately - I'll get back to my other guys soon!

1.6K words (just a tiny lil blip of a story haha) CW: Male snz, coughing, fever, contagion mention. Hope you like it :)

Chatterbox

Reed looked down at his phone as he waited on Greyson, rereading the stream-of-consciousness texts his boyfriend had sent throughout the day.

Greyson

1:42PM

sooo pumped for tonight bb :)

1:56PM

should I wear a suit…? I know it’s a new spot but the website definitely reads ‘fine dining’, like fine-er than most of my clothes know how to be...

2:24PM

I think I’ll do dark jeans & a black button up. johnny cash style. cant go wrong w that. hahah.

3:17PM

I know ur working still but im just really excited to see you:):)

It was cute – borderline adorable – how nervous Greyson seemed for their dates, even after almost a year of the two of them being together. Reed had, of course, answered Greyson’s plethora texts throughout the day, but had tried to keep himself subdued so he wouldn’t give away his hand; tonight, he was going to ask Greyson to move in with him.

He knew it was a bit of a long time coming, but Reed was really trying to keep from scaring Greyson off by doing anything too quickly. His boyfriend certainly had a bit of past-relationship trauma that Reed tried valiantly to navigate; it was hard to figure out what the right time to do anything was. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure there was ever going to be a right time to push their relationship to the next level. But things had been good lately; like, really good. Tonight felt… right.

Greyson’s presence was palpable before Reed even saw him blow through the door. He looked up from his phone and clocked his boyfriend, standing out side the restaurant with his elbow locked over his face; Reed cocked his head a bit, confused. Was he… coughing?

The chef, clad in the Johnny-Cash-getup he’d promised, shook himself out before pushing the door to the restaurant open. He pawed at his nose with the back of his hand while asking the hostess to point Reed out – she gestured towards their table, and Greyson smiled when the two of them locked eyes. Reed waved, smiling back. Something was certainly… off.

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” Greyson said, kissing the top of Reed’s head before sitting across from him. “The fuckin’ train was running late again.”

“I’ve told you a million times I’ll come pick you up for dates,” Reed said, squeezing Greyson’s hand across the table. “You don’t always have to take the train.”

Greyson shrugged, smiled a little loopily. “I like the train,” he said, picking up his menu and squinting at the small font. “Lots of time to think. I’ve come up with my best dishes on the subway, I’m pretty sure; you remember that tart I made for the writer’s dinner, the one where we saw each other for the second time? Came up with that on the train. I was sitting next to this girl, probably a student, and she was eating one of those little egg tarts, the ones from the Japanese bakeries? I thought, damn I bet a root vegetable in one of those would fuckin’ slay – spoiler alert, it so did. Where would I have come up with that if not for the train? Plus, it’s one of the most sustainable ways to travel. I get my good karma for not actively killing the environment in. Win-win. What’re we eat – HTSHH! NXTSHH!” Greyson’s explosion of word vomit was very suddenly cut off to stifle two painful-sounding sneezes into the back of his hand.

Reed blinked for what was maybe the first time since his boyfriend sat down. “...bless,” he said after a beat. Greyson nodded, sniffled a little, and picked the menu back up.

“What’s this place’s thing anyway?” Greyson continued, flipping the menu over to look at drinks. “I can’t seem to figure it out; are they Italian? Mediterranean? Fine dining? Just high-end? No tasting menu, but prices are high enough to warrant one. Wine list reads very Italian, but there are like three dishes with hummus on them? I’m half-expecting to be served babaganoush bolognese. Which… maybe would work? Actually, eggplant, tomato sauce… I could see it working. You never know. Can’t judge a book by its menu, right? What’re you drinking? Want to get a bot -?”

This second monologue was cut short when Reed reached across the table to place a gentle hand on Greyson’s face. Just as he expected: hot.

“Babe,” Reed said gently, taking his hand back, “you’re burning up.”

The chef cast his glance down, embarrassed. “You weren’t supposed to figure that out till after dinner,” he muttered. Reed laughed.

“Seriously? You had to know I’d figure something was up. You’ve been monologing since the moment you sat down. Have you been sick all day? You should’ve told me, honey. How much cough medicine did you take before you showed up here?”

Greyson looked up at Reed and gave him a little half-smile. “Pretty sure I downed half a bottle of Robutusssin, not gonna liiii – hh! HhNXTSHH-ue! Huh-TSHH-ue!” Once again, Greyson attempted to stifle, to no avail. He allowed himself two painful little coughs before righting himself again.

“Bless you,” Reed said again. “I wish you would just sneeze normal, that always sounds so painful.”

“We’re in a restaurant,” Greyson said, a huskiness beginning to creep in to his voice. “That’s so gross.”

Reed rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Who cares? No one’s looking at us. They’re too busy with their many, many hummuses.”

A laugh bubbled out of Greyson, and with it came a flurry of congested coughs he directed into the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t mbake me laugh,” he muttered, taking a drink of water. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Good,” Reed said, flagging the waiter. “I’m so sorry,” he said when the young, well-dressed server came to their table, “something’s come up and we’re going to have to go.” He handed the kid a fifty. “Thank you for your help.”

The server nodded, said thank you to Reed, and went to grab the two men’s jackets. Greyson raised an eyebrow, confused. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking you home,” Reed said. “You need tea and soup, not…” he glanced back down at the menu, “fattoush flatbread.” Greyson visibly deflated.

“I wanted to spend the evening with you,” he said, his voice subdued. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called and canceled, I just… I mbiss you when we don’t see each other all week. You’re always busy, I’mb always busy, it just fucking sucks. I don’t even know how I got fucking sick… oh wait, yes I do. Elijah had a cold last week – was that last week? Did I tell you that? I can’t remember. I think the servers gave it to him. Fuckin’ servers, I’ve never met a group of people who get sick mbore than theehh – huh! Fuck – HUHETSHHH-ue! Huh-! HhITSZZZCH-ue!” Greyson folded in half, his torso practically beneath the table in an attempt to keep the entire restaurant from hearing him. It was, of course, at that moment that the server returned with their coats. Reed took them silently, and stood to gather his boyfriend, who slowly unfurled himself from his own lap.

“Bless you,” he said, gently helping Greyson to his feet and slipping his coat over his shoulders. He lead the two of them past the host stand and onto the sidewalk, where he turned Greyson to face him.

“First of all,” he said, sweeping Greyson’s hair out of his eyes and caressing his cheek, “I know a subset of people who get sick more than servers, and it’s chefs. You and all your chef buddies are pestilence incarnate because you work nine hundred hours a week.” This prompted a little laugh from Greyson. Perfect, thought Reed. Break the tension.

“Secondly, yes, you did tell me that Elijah was sick, and I told you, and I quote, ‘Don’t get too close, I know you two love to share a cold’, but I know you don’t like to listen to authority, so not sure what I expected.” Another laugh. Greyson pushed his hair back, rubbed his nose, and pulled Reed in to hug him. Reed continued from this spot, pressed into Greyson’s shoulder.

“And thirdly,” he said, “I miss you too. All the time. Which is why I asked you out tonight.” He pulled away, reached into his pocket, and dropped a key into Greyson’s palm. “I don’t want to miss you anymore. I don’t want you to have to take the train from Brooklyn every single night, I don’t want us to hang out once a week, I don’t want to drop you at your apartment to take care of yourself. I want to see you when I wake up every morning. I want to hear you sneak in at three AM after you and Matt go clubbing. I want to take care of you, at home, when you’re sick.” Reed smiled, a little embarrassed, as Greyson stared at the key. “Move in with me,” Reed said. “Please.”

Greyson’s mouth opened, then shut without words a couple of times before he looked Reed in the eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Okay. Yes. Yes, please.”

Reed felt a smile bloom on his face, huge, goofy, unashamed. He took Greyson’s face in his hands and planted a kiss on his lips. Greyson held his boyfriend by the waist, then picked him up to spin him around. “I love you,” Greyson muttered into Reed’s mouth.

“I love you more,” Reed said, smiling. Greyson turned away then, suddenly to -

“HRRSHH-ue! HhhITSHZZCH-ue!” he sneezed away from his boyfriend, which prompted a laugh from Reed.

“Probably too late for that nicety,” Reed joked, elbowing Greyson playfully. The chef huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes.

“I figured sneezing directly into your face would probably kill the moment,” he said, sniffling. “But I’ll go ahead and just do it next time.”

“Oh, shut up,” Reed laughed, kissing Greyson again. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and in bed. Sickie.”

Greyson smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said, looping his arm into Reed’s. “Let’s go home.”

[skyward-floored]

I think I’m coming down with a cold again and possibly have a fever but I’m here to scream about the update some more anyway! (and analyze a bit but mostly scream). Dawn part 7 here we go!

(All images belong to @linkeduniverse <3)

First off I have to say this was my favorite panel I think, it’s so pretty. The faint glow! The colors! The cape over his shoulder! Amazing. This truly was Sky’s update, I loved every bit of focus he got. Jojo fed us well :D

So it looks like I was wrong about Sky reading everyone’s mail. He just immediately took off after the mailman instead (and spent all morning chasing him ha!),

Side note but I love the npc guy. He’s simple but still Zelda-y. the character design in this comic is just👌

Looks like the mailman has a list of who he’s supposed to deliver to, or at least that’s my guess. It could be a map maybe, but that probably wouldn’t do much good since he’s time traveling?? How does he do it. Don’t question the magic of the postman I guess.

