#but I do not have any friends like that;; let alone one that I am willing to show my definitely not ESC RPF to lmao

[reignpage]

Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half of amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great. 

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and makings sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 

It’s fine. 

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that. 

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring, obnoxious loud, and suddenly he's realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the morning that’s always greener than the last. 

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack, when it’s not from you. 

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say. 

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake. It’s like they didn’t even try.”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 

But what they don’t know is that you texted to let him know you’re staying another week. 

Fucking texted. 

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 

The door handle rattles. 

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 

You’re here. 

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason from keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No. 

It can’t be. 

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 

Toji missed you. 

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you. 

[dirtyvulture]

Its 4 am cant sleep so hear me out, shy neighbor Natasha x amab OF creator reader, thoughts?

Oh 👀

18+ only, read at your own risk

AN: Got very carried away with this, but not sorry at all. Merry Christmas!

Natasha would be one of your highest-paying subscribers and she has notifications to your profile turned on so within minutes of you dropping a new video or photo she is online to check it out.

She is very loyal and only gets off to your content. When she uses a dildo on herself, she pictures it's your dick instead, thinking about how hard you would be throbbing inside her when you're about to cum.

One day, you open your account for personal 1-on-1 video calls for a steep price. Natasha is your first buyer. She's so nervous she's practically shaking when she logs onto the call with you, and doesn't turn the camera on her face but her body instead.

You ask her if she has any requests and she just asks if you can jerk off while looking at her boobs and you are more than happy to comply.

Natasha practically drools as she watches you jerk off your length slicked up with lube and pre-cum, grunting and moaning. The vein on your cock throbs the closer you get to release.

Her own hand dips into her panties, frantically rubbing her clit so she can cum with you.

"Almost...there..." you grunt, moving your hand faster. "I wish I was there so I could cum all over your pretty tits."

Natasha hums at the thought. "You're so close," she pants, noting the dual meaning of her words as she is in fact your neighbor three houses down.

You point your cock towards you so you can shoot your load all over your abs. Natasha grumbles at the waste of your seed, but there isn't much she can do now. Her own release is a little disappointing as she removes her hand from her panties and wipes it on a towel.

You end the call abruptly, but Natasha knows not to take it personally. You probably have a long line of people who paid to have you fulfill their fantasies. Natasha is just another customer to you.

She closes her laptop and takes a shower, suddenly reviled by her pathetic behavior. She knows she needs to stop spending her money on porn and focus on real life, but she can't.

There's a knock on her door just as she steps out of the bathroom. Natasha has no friends, let alone expecting any guests, so she's hesitant to answer.

But when she sees you standing on her porch, holding a single rose in your hand, she almost drops to the floor.

"I recognized your voice on the video call," you explain, handing her the rose and she takes it with trembling fingers. "But if you ever want a more...personal...call with me, I'd be happy to make it happen."

Natasha is too stunned and embarrassed for words as she watches you walk back towards your house. Finally, she finds her focus and dashes after you.

"Are you free tonight?" she asks breathlessly. She had never asked another person out in her life, and doesn't quite know where she has the courage to do so now. "Maybe we can get dinner and then you can come over--"

"I would love that," you say before she can finish her sentence. "I'll come pick you up at six?"

"Yes. Yes, that works."

You wink and retreat to your house while Natasha stands on the sidewalk, still holding the rose and unable to believe her luck.

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

AN: Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[wilhelminyard]

compilation of nice/sweet things the foxes said to neil because even though they're a bunch of assholes who'll insult anyone in their vicinity they all just love him so damn much (part 2) :

ANDREW :

"I'm not here for your entertainment" "but as expected you are talented enough to multitask"

"you are neil josten and I am still the man who said he would keep you alive. I don't care if you use this phone tomorrow. I don't care if you never use it again. but you are going to keep it on you because one day you might need it. on that day you're not going to run. you're going to think about what I promised you and you're going to make the call."

"I'm not afraid of you" "that's why you're so interesting"

DAN :

"don't thank us, remember us. we're your teammates. we're here to help you with whatever you need."

"you've got us now"

"that was perfect. but don't do something that reckless again. we can't replace you. hear me?"

"neil, you can use the girls' shower while we're busy"

MATT :

"just try not to think about it until we get there. you won't do yourself any favorite if you spend the ride stressing out about things you can't change."

"if you don't have anywhere to go, I'll drag you home with me"

KEVIN :

"if you get hurt out there, you do something about it. you take it easy, you have coach pull you, you ask abby for help - I don't care. if you ever say 'I'm fine' about your health again I will make you rue the day you were born"

"neil has no place in riko's games. he is a fox."