*green hill zone music intensifies*

Shoutout to Sky’s face here, I make the same expression when I’m trying to chase after my nephew and stop him from eating crayons

This looks like a postcard no joke, I'd frame this and put it on my wall. Plus the way the trees were done in the background is really neat, there’s something just really pleasing about this panel. Also the return of Sky: Just Standing There

They’re all bein silly <3

...except for Four. Because I think him and Warriors both realize that Sky isn’t just telling them what he was doing all morning— he’s got something important to say, something they all actually need to know.

(Downfall duo laughing together I love them)

Also I agree with everyone saying Warriors is close to snapping— they’ve all had a pretty stressful 24 hours, but Warriors has been breaking up arguments and repeatedly checking on everyone while they’re struggling, and... I don’t think he’s had a break. Take a nap bud, please?

SKY TALKING TO FI MY BELOVED he's hoping there’s enough of her aware to help him dowse hhhhh. And then he’s so sad she didn’t seem to hear him waahhh 😭

It doesn’t look to me like she truly helped much, but maybe Fi gave just enough of a nudge for Sky to find the postman’s footprints? Even in her sleep? She is glowing just a bit there... Interesting to think about.

It’s confirmed that the postman uses the portals! And that the Shadow is alive and kicking! Uh-oh! (Also does anyone else think this one seems more... firey? Then the last one? Maybe it's just me).

And the chopped-off darknut head is still there too.... and I’ll bet you twenty rupees somebody is going to kick it when the Links go through the portal later. (My guess is Wild but I’d put my money on Legend or Wind too).

I’m also really curious where that portal leads... My guess is either Twilight’s Hyrule or Sky’s, based on what hints we’ve been getting, but I really don’t know. It’ll be fun to see!

*Wind rapidly thinking of at least three conspiracy theories*: SUS

Also an amazing expression from him I’m laughing so hard, he really said 3:<

Tag yourself I’m Four

Also Sky just chugging away at the stamina potion, poor guy XD he must be beat from all that running around, I hope he has some more time to sit before the Links get moving.

(And I mentioned this in another post, but Legend looks so alarmed at this information, as does Wild... it’s not going to be pretty when they cross paths with the Shadow again, that’s for sure)

I love when Time breaks out the dramatic language... makes me remember that this guy is going to be the Hero’s Shade someday (who’s speech is 99% dramatic things).

Now the Links just have to decide what to do next... will they stay another day at the inn for Twilight’s sake, or get moving right away? Is Four going to confront Twilight about the dark magic he uses to turn into Wolfie?

So many questions... but in the meantime I will gladly continue to reread this amazing update, I really loved this one :D

[whenlifegivesyalemonsthrowthem]

HARUKA HASHIDA HEADCANONS AND THEORIES ARE DONE LETS GOOOOOOO

anyways hi, this is like, 10 pages/ 5,000 is words worth of stuff about my favorite boi haruka. so like... here u go. (I did not reread this, we are all gonna die like haruka's self confidence- /hj)

Haruka Hashida headcanons/theories lets go

-My man is extremely touch starved. Like- please give him a hug (This is 100% based off the one panel during our Yuka angst arc, when Haruka says that Yatora is a model student and Yatora grabs his arm and asks what he means, just for Haruka to give a confused stare in response, then properly explaining after he lets go of him.) ((This is literally him https://www.pinterest.com/pin/910641987190754649/ ))

-Remember that one line from him “Teaching is just another thing I ain’t cut out for”? (Absolutely destroyed me with that one) But what does he mean ANOTHER THING????? (Like- another was emphasized) Anyways he probably wanted to be a psychologist/therapist back when he was in middle school/ early high school, but probably decided against it since he gets too emotionally involved with the people he’s supposed to help. And he can’t help them properly if he is also drowning besides them. That’s also why he’s able to read people so easily, since to him it’s just a science. (You go into his room and he probably has an entire shelf full of psychology books or about brain chemistry or something.)  Also I feel like that would also tie into his whole thing that hes better at art history and the logic of it, rather than actually putting that to paper.

-Circling back to the previous one and this one post I saw (Also from the Yuka arc) where when he was saying to truly understand someone who is drowning, you also have to drown (And the post was basically saying that he wasn’t talking only to Yatora, but also himself.) He’s extremely empathetic. That’s also why he said things that are too strong affect him negatively. It affects him negatively since he can almost feel everything just as strongly (Thus why he decided to drop the idea of going into the psychology field in general, as well as why he didn’t want to get involved with Shoya when Yatora mentioned him. But we see with Sae, since she really likes Hashida as a teacher, he couldn’t really avoid getting involved with her.) Haruka really does try to think of situations “Logically”, but every time he goes in heart first. That’s probably why he says strong feelings affect him negatively too, since sometimes his own feelings are so strong it scares him. 

-Question, where are his parents… We never see them and he never mentions them. I feel like with most of the main cast characters we know something about the parents, or we actually get to see them, but not Haruka’s yet… Anyways my headcanon is that he usually stays at his older sister’s place. Haruka just doesn’t like being around his parents in general, and he feels bad about it cuz, well, that’s his parents… (I would have said something about his parents maybe not being around and his older sisters took care of him, but in one of the volume extras we see his sisters wanting a date with any of the students there, which all would be around Haruka’s age (We know most of em are either fresh outa high school or 2-3 years older). And I just doubt if there was a significant age gap between them that would allow his sister to raise Haruka, they probably wouldn’t want to date his peers.) (edit: JUST THOUGHT OF THIS WHAT IF HIS PARENTS ARE GETTING DIVORCED AND IT WAS REALLY MESSY AND EVERYTIME THEY SEE EACH OTHER IT'S JUST A FIGHT SO HE GOT TIRED OF IT SO HE STAYS AT HIS SISTERS INSTEAD-)

-I feel like Haruka’s parents are pretty well off, like both of them have “Ideal jobs (By that I mean the jobs strict parents always want their children to be. Doctor, lawyer etc.) and they both want that for all their children too. Like they really tried hard to make sure their children grow up to be smart and logical and foster a care for those things in their kids. That's why Haruka is more logical with his paintings and how to get a message across and not as great with the execution of drawing, like Ooba said when she was going through all of the students and seeing if they had what it took to pass the exams. 

-Also on the topic of his parents, I feel like he sees himself in Sae, thats why he was so invested with trying to refuel her passion for art, because he also knows what it’s like to have your passion for art killed, time after time. I feel like his parents really do try to be supportive, but deep down they really don’t believe art is a “respectable” job, and it sometimes shows with how they talk to Haruka. (I feel like they would insinuate it’s childish to draw. “Oh when you grow up i'm sure you’ll find something else to entertain you” “Oh, it’s intriguing how you can still hold so much child like wonder at your age” etc.) He’s had his passion for art killed over and over again by his own parents (And his lack of self esteem), and that might also be why he says that some kids will only enjoy art while they’re children. To him it’s because of the pressure from their own parents that make them quit, the pressure from society to stop being “childish” and do something “meaningful” with their lives. That might also be why he likes consuming art so much, because even when he had his creative passions crushed, his passion to see all of the art around him never died… So others art has always been there for him, even if his own art wasn’t.

-Lighter headcanon, He listens to Will Wood, Jack Stauber, and Panic at the Disco. His favorite songs are “Hand me my shovel, I’m going in”,”Tomcat disposables”, “Um, It’s kind of a lot”, “Kaleidoscope Eyes”, “The calendar” “Viva Las Vengeance” And all the songs from “Opal”(Especially Mirror Man) Also, “Ship In A Bottle” by Fin Argus

-I feel like if he was in a relationship, his love languages are quality time and acts of service (But mainly acts of service), but loves being on the receiving side of gift giving. Not in a gold digger kind of way though, in a, if his S/O handmade something for him he’d think they are the most attractive person alive for that. 

-He either has the biggest sweet tooth known to mankind, or just hates sweets. No inbetween. 

-Mk, back to the heavier ones. Y’know the one chapter cover with Haruka painting in the corner of the room? Yeah that one. Y’know how Haruka said to Sae “I wasn’t planning on painting in this place? Yeah that scene. You know how Yatora talks about whats going on with his art to Hashida, but we never hear from Hashida how he’s doing at Tama? Mhmm. You know how Haruka changes the topic a lot in this volume? You see where I’m going here? So, he’s probably going through another rough patch in relation to his art. His own creations at the moment are just… Passionless. That might be another reason why he also wanted to see the kids’ art, since it is winter break he doesn’t have to stress about making pieces for school, or pieces at all. So he’s focusing more on seeing and learning more, hopefully to rekindle that passion again like he usually does. Anyways, somewhere along his time working part time with Saeki he probably stayed late to try and paint something… Anything… Just to get him back into making art. He probably didn’t paint anything though and just gave up and probably wanted to avoid the topic of his art in general. That’s probably why he said he didn’t plan on painting there. (Also remember where he says he loves art, loves people who make art, and makes art himself? He said he loved art, and artist. Yet that repetition ends when he mentions himself. No, “I love making art”, No, “I love my art as well”, just “I make art too”…) ((Crying rn))

-Another scene in the 11th volume, right before he sees Sae again and he’s in the back organizing stuff or something. The next few panels linger on that. His hands are on the shelves being busy while Yatora’s still looking, then when the door shuts his hands drop and he’s just standing there… Then he goes back to looking/organizing things before Yatora bursts in again. You guys think he volunteered to organize the back just to avoid the whole art exhibit they had on. Cuz I feel like if it was up to him he would want to see the kids art and peoples reactions to it… Just so he can stay there alone and just be himself… What do you guys think he was thinking about? Probably Sae since she just quit… Probably just negative thoughts in general. Then actually seeing Sae just sorta made him snap (not fully, but enough to have his little “I aint cut out for this” line.) Also I think the scene with him in the back just represents his character well… Being busy and keeping up that look when people are around, and it only drops when he’s truly alone.

-Him avoiding topics isn’t new at all dudes. He’s been doing it since volume 2 (We see him do it when Yotasuke has his little “Im not going here no more” scene, and Haruka was quick to immediately go, “Guess its just the two of use going out Yatora :/ What cuts ya like?” He only goes back to the topic of exam pieces after Yatora asks AGAIN. So he only goes back to the topic once FORCED to (Sorta).) So what if during back pack arc Haruka’s really just being held together by a thread and he’s really trying to avoid any of his own touchy topics and Yatora’s just so insistent on hearing his thoughts. (Yatora’s “Why why why why why why why” Era) then Haruka just straight up snaps and we get ALL the back story :D

-On Back Pack arc theories sorta, I saw a poast saying if the next time we see him and he cut his hair they were gonna lose it (I will also lose it because how dare he, I love his hair.) Anyways, I feel like they jinxed it, it’s gonna happen (I can feel it in my bones) and I am no longer well. Anyways hes gonna cut his hair and cry during the back pack arc and he will just drop another stupid emotion damage liner and then they go home. Thats the arc. Thats why I will be crying for the rest of my life. (Also the meaning behind cutting his hair??? Yall think this is gonna be his last burn out period since his braids are a “Symbol of his dedication” as he says. And if he cuts it… No more art D: And he just drops out of art school.) ((Crying)) (I SWEAR IF THIS HAPPENS IM GONNA CRASH OUT YOU BETTER NOT, I LOVE THIS MAN AND HIS STUPID ART AND HIS STUPID BRAIDS DONT YOU DARE DO THIS TO HIM)

-Actually, if he drops out of Tama after that arc, I swear the only way Ill accept it is if he just lets himself ‘Quit’ art for a year or two, then gets back into it applies to gedai again and then Hashida gets in and all is happy. He regrows his hair and everything is fine again. The arc he deserves. Imagine, Yatora’s on his last year there and he unexpectedly sees Hashida in his first year, then Yatora’s the one giving small pointers (Like hashida did earlier in the series) it would be so cute. It Feels kinda like Kuwana’s arc tho lol.

-This isn’t exactly a hc or theory, but I wanted to point it out. I’ve always loved his self portrait, like- It’s my favorite of the bunch. Am I playing favorites? Maybe, but his and Yakumo’s are the most pleasing to look at for me. Anyways, it’s pretty on the nose that what its meant to be is a representation of him masking (Like, he literally has a mask of his own face lmao) But it’s the details I also want to point out. Mainly I just wanna point out how different that the mask and Hashida are. Firstly I just wanna point out how the mask is rendered and how Haruka is. Haruka himself in the portrait feels like it was drawn a lot rougher. Does that make sense? It looks very detailed, you can see the different ways his hair curls and what direction it goes. It’s flawed, the proportions aren’t perfect, his eye is too big, mouth isn’t quite centered, whatever’s going on with him holding the paper is a little hard to see exactly what is cut out and what isn’t. Hashida himself doesn’t have much contrast with the background, making him look like he’s fading out. His mask on the other hand, look like it’s laminated and the way it’s rendered looks much smoother to me. And lighter, like he was afraid to make any of it too dark. You can tell exactly where the mask ends because it’s not fading like Haruka. The mask is cut out from the paper he’s holding. To me this just comes off in a way that shows Haruka is a flawed person, it shows that he isn’t sanded and polished, like he’s an unfinished product that isn’t meant to be seen. His mask is much more subtle, being much easier to understand and see. It has less detail so as to not confuse. It’s shiny and in a sense “Perfect”. It was cut out carefully and made with care, and is even covered so that it can’t be smudged or ruined, and it gets that plasticy shine. Like the mask is crafted to be seen and cherished, to interact with things and take minimal damages… It’s this persona Hashida has so carefully crafted to be this “Perfect” guy and be enjoyed by many, while his real self is to be stored away to never be seen… That’s why there’s not a lot of contrast between Haruka and the background, compared to the contrast between his mask and the background. (Hashida I swear to god… #Still crying)

-I feel like every time Hashida is painting we see him with this smile plastered on his face. I mean, go back to the exams. Everytime we get a panel of all of them painting, Yatora Kuwana and Takahashi look concentrated, eyebrows furrowed, Kuwana’s tongue is out etc. but everytime we see Haruka he just has a smile… The same unserious smile we always see him with. The only time we see him not smiling while making art is during volume 11. He actually looks serious as he makes that painting with Sae. And we also have our first impressions of Hashida and his art when he;s introduces, simply by Ooba calling his art “Fun and simple”. Do you guys think he treats his art as a joke? We already know he sees very low worth in his own art… Do you think that’s why he doesn’t treat it so seriously? Because even if he could muster up an art piece with meaning and emotion all it would be to him is something that will inevitably end up smudged and teared. So to him there is no use in making something with meaning, knowing that no one would glance at his art if it wasn’t “Perfect”. So he treats it as a game. And I know for a fact it’s a deliberate choice to make his art fun and simplistic, because he is a man so full of meaning and complexities and so deep. He’s even described as knowing more about how to convey themes than have practical skill, yet he decides not to use that. He decides not to use anything he studies, or any of his own feelings… That might also be why he says he looks up to artists that can keep painting with tears in their eyes.

-Y’know in volume 5 when Hashida asks Yatora if he’s confident in the work he did for the exam? Yotora just responds that yeah, he’s nervous and not confident at all, but it’s a relief to him that he still has so much to work on and Hashida just wide eye stares at him and calls him a freak? (I’m pretty sure Hashida staring Wide eyed is supposed to emphasize things, since we always see his eyes either squinted or straight up closed, so it’s almost out of character for him to go “0-0” just wanted to point that out) Yall think his reaction was like that because Yatora is finding comfort in the one thing that scares him? The thought of not being perfect and still needing to learn always haunts him, while Yatora here is like “Oh, yeah, I’m glad I’m not perfect yet” like-??? (Hashida was looking at Yatora as if he just said “Omg I love spiders, they’re so tiny and cute, and some of em are even fluffy!” To an arachnophobe)

-I also feel like he’s the friend to remember everyone’s birthday but not many people remember his…

-I also feel like he’s very good at writing essays in general. Like he always got 100% on every essay he has ever had to write for a class because he’s very thorough in explaining everything. He’s probably been told that his essays are too long sometimes though. (He’s probably the reason some of his past teachers put max word counts on assignments.) 

-He also probably knows german or french or some language like that (Or both idk) along with english and Japanese (obvi) since sometimes he finds art books that explain the artists life, but he can never find translated versions of those books, so he spent an entire year learning the basics of the language so he can read them.

-Probably really liked Musicals in Middle/High School. 

-Anyways, do yall wonder what made Hashida go into art? Like, for Yatora it was Mori and Yuka. But what specific event made Hashida go into art?I personally think that one day he just saw a painting while on a field trip ore something and was just… Absorbed by it. To think that another person made that with their hands was fascinating to him. He literally just thinks about that painting for weeks before trying to replicate it from memory (And failing) and decided he wanted to get better at it because he too, wants to leave something behind on this world when he’s gone, to inspire some little one somewhere in the world. (Also I feel like his discovery of his very strong liking to art and him getting into drawing himself go hand in hand. They were discovered at the same time.) That’s also why he doesn’t “Love” his art. It doesn’t get that same reaction out of him that someone else’s art would make. The process of making art and enjoying the final product isn’t the same feeling that made him want to paint in the first place. Which he sees as a failing. Because if he was “good at art” he would like his own pieces just as much as other people’s pieces.

-Idk why but he gives me Gomez Adams vibes. Weird, might seem crazy, but all in all a really nice guy (Even if he doesn’t show it in a ‘conventional’ way) and would be all over his partner.

-I also feel like he either played bass or cello in middle school. (If he played an instrument)

-He’s also into conventionally “girly” things, since he has his 2 older sisters and one younger. I also feel like he got made fun of for his favorite color being pink (And it still is pink) or got made fun of for a while since a lot of things he liked were “girly” (This entire headcanon may just be based off of him choosing the unicorn parfait in the one chapter extra. I just think it would be cute if he liked “girly things lol)

-OH I THOUGHT OF THIS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT SO APOLOGIES IF IT SEEMS RANDOM Y’know how Haruka is never really honest about why he has braids (Like in his character introduction extra all we get is he’s 6’2 and has at least 50 different reasons for his braids. So obviously they’re important to a point if thats what the author decided to focus on with him.) Anyways, the real reason is tying back to my hc on why he paints. He likes to braid his hair specifically because the painting he saw that inspired him to paint was a portrait of someone with braids… He’s just been trying to replicate that high that a singular painting gave him years ago. (I know his sisters have braids too so in all actuality it’s probably a religious thing or a family thing, but let me have this okay?)