"run. it's the only way you'll survive"

"you should be court."

"will you still teach me?" "every night."

"I will watch you. if you want to drink tonight. I won't let you say something you'll regret." "you'll be drunk inside an hour. then who'll stop me?" "I would stop drinking."

"you're not going. do you know what he'll do to you?"

WYMACK :

"why did you pay for stalls coach?" "maybe I knew you'd need them one day"

"neil, if you can't be here say so. abby can take you elsewhere until it's time to leave. get out of here and get some fresh air."

"what can I do?" "I don't know" "when you know, tell me"

"sometimes the world feels so big but then I'm reminded how small it is" "big or small just remember you're not alone in it."

"if riko really was behind it somehow, the blame is all on him. he chose to take out his petty rage on seth. he chose to cross a line. you didn't. you hear me? you didn't. don't ever blame yourself for seth's death. that it too dangerous a road to walk down. you keep your eyes on your own path and keep moving forward"

"neil" "I'm fine" "be fine inside where it's warmer"

"look I know I've always told you all to take your personal problems up with betsy or abby. I've said it's not my place to get into anything outside the court. I hope you've figured out by now I'm just blowing hot air. I'm not real good at being a shoulder, but I do have a working set of ears."

"help me" "let me"

"this doesn't mean anything. I'm still a fox." "of course you are."

NICKY :

"kid you're killing me. why do you always get that deer-in-headlights look when someone does something nice for you?"

"you worry about neil's career. I'll worry about his personal happiness."

"I didn't really get into the gritty details last time because those aren't reallt dan and matt's business, but you're family, so I can tell you."

"there's obsession and there's dysfunction. you can't make exy your end-all be-all. this won't last forever, okay? you'll shine bright, then you'll retire, and then what? you gonna spend the rest of your life at home alone with all your trophies? you can't be just this, neil. this isn't enough to live for."

"thanks for taking one for the team, neil. you're a real friend."

"are we? friends?" "you are going to be the absolute death of me. yeah, kid. we're friends. you're stuck with us, like it or not."

"I only see that look on neil's face when someone tries to do something nice for him, but we all know kevin's as bratty as they come. what did you say, kevin, and do I need to defend neil's honor or what?"

RENEE :

"I am not the girl I once was but the shade of my old life will always existe inside of me. that is what helps me connect with andrew. I am hoping it will help me connect with you."

"I do not know your story. if you've trusted andrew with anything, he hasn't shared the details with me and he never will. but if you are as like us as we first predicted you to be, perhaps one day you can also come to see me as a friend."

"if either andrew or I can help you, please know we are here."

"and you neil? are you all right?"

[jensthwa]

a very show & tell christmas (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

It's been a few months since you and Mingi got together. It's your first Christmas as a couple but not your first one together. As he watches you re-organize the tree in his living room, he can't help but reminisce on the key moments that made him realize you're his person.

PAIRING: mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: stablished relationship, holidays special!

WORD COUNT: 7k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI), mingi's pov, a loooot of fluff and love talk, pet names (love, my love, babe), mistletoe kisses, hardfelt gifts, messy kisses, mingi and reader briefly discuss something that i've come to learn is called sweater fetish but i don't know if the scene counts as that but just letting you know, oral sex (f reciving), readers asks mingi to 'use', hard but romantic sex, unprotected sex (booo, wrap it up please), marriage discussion at the end omg?

NOTES: happy holidays everyone! I've been wanting to write mingi's perspective of everything that went down in s&t for a while so I took the chance to write it for the holidays because what better time to reminisce about everything you've ever lived than december am I right? [nervous chuckle]. I hope you're having a wonderful month and i hope next year treats you even better! THIS IS PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH SERIES BUT CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: december 25th 2024.

Mingi remembers the first time he saw you like it was yesterday. It's an image so vivid, so impactful in his life that there's no way he could ever, ever forget. 

He was playing soccer on the street, with two friends who moved away that same year and he doesn't really remember them all that well now. He kicked the ball so hard it landed in your yard as you were doing something else. Playing with dirt? He doesn't really remember, you might've been but it didn't matter because it was also the first time he realized he could fall in love.

Granted, he didn't fall in love immediately. He was, after all, just a fourteen year old boy and he didn't understand those feelings just yet. It was that transitional period of a kid’s life where the desire to connect with someone else was strong but definitely not a priority. 

Besides, he didn't realize, until many years had gone by, that the first time that he saw you and he felt time stop, he also saw a life with you: the five seconds it took for the ball to roll over to your feet after almost punching you in the face and he sort of assumed you were going to be in his life forever. 