-”Nothing’s working out” by Meiyo, and Hashida are so alike… I hate it so much. My experiences with them are so similar. (“Oh! This is fun! :D” looks up the meaning of the lyrics/reads volume 11. “OH!”)

-I feel like he had a pet ferret at some point in his life.

-Back to serious again, I feel like he likes to isolate himself when he’s upset. Like, he deliberately avoids everyone if he can and if he does have to interact with people he keeps it very brief. Mostly cuz he doesn’t want to burden others with his own problems. He knows everyone struggles with their own things, no need to add his problems into their life too. (Yes, this is also based off of the scene before Haruka talks to Sae for the last time.)

-anyways, there’s only one bed during the Europe trip arc and Hashida and Yatora have to share. (I don’t ship em but I think their dynamics would be funny if they had to share a bed.)

–Haruka is a very light sleeper. Yatora wakes up in the middle of the night and decides to go out to get a snack. 5 seconds later Haruka’s right behind him “where ya going yatora? Can I come :3” “AHH! Wth hashida?” “You woke me up :( anyways where we goin’?”

-I feel like Haruka IS childish. Not in the sense of immaturity tho, in the sense you tell a little kid “Wow, you’re so mature for your age” kind of childish? Do you get what I mean??? He’s child mature rather than adult mature…???? Mostly saying this because for volume 11, the extras about the kids it just says their observant, and it’s also pointed out throughout the volume that kids are observant. Throughout the volume who else is constantly pointed out to be observant? Hashida! That’s mostly where im getting the headcanon from lol

-on that, if hashida was in genshin and went to sumeru, he would be able to see the aranara 

-also, his favorite character is Al Haitham (second is Kaveh though)

-He really likes mythology/learning about polytheistic religions since he loves to read about how people believe their gods act and treat each other and how they treat the mortals etc etc. 

-You know how art is just drawing what you see in life? You draw and paint your interpretation to life? I feel Hashida’s art is how he WISHED the world was, rather than how he SEES the world, y’know? Funny, entertaining, and simple. We haven’t seen his nude painting but maybe thats why he failed, because he didn’t depict what he sees the nude body as, he painted what he wished it was. (Also i know he mentions this in the anime, not sure abt the manga, but he says he was basing his nude painting off of all the other nude paintings he knows of and that was the main thing. So I feel like his painting was through a rose tinted lense. Romanticized  and beautiful. That’s taking in his views about art and such.)

-Also when he says that passing the first exam was just pure luck? I know that was before they got the results (I think) but i feel like he only said that to put himself down, like saying he was only gonna get by because of luck? Maybe it’s so he didn’t get his hopes high for the second exam, maybe because he truly believed his self portrait wasn’t worthy of passing. Both feel like him. (Edit: HEAR ME OUT HE MENTIONED HE WAS REALLY LUCKY AFTERWARDS TOO "I really am I lucky duck for passing the first exam. Now I can take the second one" and then he starts creepy laughing- idk but the way he was saying it and the panels of him make it feel much more condescending on himself I-)

-I don’t think he does sports but if he had to he’d pick up fencing.

-I feel like he grew out his hair mainly because he wanted to donate it. He either had a family member or a friend go through a tough patch and knows that even if having no hair is still beautiful, some people are insecure about it. So growing out and donating his hair sounded like a good idea to him. Whatever he could do to help people be less insecure. He ended up being really proud of his hair though, he found it pretty and he didn’t want to cut it. So he hasn’t donated it yet. He feels selfish every time he looks in the mirror.

-That’s also why they’re a symbol of his dedication to art. He was “selfish” enough to keep his hair and he was “selfish” enough to pursue art, despite his parents wanting something else for their only son. They are a symbol of his art, his soul, his selfish heart.

-Everyone has their little staple for their art style, y’know what I mean? Hashida would say he doesn’t have one, cuz all his art is HEAVILY inspired by other artists, so he doesn’t believe it’s his unique staple, but his staple is constantly doing pink or red underpaintings in his colored pieces. He likes the color and how warm it usually makes everything.

-He had 100% wore heels before (Nothing crazy, just an inch heeled boot or something) and I feel like he’d love heels. He doesn’t wear em often though since he feels like their too loud constantly going “Click click click click” 

-On that note. It’s pointed out a lot that he just sneaks up onto people and no one hears him walking behind them. I feel like just cuz he walks on the balls of his feet/tippy toes. He doesn’t do it on purpose tho. If he did have heels on often it would help with his little habit  also make more sound for other to be aware of him lol. Idk why or how he started his walking habit, yall can leave what you think lol

-someone draw him in heels IM BEGGING YOU-

-I feel like he’s dabbled with makeup. He just views it as a different form of painting. A paint you can put on your face :D He doesn’t see it as something to make you look prettier/ fix your “flaws” or anything like that, its to make fun wild shapes with vibrant colors. It’s yet another form to express yourself in, only difference is that it’s plastered on your face.

-I feel like it’s a little hard to make him laugh. Not too hard, but he has a really obscure sense of humor that’s hard to nail. When he does laugh it’s just a little giggle, but if you get him laughing hard he starts wheezing. Like, hands on his stomach, leaning forward, kind of laugh lol

-I feel like he’d love epic the musical also miracle musical. I know I should have mentioned this when I went over his music taste but to bad I’m adding this now

-He also probably has a huge collection of poetry, like books upon books filled with peoples poetry. He likes trying to decipher the meaning behind them.

-he just has a collection of like 50 black turtlenecks in his closet like a cartoon character would lmao

-Has “girl nights” with his sisters. They all have their little spa night and do face masks and do each other's nails.

thats all i got thanks for reading my probably incomprehensible thoughts

[taintedsoul-if]

Pogress report Jume 4th — 11th.

Today is a beautiful day, isn’t it? Maybe it’s because it’s progress report day?

Okay, so first off I’m like that one person that spawns and respawns every couple hours, so please don’t hold it against me, lol.

So far, this week hasn’t been my week at all, but I’ve jotted down my pointers. I’m hoping to do some hard writing tomorrow since my schedule is finally clear for once and I’m not up to my neck with life’s struggles and pain.

For this week, I plan to finish up the early morning scene between MC, Rallyum, and Nightingale, then dive into the school introduction. Good thing I already have 15k rough-edited words for this scene, because otherwise I’d probably be rolling on the floor crying my eyes out.

This arc is going to be step-by-step, especially since we have a few test matches coming up that need to be done right. I plan to include a variety of choices where MC can boost their stats. For example:

If you fight with C, all stats will gain an additional 10 to 15 points.

If you fight with a random student, only one stat will increase by 1%.

Based on dialogue, Cadmus may or may not fight MC.

If you don’t want to fight C, you can directly challenge a seasoned student (coughs T coughs).

Advice: Do not use your summoning abilities. That’ll only make the Emperor believe you really did summon the Fangwraith—when you didn’t.

I’ve been wondering when exactly the masquerade ball should happen. Then I remembered—I haven’t introduced the Empress Dowager yet. So... why not have her birthday banquet be masquerade-themed? And yes, all the smutty things that were promised will happen. So Chapter 4 will mostly focus on:

The academy intro/test matches

The dowager’s masquerade birthday banquet

And why didn’t anyone point out that I’ve only written content for like 3–4 days so far?? Y’all let me forget about the power of time skips! 😆

I’m still in the process of learning how the *goto_scene command works. The chapter jump feature won’t be implemented in the next update I’ll be pushing in a few days, since I need to go back and reread everything—especially to gather all the *if statements. That way, I’ll be able to ask questions based on past choices. I also need to collect and organize all the crucial lore crumbs and store them on the stat page. It’s a lot of work, but fingers crossed that by the time September rolls around, Chapter 4 will be ready for public release.

On days when my writing output is low, I figured—why not work on the smut scenes for Chapter 4? So yes, I’ve got a scene where a female MC is being poked and prodded by Cadmus’s fingers… ahem. Revisiting old documents really does awaken the thirsty gremlin in me sometimes.

Anyway, it’s night now—I’m taking the rest of it off to regroup and get my shit together for tomorrow, because... it’s crunch time. 🙂‍↔️

Tomorrow is the weekend, so I hope you all get the chance to unwind—maybe watch one of your favorite movies or kick back on the sofa with a shot of tequila. I don’t really know what young people do for fun these days. (Yes, the author is very young, but she tends to forget her age sometimes—which always leads to chastisement from her sister, who reminds her she’s the younger one. 😂)

Anyway, have a good one, everyone. 🫶

[coraniaid]

Tagged by @jannacalendar.

Rules: give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the fewest words.

Fic with the most hits (and also most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, ...) is Coexist, my Season 3 Buffy AU. Jenny Calendar survived Season 2, but not everyone did. Angel never got his soul back before Buffy sent him to hell. Now Buffy has a new Watcher, and she's brought another Slayer with her to Sunnydale.

I started writing this in late 2020 and posted the first chapter in February 2021. I wouldn't be finished for twenty-six months, twenty-seven chapters and about a quarter of a million words. It's easily the most popular thing I've ever written (just checking now, it doesn't just have the most hits of any fic I've published, it has the most hits of any Teen- or General-rated Fuffy fic published on AO3, which is wild), and I think it's probably the best, too. Will I ever write a sequel? Well, one day, maybe ...

Fic with the second most kudos is another Buffy AU, Last Year's Rain Didn't Fall Quite So Hard. Faith wakes up from her coma in the middle of Season 4, but she's forgotten everything that happened since before Allan Finch died.

I wrote this as part of a gift exchange at the end of 2023, and I think it's best read alongside @bodytoflame-ao3's trying to drown in the fountain of youth. Without meaning to, or really coordinating in any way, we ended up writing a pair of stories that explore some very similar ideas (we both even named our respective fics after songs about water).

Fic with the third most comments is Residuum, my long dormant -- I guess it's probably fair to say 'abandoned' at this point -- Mass Effect AU. How would the galaxy be different if, shortly after humanity finding the Charon mass relay and settling their first interstellar colonies, Earth had been cut off from the rest of galactic civilization?

I originally started posting this on fanfiction.net in 2018. It was the first fanfiction I'd ever written (as an adult, anyway), and in hindsight I was ludicrously optimistic about just how much I'd be able to write (I managed 19 chapters of a planned 67). I think I learned a lot by trying to write it but I just wasn't able to keep up the energy I needed and in hindsight I suspect I never would have been. (If anybody ever wants to message me and ask about it, I'd be more than happy to talk about where the story was going to go: I had a huge amount of notes and timelines and ideas and half-written chapter fragments and the plot was going to eventually bring together ideas and concepts from all three games of the original trilogy.)

Fic with the fourth most bookmarks is another Buffy one: Mixed Signals. Fuffy, again, to nobody's surprise.

This was originally written as a prompt-fill on Tumblr (the prompt was "I've got you"). I couldn't work out which season of the show I wanted to set it in, so I went with ... all of them?

Fic with the fifth most words is The Choice. Back to Mass Effect for this one. Two different takes on the end of the second game, as two different Shepards lead their crews on a last desperate assault on the Collector Base.

I think this was the first fanfiction I ever actually finished? A bit of a Sliding Doors style experiment on my part: one Shepard's story is told in the present tense and the other is simultaneously told in the past tense, and the two versions of her are dimly but not quite aware of one another (in the way one is always aware of choices we didn't make and lives we might have had as a result). Rereading it now for the first time in -- well, years, I assume -- I think it holds up okay.

Fic with the fewest words is the only real work in progress on this list: Take Me Somewhere Nice, another Buffy Season 3 AU, this time a Kendra & Faith story. To paraphrase the AO3 summary: "Kendra never dared to ask her Watcher what would happen when she died but, deep down, she'd hoped the world would be kind. That when whatever was going to happen had happened, when she'd fought her last fight, she'd open her eyes somewhere better.  But the world isn't kind. After Kendra died, she found herself in Boston."

Stalling quite a bit on this one at the moment -- only chapter published so far is from September -- but I'm excited to try to get back to it this month. I've talked on this blog previously about some Kendra headcanons and plot concepts, and I'm keen to actually try to explore some of them a little bit. (Think this should end up being about a dozen chapters long when completed, give or take.)

Tagging: @bodytoflame-ao3, @explosionshark, @juanabaloo, @finalgirl1984, @quillbard and anybody else who wants to try this.

[your-local-uwu-artist]

finally posting my part serpentine jay design to celebrate new OBNL chapter.

rants and bonus art under the cut!

anyway OBNL (once bitten new life) is a ninjago fanfic diverging from Jay's true potential episode where he stays part serpentine: Exactly what 9 year old me would have wanted!! when I first found the fic was during the 'hiatus' after the child's play emotional breakdown. making it especially comedic that the fic was currently on the episode I was currently on. rereading it only gets better with me now having over 18 season's worth of emotional attachment to the franchise.

anyway this fanfic lowkey feels like: tailor fuckign made for me. I think I've mentioned this before but I have a thing for a very specific 'trope' that RARELY gets explored as much as I want it to. that being characters coping with transformations. hell I even have this wip

you'd think this trope should be common enough right? NO! because it's not very often actually EXPLORED. like I need character's learning about their new physiology. having extended identity crisiss. I need the new changes they have to cope with not just being 'objectively cool fangs' a la 'character gets bullied for heterochormia when that's a fucking awesome feature' but like, be a little weird. I crave this content so fukcing badly like I can't even.

so finding this fanfic is just: such a godsend. like! 'hello sir here's that favorite trope you ordered! also it appeals to your childhood special interest immensely so you're going to get very emotionally attached to this work of fiction very fast.'

to give you an idea of how much I love this fic: while it will be mentioned in my ninjago video (YES IM STILL WOKRING ON THAT THERES BEEN TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES NFKJNSKDA) I honestly think I'd rather give obnl a seperate video. it deserves it <3

anyway! my special boy! my snake jay design!!!! it's not actually canon compliant to obnl because I am allergic to not exercising my creative license! I just had to talk about obnl anyway.

have you ever looked at teeth chart's at 1:00am? have you ever found it important to have made up headcanons about serpentine dentals? I have!

do you care deeply about the most mundane worldbuilding shit ever? and wanted to know 4 different ways that tail accommodating clothing could work?

anyway! the finger count is actually not just stylization 'only 3 fingers' is a personally favorite fantasy species trait of mine. I think cause It makes for a world where human's also have unique features instead of feeling like a 'default'?

the back pattern is VERY LOOSLY based off of the japanese kanji for lightening. I just wanted something more interesting to work off of as a base shape other then just a diamond.

anyway! I have amassed a small collection of general serpentine headcanons over the course of my obsession with this au. (which is now also being assisted by Frak <3 he's lowkey so incredibly stupid and I love him. I have a handful of techtonic art including a comic in the works btw. idk if I mentioned this in one of my dr overviews but like, I just really love that we get serpentine character in the main cast. def wasn't on my bingo card and I am satisfied <3)

alright thats all for now! also DELTARUNE SO SOONNNNN!!!!!! (funny enough this is actually relevant to the current conversation as my personal version of deltarune tomorrow is 'nothing bad is going to happen in the next obnl chapter!)

hyped for monstrosity too ofc!! I'm so excited that they're letting my boy be a shonen protag again <3 they havnt let him do that sense season 7 <3 but finally he can thrive in his home environment <3 I love him so much guys <3 he's a special princess to me <3 my favorite anime shonene protag? um Kai Smith Ninjago OBVIOUSLY <3333

okay NOW i'm done!

[secriden]

yeah it was me who made the post about subbing in the assassins for the women - tbh i think you can assume if there’s a meta post about thk and comparing it to taming, im the one that made it cause i have genuinely not seen anyone else making meta posts about it shskdhd which is like fair! i get that people are way more familiar with 10 things and i also get the urge with the source material being so heavily about misogyny, but tbh i feel like you’re taking away from either one by making it about men, because while the misogyny isnt as prominent in 10 things, kat being a feminist is very integral to her character, so either way there’s things that are being lost if we’re saying it’s based on 10 things. but it’s just. very frustrating when i or other people comment on taming and people reply with stuff like “oh it’s not even actually based on that lol” because!! it is!! it actively is!! like i know a lot of people are gonna miss the direct references, hell IVE missed a number of references that i only caught upon rereading taming post ep5 but it’s such a discredit to jojo and the team when they have put in the WORK of this being a shakespeare adaption for so many people to just kind of dismiss it. like i have my grips with taking out the women but subbing them in for assassins and therefore allowing the stakes to be raised to the same manner that the misogyny exists within taming is something i have genuinely not seen in another taming adaption and it is utterly fascinating to me and it’s a genuinely interesting route for them to have gone. sorry for going off in your inbox but as a shakespeare nerd/someone who got their degree in theatre, i take the shakespeare aspect of this show far more seriously than most other people and it’s genuinely frustrating to me when people dismiss it shskdhd

Ok first off, please don't apologise for going off, I love this! I love reading about other people's passions and how they influence perspectives on something I also love because it's soooo fascinating to me the details that other people see that I'll miss because I don't have the same interest/background/experiences. Like. Everything Style right now is going to be tied to him losing his mother and how that influences his Character and Personality and Way of Looking at the World, but I'm also conscious that it's because that's literally My Story, too. Anyway, sorry for going on a bit of a tangent there.

I didn't mean to downplay (my tags here for context) the inaccuracy of assuming that THK is an adaption of 10 Things vs ToS, but what I was trying to get at is how it's simply easier for a contemporary audience to see scenes like Style embarrassing Fadel in the stadium as being a reference to 10 Things and Patrick serenading Kat at the end of the show and ignore the way the tone and the intention of the characters (Style in ep 3 vs Patrick at the end of the movie) are TOTALLY different, and actually Style doing that was far more in line with Petruchio subjecting Katherina to public humiliation in his method of wooing in the early stages of the play (although tbh I don't think that ever really changes in the play and in THIS, at least, I'm glad THK is ALSO a romance). Even the way the people in the stadium respond to Style's antics with baffled amusement is a better reference to how Petruchio's behaviour was mostly accepted by the society at the time despite how cruel it really was to Katherina.

But yeah, like, its just harder to see that because while both ToS and 10 Things actually does, as you say, deal with misogyny very intentionally, because they're both depictions of misogyny set in their respective time periods, what we see in ToS is SO alien vs what we see in 10 Things. And since THK is again an even more recent/current adaption, the social 'vibe' it has is closer to 10 Things than to ToS.

As a 90s kid, 10 Things was one of my favourite movies precisely because it unflinchingly commented on (and dramatised) my own experience of how girls/women were required to behave/speak/think in certain ways to fit a 'feminine' ideal, but if you compare it objectively to ToS, what it depicted was so much tamer (pun not intended) to what women in Shakespeare's time experienced.

And as someone who's currently working in education, it's sad to see the way classics like Shakespeare's plays have slowly lost value in education for more "modern" and "relevant" pieces of literature because I actually think the lessons to be learned in these works are so valuable and necessary to raise a generation of nuanced thinkers.

And the byproduct of this is that when people are watching something like THK it's simply harder to appreciate where the true inspiration lies.

[purrincess-chat]

Adrien Agreste's Road to Recovery Playlist CH2

Surprise~ Sorry it took so long to upload this. School is an unforgiving mistress, but I'm off for the summer now, and I want to tackle this fic more aggressively. I came up with an idea for this fic in the interim, so I tweaked one minor thing in chapter 1, nothing you need to completely reread it for unless you just want to, but I will say moving forward to pay attention to the details in this fic ;) The first person to figure everything out will get brownie points. I am about halfway through chapter 3, and my goal is to have that one ready to post by my birthday in a couple weeks. I don't have a lot going on this month, so I'm going to try and hold myself to that. Anyway, enjoy~

**Also as an aside, another character you should know about if you didn't read MDCSPR is Danielle, Marinette's assistant who was hired after her fashion brand took off. She's not majorly important, but she is in this chapter, so just to avoid any confusion on who she is XD

Previous Chapter >> Next Chapter

Read on AO3

Chapter 2

♪♫ this is me trying ♪♫

“I’ve been having a hard time adjusting.”

- - -

When Adrien woke a few hours later, he jolted upright, eyes flicking around the unfamiliar room, but memories of the previous day followed by a few deep breaths slowed the hammering of his heart. Marinette was gone, likely back upstairs to her room to avoid a lecture from her father about sharing a bed with her boyfriend. The digital clock on the small desk an arms-length away from his bed read 5:23AM, but his mind was awake and racing, making any hope of falling asleep again pointless.

Swinging his legs around to the floor, Adrien stood up with a pained hiss as his knee twinged in protest, still sore from his fall on the concrete. He hobbled over to the bathroom where he found some lidocaine cream and rubbed it onto the forming purple bruise. It helped, a little anyway, and he continued upstairs. The lack of loud snoring coupled with the intensifying scent of fresh bread as he climbed the stairs signaled that M. Dupain was already awake and hard at work in the bakery downstairs.

The living room was dark and still, and Adrien paused at the base of the stairs leading up to Marinette’s room, tugging at the hem of his shirt. It was way too early to wake Marinette up, and after chasing him around in the cold for an hour, he doubted she’d be too happy if he did. He could see if M. Dupain needed any help in the bakery, but he didn’t know the first thing about baking. Actually, he’d probably be more of a hindrance than a help… Maybe he could make breakfast?

Adrien maneuvered his way to the fridge in the dark, wincing against the light when he opened it, and as he scanned the shelves, it dawned on him that he also didn’t know the first thing about cooking. He’d always wanted to learn, but his father forbade him from using the stove, a memory that brought with it flashes of dark grey he’d rather not think about, so he shut the fridge with a huff. Breakfast was off the table until Mme. Cheng woke up, he supposed.

He could go for another run, but his knee throbbed at the very thought. Video games? He wasn’t in the mood, besides he didn’t want to wake anyone up, which also ruled out TV. School was out for Christmas, all of his friends were probably asleep, he didn’t see his therapist again for a few days, and there were no lessons or photoshoots scheduled for him. There was no schedule for him. The thought made his pulse race. Although part of him had known having a packed daily schedule organized for him by his father’s assistant wasn’t normal, in a strange way, he relied on it. For so long it had been his normal, and without it…

Adrien sat on the couch quietly, chewing the inside of his cheek and curling and uncurling his fingers. It was all he knew how to do in the moment. Sit. Wait for instructions. Wait for permission. Gray eyes. He sighed. He couldn’t take his anxiety meds for a few more hours, besides he needed to take them with food, which he didn’t know how to cook. Gray eyes. Deep breaths.

5:38 AM according to his phone. It wasn’t the slowest time had ever moved for him, but he did find himself wishing someone would wake up to keep him company. While he had his phone out, he clicked the icon for Instagram, and Marinette’s private page popped up with a picture from their homecoming party the day before. In it, their cheeks were pressed together while M. and Mme. Dupain-Cheng held up a cake in the background. There were several messages from their friends, expressing happy sentiments at his return to the outside world and wishing him well. He smiled, liking several comments before continuing to scroll. He’d missed a lot in a few short months — birthday parties, sporting events, charity drives, plays. His friends had kept busy while he was away, not that he expected any different.

He kept scrolling and liking posts, doing his best to avoid any mentions of the incident, but it was only a matter of time before he stumbled across news footage of his father’s mugshot. He closed the app and tossed his phone to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. Grey eyes, hard and cold. He wanted Marinette.

Before he could jump up and run to her room, the light clicked on over the stairs leading to down to the rest of the apartment, and tired footsteps made their way up. Adrien’s heart pounded nervously, and he did his best to mask his anxiety as Mme. Cheng appeared.

“Oh!” She startled, clutching her chest when she saw Adrien sitting awkwardly in the living room. “I didn’t know you were up. Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone up…” he said timidly.

“Oh, dear.” Mme. Cheng placed a hand over her heart. “You’re very thoughtful, but I’m not sure you could wake Marinette if you tried. It’s why she’s always late to school.”

She flicked on the light in the kitchen, and Adrien squinted as his eyes adjusted.

“Are you hungry? I can make some breakfast. Marinette won’t be up for a while, so don’t plan to wait for her,” she said.

“Yes, please.” Adrien shifted his weight as Mme. Cheng moved about the kitchen with purpose. “Can I help with anything?”

“Sure, dear. You can fill the kettle with water for coffee.” She nodded to the electric kettle.

Easy enough. Adrien carried it to the sink and filled it to the line with water. Once that was finished, he stood and patiently waited for his next instruction, and after a moment Mme. Cheng flicked her gaze between him and the kettle. He offered her a small smile, and she pointed to the warmer on the counter.

“Set it there and press the button on the side.” She retrieved the leftover bread from the previous day and sliced it to make toast.

“Right.” That felt obvious.

She moved about the small kitchen with ease, knowing exactly where everything was. Adrien, by contrast, didn’t know where anything was, and stood awkwardly by the fridge while she worked. Feeling in the way, he opted to set the table with two plates and mugs. He sat quietly and watched her work, taking mental notes of what was in each cabinet and drawer for future reference. If the sleepless nights continued, he didn’t want to wait for someone to wake up every time.

“Did you sleep alright?” she asked as she set butter and several jams on the table in front of him.

Adrien didn’t have the heart to tell her what transpired after she and her husband went to bed, so he simply said, “Yeah.”

Mme. Cheng gave him a knowing smile. “It will take some time to adjust, but we hope that you’ll be comfortable here.”

“Thank you — for everything,” he said.

He watched as she pressed the coffee, which she seemed to notice because she held up the kettle and asked, “Would you like some?”

“Uh, sure!” He averted his gaze, cheeks hot after being called out. “Sorry, it’s just that… you do everything so effortlessly, and I can barely figure out how to work a kettle. I’ve always had someone to do everything for me, and being here has me realizing that I don’t know how to be a regular kid.”

“Well—” Mme. Cheng filled his mug — “there are no maids or personal chefs or assistants here, despite Marinette begging to hire someone to do her laundry for her now that she has money to spare. It’s important that we all learn how to do things for ourselves. It’s how we learn to be responsible and appreciate what we have. You’ll learn with time.”

Adrien stared at his reflection in the cup and pursed his lips. “Could you teach me how to make breakfast?”

Mme. Cheng searched his expression, then nodded him over. “Of course.”

Adrien had been taken care of his whole life, or as he’d come to realize through months of therapy, he’d been managed his whole life. Never allowed to make his own decisions. Never allowed to have any kind of independence. Instead, he was expected to perform under a spotlight he never asked for, a pretty show pony in a cage. His father had treated him more like a pedigree poodle than a son.

The Dupain-Cheng’s were different. Marinette knew how to do everything her parents did around the house, and even now, she was expected to. A normal girl with a normal life. Or mostly normal anyway. And for the first time in his life, an adult was treating him like a normal kid. Mme. Cheng was patient and kind as she explained each step to him. Sure, making coffee and toasting some bread wasn’t that difficult, but it was a step. And to him it meant the world.

After breakfast, Mme. Cheng retreated back to her room to dress for the day, and Adrien was left alone again. He tried not to pace, but after several minutes of silence, he couldn’t fight the twitch in his legs. The living room was bigger than his bedroom, but it still wasn’t enough. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the details of the room in an attempt to take his mind off things. Old family photos from Marinette’s childhood were scattered on the walls and bookshelf. She was cute and smiled so freely, unlike the portraits that adorned the walls of his childhood home that bore more somber expressions. He curled his hands into tight fists and resumed pacing.

Mme. Cheng emerged again after a while, but she headed down to the bakery to help her husband open for the day. Adrien flopped back on the couch and picked up the latest issue of Audrey’s magazine resting on the coffee table. Marinette’s brand had a center spread, unsurprisingly. He’d been out of the loop for so long, the designs were foreign to him, contrasting the closeness they’d shared last summer. She used to show him all of her designs excitedly before sending them to Audrey. A chill pricked his spine, and Adrien shivered. He tossed the magazine back on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch.

Snow flurries drifted in the breeze outside, and Adrien rested his cheek against the pillows, watching white flecks out the kitchen window and picturing the bygone summer when things were simpler. Back then, their problems seemed so large. Adrien knew now just how tiny they really were. Lila’s meddling seemed so trivial now.

He closed his eyes, imagining the warm summer sun on his bare shoulders while they lounged by the pool at the Grand Paris. The gentle pressure of Marinette’s lips on his own and the soft curl of her fingers around his hand. He’d never been happier.

Lost to his fantasies, he must have dozed off because the windows were brighter when Mme. Cheng returned to the apartment, the smell of fresh croissants wafting in with her. Adrien blinked a few times to reorient himself. She offered him a smile, setting a plate of buttery pastries on the kitchen table.

“I brought up a snack if you’re still hungry,” she said. “You can turn on the TV if you’d like. There’s not much on this early other than the news though.”

“I’m okay,” Adrien said.

Mme. Cheng clicked on the news anyway before retreating down to her bedroom.

The ceiling creaked above him, sluggish footfalls thudding against the hard wood floor signaling that Marinette was awake. He traced her steps all the way to the trap door, which opened as Marinette emerged in the same fluffy pink pajamas she’d been in when she rescued him. Her hair was frizzy and poked out in places, and she descended the stairs with a yawn.

“You’re up early,” Adrien remarked.

“I have a job now,” she grumbled.

He stood up to greet her with a kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Better,” he said. “But more importantly, I learned something new today.”

“Oh?” 

“Your mom taught me how to make breakfast.” He grinned. “Would you like some?”

A smile curled on her lips, and she stretched up to kiss him again. “I’d love some.”

Adrien moved to the kitchen, clumsier and less refined than Mme. Cheng, but he was able to produce two pieces of toast and a fresh cup of coffee for her — two creams and one sugar, just how she liked. He presented it to her with a proud beam that earned him an affectionate hair ruffle.

“Thank you, kitty,” she said. “Will you get me a yogurt from the fridge?”

“Of course.” He handed it to her with a bow.

The doorbell rang as Adrien sat next to Marinette at the table, and Mme. Cheng emerged from downstairs to answer it. Heels clacked against the wood floors as Marinette’s assistant approached, dressed in a tasteful Marinette-branded pantsuit with her nose buried in a tablet. Adrien recalled Nathalie doing the same to him every morning, but the thought brought with it flashes of things he was trying not to think about, so he shifted his gaze to the table.

“Morning, Danielle,” Marinette said.

“You have another long day ahead of you, Marinette. You’re presenting your summer collection to be carried in several boutiques around Paris, then you have a magazine interview, lunch with Audrey and a couple investors, plus you promised to make an appearance at the De-akumatize foundation,” Danielle recited.

“Right.” Marinette sighed. She shoved a large spoonful of yogurt in her mouth, then retreated back upstairs to get dressed.

Mme. Cheng offered Danielle a cup of coffee while they waited, and she helped herself to a croissant. Adrien drummed his fingers on his thighs, watching Danielle expectantly.

She offered him a smile and asked, “How are you, Adrien?”

“I’m…” He would spare her the details. “Adjusting.” That seemed safe.

“Good.” She nodded, taking a sip of coffee.

She and Mme. Cheng struck up a conversation about Marinette’s work, and after a couple minutes, Adrien cleared his throat.

“So, what’s on my schedule today?” he asked.

Mme. Cheng and Danielle eyed him a moment, the same crease bending their brows. It was a look Adrien knew all too well at this point — the look of pity. Every time he saw it, his pulse quickened, and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  

“Well, dear, you can do whatever you want,” Mme. Cheng said finally.

Adrien pursed his lips, mulling that statement for a moment. “Shouldn’t I accompany Marinette?”

“It’s best if you stay behind today,” Danielle said. “You haven’t been officially reintroduced into the public yet since your release, and we’ve already been getting phone calls from reporters who want to hear your side of the story. If you’re seen publicly now, the press will have a field day, so it’s better if you lay low until we can discuss how to navigate your…circumstances.” She said the last word delicately, almost as if she were apologizing.

Adrien turned to Mme. Cheng, who offered him a similarly apologetic wince.

“So… What? I just stay inside all day?” His stomach churned at the thought.

“I know it’s not what you want, but it’s not forever.” Mme. Cheng moved to cup his cheek. “You can do whatever you want in the apartment. There’s games and books, you can watch TV or a movie or anything you want.”

Adrien lowered his gaze, tears burning in his eyes, but Marinette’s return shifted everyone’s attention. She descended the stairs in a long pink trench coat that covered black dress pants and a pink blouse, a pair of black heels in her hands. Adrien shoved his dejection down and offered her a smile as she trotted over to kiss him goodbye.

“I’m sorry we can’t spend more time together this morning, but I’ll be back this afternoon, okay?” she said.

“Kay.”

“Tom and I will be downstairs in the bakery if you need anything,” Mme. Cheng said.

Adrien nodded, painting on a smile as everyone left him alone, but once the apartment door shut behind them, he deflated. He thought things would be different here, but so far, it was more of the same. Everyone had places to be without him, and as usual, he was left alone, unable to go out or do anything that wasn’t contained within four walls. He shook himself and took a deep breath.

Mme. Cheng was right. It wouldn’t be forever. No one had any intention of locking him up for long. They just needed a few days to sort some things out. He could totally survive a few days. Afterall, he’d survived 15 years already, and technically one of those years he was allowed to go outside and meet people… It sounded sad, now that he thought about it. But the Dupain-Cheng’s weren’t like his father. Everything was new for them too, and in time, they would all adjust…

Adrien resumed pacing the living room. It was bigger than his small bedroom, but the arrangement of the furniture made it difficult to keep a steady pace. After a few loops, he determined it wasn’t as satisfying and retreated back downstairs. Although the rigidity of his daily routine had been monotonous and grating at times, he missed the structure. Even in the hospital, he had a fixed schedule. What did one do with free time? His muscles were twitchy, and he couldn’t bring himself to sit still. What would he normally have done before?

Well, most of his mornings started with some kind of workout, though the Dupain-Cheng’s didn’t have a personal gym to use, let alone any equipment. Then again, he hadn’t had any in the hospital either, but that didn’t stop him then. He didn’t need weights to work out. A treadmill might have been nice for some cardio, but he supposed the previous night counted enough for that. He did pushups, stretched, completed a few sets of crunches, he even used Marinette’s loft to do some pull-ups, but all of that only took him about twenty minutes.

What was next? A shower, usually, but that only lasted another thirty minutes because the water got cold. He wasn’t used to the water getting cold. Did other people live like this? Were they really walking around with limited hot water? Was this normal? Ugh, he was starting to sound like Chloe, but seriously, only thirty minutes of hot water?! How did anyone wash anything?

Contemplating the complexities of social classes only lasted twenty minutes before he started to feel guilty for all of the things he took for granted, and the anxiety made him want to pace again. In an attempt to take his mind off of things, he cracked open his school notes and tried to study while he paced, but it got boring quickly. He’d studied on his own for years, and it wasn’t the same as being in a classroom with other people. At least in the hospital, there was a tutor to review with him.

Adrien flopped onto his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling again. His vision blurred, and a hot tear sliced down his cheek. It had taken several months of therapy for him to come to terms with events from his life, and even now, he was still processing a lot of things. He was still feeling a lot of things. Too many things.

Everyone was treating him the same way his father had, locking him up and hiding him from the world. No, this was different. They weren’t controlling him; they were protecting him. Isn’t that what his father used to say? It was different this time. But how could they leave him alone knowing what he’d been through? Didn’t they realize that he’d spent his whole life locked away and alone? Why would they leave him?  

The burning tightness filled his chest, leaving Adrien gasping as if there wasn’t enough air. He rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, his ragged gasps and whimpers echoing in the barren room. Hands shaking, lungs burning, vision blurring. He needed to calm down. Marinette loved him. M. and Mme. Dupain-Cheng loved him. It wasn’t their fault they had things to do. They just needed to find where he belonged. If he belonged. He was still bothered about the shower thing. On second thought, maybe a cold shower would shock his system.

He returned to the bathroom and flicked on the shower again. The cold water felt like needle pricks on his skin, but it did snap him out of his spiral for the moment. What was wrong with him? Aside from the years of pent up daddy issues and the psychological control he’d endured. Actually, no, that was exactly what was wrong with him. He wished he could call his therapist… He could call his therapist!

Adrien turned off the shower, shivering as he grabbed another towel and wrapped it around his shoulders. Once he’d warmed up a little, he dried off and dressed again before heading upstairs to retrieve his phone. It took a few rings, but finally, his therapist answered.

“Hello, Adrien.” 

“Hey, sorry, do you have a minute?” Adrien had resumed pacing the living room’s unsatisfying loop.

“I have an appointment coming in a few minutes, but I can spare a moment. Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Well…” Adrien explained his struggles, and she listened, just like always. “I guess, I just can’t figure out why I feel this way. I’ve wanted the freedom to do whatever I want my whole life, but now, in a weird way, I find myself feeling envious of my girlfriend for having a schedule. I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

“So, you’re struggling to adjust?”

“Yeah…” Adrien shifted his gaze to his feet.

“That’s normal.”

Adrien stopped, eyebrows knitting together in bewilderment. “Normal?”

“Well, normal for someone with your experiences,” she said. “You’ve never been allowed to make your own decisions, and that is damaging, but when it’s all you’ve ever known, it can also feel safe because it’s familiar. And now, you’ve been pushed into unfamiliar territory, and it’s going to be scary and uncomfortable at first. You may even find yourself craving the old ways because it’s what you were used to.”

Adrien was amazed at the ease with which she recognized exactly how he was feeling. “So, what should I do?”

“Tell you what, I have to go, but we will do more occupational therapy next time you come in and explore what Adrien likes. Until then, I’ll send in an adjustment to your medication now that you’re back out in the real world. Hopefully it will help with the pacing,” she said.

“Okay,” Adrien said. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I was actually expecting to hear from you before our next appointment.” When he remained quiet, she added, “Adjusting will take time, Adrien. You’ll get there.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“I’ll see you next week, okay?” she said.

“Yeah, see you then.” Adrien hung up.

He felt a little better, but being alone in the apartment still made him anxious, so he headed downstairs to the bakery. Marinette’s parents were hard at work preparing more bread and pastries for the displays. It made Adrien feel bad for interrupting, but when M. Dupain saw him, he flashed Adrien a smile.

“Getting lonely, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck guiltily.

“Why don’t you invite someone over, dear?” Mme. Cheng suggested.

“Uh, can I?” Adrien asked. “I’d hate to let people intrude in your home.”

“It’s your home now too, you know,” Mme. Cheng said.

“Alright.” He shifted his weight. “Um, also I called my therapist, and she’s going to adjust my medication. Could you pick it up when it’s ready?”

“I’ll add it to my to do list.” She nodded.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Here, take a pain au chocolat for a snack.” M. Dupain bagged one up for him.

“I can’t pay for it…” Adrien curled his shoulders.

“Family doesn’t pay in this bakery,” he said.

A small smile curled on Adrien’s lips, and he thanked them both before heading back upstairs. The croissant was still warm when Adrien bit into it, the chocolate melty and delicious between the buttery layers. He’d definitely get used to living above a bakery. While he ate, he scrolled his contacts for someone to invite over. It was winter break, but everyone was always so busy. Plus, he couldn’t go anywhere. What he wouldn’t give to go see a movie with Nino or to play tennis with Eliott and Martin.

Marinette’s picture flashed on his screen, and Adrien swiped the green icon to answer.

“Hello, my kitty!” She sounded so cheerful, and Adrien had never been happier to hear her voice.

“Hey, buginette. How’s work?”

“Busy,” she said. “Very busy. I’m sorry I had to leave you today, and I know I promised we’d spend time together this afternoon, but one of the investors had something come up, so we had to reschedule lunch with them for another day, but now there’s a problem with a sample, and we have a show coming up in a month, and-”

“No worries. I get it. I’m actually doing fine on my own,” Adrien said. He had a lot of practice masking his disappointment.

“I can tell when you’re lying, Adrien.”

Not enough practice apparently. There really was no hiding anything from her. She knew him so well, and although it was working against him in the moment, it felt good to be seen by someone.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you, but until then, I’m sending in some reinforcements to keep you company in my absence,” she said.

The doorbell rang, and on the other side stood Nino, Eliott, and Martin with two boxes of pizza.

“Bro, you’re finally free!” Nino hugged his neck.

“Marinette told us you were in need of some guy time,” Eliott said.

“We brought pizza and games,” Martin added.

Tears welled in Adrien’s eyes, a smile stretching over his lips. It was the first genuine smile he’d had in a while.

“Have fun, kitty. I love you,” Marinette said in his ear.

“I love you too,” he said.

Nino draped an arm around him as they moved to the living room. “It’s been forever since we’ve seen you. I missed you, bro.”

“I missed you guys too,” Adrien said.

“Isn’t it so nice now? We can just hang whenever we want, and we don’t have to worry about your dad breathing down our necks,” Nino said.

“Yeah…” Adrien glanced between them, the weight of those words sinking in.

Nino was right. He was free. His father was locked up, and from the sound of it, wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon. All of his earlier frustrations seemed to melt away, and the worries he’d held seemed so obviously false. Things were different now. No one wanted him to be alone. Everyone loved him and would do anything for him. Perhaps he’d felt so anxious because his father had always limited anything good in his life, and maybe in a way, he had felt like all of this would go away too. But as he settled into a board game with his friends, the looming feeling of dread on the back of his neck eased. This was his life now. He could have friends over whenever he wanted, and soon enough, he’d be able to go anywhere he wanted. And one day, his father’s shadow would stop looming over him for good.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 12: Geography :(

Aaaand now it's the time for a geography lesson, says the narrative.

Nevrast (Turgon's pre-Gondolin kingdom) is a Noldorin-Sindarin mixed culture. Nice. I assume Gondolin will be like this, too? And still, Eol took an issue with it being too Noldorin.

Finrod is above his brothers, and has the most land and is allied with Cirdan. He deserves it all, he is awesome. <3 Except the part where he doesn't tell Thingol about the shady stuff.

Morgoth's servants all hate water and do not go near the sea unless they really need to. I wasn't sure that was canon.

Ungoliant is mentioned again. She poisons water and it makes people insane. Wait, is this the place where Nienor will later get lost?

Nargothrond's location and surroundings described in detail.

Maglor's gap has horses, oh, so that is why "Maglor the horse girl" is a thing?

Finrod travels a lot, visits Ambarussar and Green elves and what not. Who rules Nargothrond when he's away?

No Noldor go through Ered Lindon in the First Age. I'm not sure if I need this information for something, but maybe.

Chapter XV: more Noldorin drama

Tumladen the Hidden Valley. Mhm. I feel like I've seen this morpheme somewhere more popular. :)

Turgon's Ulmo-induced anxiety is also a thing that sleeps and wakes, because Tolkien's poetic language. (I like Eldritch Oath, but it is a hc with no stronger textual support than the alternative, I think)

Turgon works in secret. And it is not very bad. (He still ends up loving it too much and dies, but he's a very mild case of this problem anyway). also, it takes 52 years (4*13, like deck of cards; or 2*26 and 26 is on of the numbers of perfection in the Bible, iirc. Maybe it's just random logistics.)

Ulmo appears to Turgon (in physical form not in a dream, as he later "returned to the sea") and infodumps him. Gives him a manual on what to do + a prophecy + you will mess up anyway + but it's ok I will send you a reminder + so leave here an armor in this exact size and style. (Really, Ulmo does give Turgon the exact size for the armor, helmet and sword.)

I have a feeling that (at least in Ulmo's opinion) Turgon isn't the brightest fish in the sea.

Meanwhile, Melian asks Galadriel what the problem is and Galadriel doesn't want to speak about it. Also, if seems like the Hiding of Valinor hid it also from Melian's mental information-gathering abilities? She sounds like normally she should be able to see what happenned but now she's not. Huh.

Important points Melian says:

the Noldorin princes never mention the Valar

the sons of Feanor are arrogant and cruel (this is pre-Kinslaying!)

[later] fate of Arda is bound to the Silmarils

[later] the Eldar cannot recover them on their own

Galadriel tells her about the unrest and what Morgoth did, but not the murders, oath or ship-burning. And refuses to say more.

Melian goes to thingol, Thingol also knew something was off and had been thinking about it. Melian warns him against the sons of Feanor, Thingol says that Feanor was a great Elf (according to what he heard) and his sons are sus, but useful as allies.

So, we have a (sort of) answer why Thingol didn't want to talk with the sons of Feanor: they were behaving so badly that (based on gossip, but it migcht have been well-founded gossip) he did not want to deal with them. Huh. for 400-ish years? Not even talk to them to see on his own? Weird but ok.

Now Morgoth starts spreading gossip among the Sindar. how? I would assume Sauron and thralls. I wonder why didn't he earlier tell the Sindar about Alqualonde. Did he not know? So how does he know now? I can't figure out his strategy here.

So Thingol accuses Finrod of being a kinslayer. Finrod is very nice to his cousins and diplomatic. He prefers to be blamed for something he didn't do than to tell on his cousins. But Angrod is still angry at Caranthir (after a couple hundered years, I think. huh.) and tells on them.

Is this why his name is Angrod? Because he gets angry so easily? (+after-the-fact Elvish etymology)

Anyway, Angrod explains he before didn't mention it because of loyalty. Huh. the earlier chapter said something slightly different, but ok. And he talls on them… except the Oath? Kinslaying and ship-burning is mentioned, but no clear indication that anyone told Thingol about the Oath. Which is interesting. Gives a lot of space to my favorite type of conflict (where each side has some good points, but they do not fully know other side's situation).

Thingol kicks them out for a time, and does the Quenya ban, which is directed at the Sindar only. Nothing in the book suggests that Thingol tried to ban the Noldor from speaking their language. Just the Sindar. And they listened. And avoided those who spoke it (which confirms that the Noldor did speak it with no ill consewuences greater than social ostracism). Everyone started speaking Sindarin, only the Noldorin princes spoke to each other in Quenya and the loremasters used it.

And we end on Finrod's sad foresight.