And you are going to be in his life forever. In one way or another, but he promised you that forever a while ago, in his head, in his dreams and in the way he cares about you, for you. In the way his heart hurts when you're not around, when you two fight. In the way his heart sings when he kisses you, the way it dances and beats against his chest when you smile at him, because of him, around him. 

And when he hears you laugh? Pfft. He melts at the sound. 

He's melting even now, after being officially together a little over a year, as you laugh with your mom and his mom while decorating the Christmas tree at his house. 

Well, not decorating it exactly. You three went shopping earlier today and somehow your mom convinced his mom that the old ornaments did not go with the living room aesthetic anymore and she bought new ones for them. 

The only ones that are old now, that the redecorating party is finishing with the tree, are the ones you and him have shared over the years. 

The one you got at fifteen, that resembles a snow globe with two snowmans inside of it, holding hands and with your names engraved in wood underneath it. The one he got at seventeen that's a little simpler but you say it's your favorite: two gingerbread cookies holding a heart sign with your initials in it, one of the cookies kissing the other’s cheek. 

You two have been alternating years of getting each other ornaments and deciding which house they're staying at. This year, however, you went for a different approach to the tradition. Each of you painted an ornament, a traditional one, with something festive that alludes to one another. 

He, seeing that you've been talking snoopy for half a year, tried his best to paint the character on top of his dog house, decorated by Christmas lights and with a red ribbon to tie it to the tree that illuminates your living room up the street. 

Now, he watches carefully as you hang near the other ornaments, the one you hand painted to look like a chicken. Initially, you tried to convince him it was a penguin but it can't possibly be. It's more yellow than black or white and even if you tried to tell him it's a specific type of penguin you saw in happy feet there's nothing that indicates that it's not a chicken.

“Oh, well, it fits him.” His mother says at your explanation, hugging your mother tightly as she fondly watches you hang the ornament up. You turn around when you finish, tongue out at him childishly. 

He pretends to be annoyed, rolling his eyes and getting up to playfully tug at the tongue you're sticking out to him still “Mom, you're supposed to be on my side.” 

“I am!” She defends herself, smiling like she's totally not on his side. “It does look a little bit like you, dear. Even your little mole here.” 

You take the opportunity to press on your tippy toes and kiss the mole his mom is pointing out, only to get more aws from them. 

“I win.” You whisper to him, proud of yourself and he can't help but smile at you as you pull away. 

Mingi remembers the first time he realized he was in love with you. It was the first time he called you by his favorite endearment: love. 

He remembers the ice cream shop you both were at, he remembers the conversation being more of a confession that you had a crush on a friend of his, he remembers the guy serving the ice cream complaining about the fridge hardly working and he remembers the blush on your cheeks as you admitted to want to be called love because…

“That's what good boyfriend's do,” you said, ice cream on your fingers that you quickly wipe away with an already sticky napkin, “So we're going to get together and I'm going to be called love from that moment on.” 

He knew you were talking about his friend but his heart skipped a beat anyway. He had to focus on what you were telling him, not on the pretty smile you gave him or the relief he felt when he realized the one thing that would lead you straight (or not so straight) to disappointment. 

His friend was a very proud but not that  out gay man. 

But Mingi decided to not mess with it, he always let you fight your battles alone if those battles ended up with you learning a lesson and without a scratch, anyway. 

“Good luck with that, love.” 

“Ugh, no, you don't get to call me that!” 

The nickname stuck either way. Even if, at the time, he pushed those feelings down deep inside of him. 

Because you were his love, but you were also his best friend ever and he was just a dude. A boy, even. 

He didn't know better and so, eventually, you got a boyfriend. Great dude, worshipped you like you deserved and all.

Mingi remembers the way he felt when you told him you loved Han. He hated the guy, hated the way he made you smile, hated the fact that he trusted him of all people because, well, there was and there will never be someone who loves you more than Mingi. 

Han thought he was the one, you didn't. But even after breaking up with Han, Mingi stood still. He understood his feelings, his protectiveness over you, as something platonic. But he didn't really have time to think about it with your head on his chest, on his bed, over the sheets and with the door wide open because it was a school night after all. 

School night meant no sleepovers, but his mom didn't ask you to leave when she saw you with tears in your eyes at their front door. Mingi didn't ask you to leave as you soaked his sweatshirt with said tears, either. 

“I don't know why I did it, Mingi. I don't… He did nothing wrong.” 

“You said you felt he was not the one.” 

Your regretful eyes looked up at him “But what if he was?” 

“He's not,” he whispered back to you and, at the time, he didn't know why. He had no reason to tell you Han wasn't the one for you, but his subconscious knew things he didn't accept back then. “You wouldn't be doubting it at all if he was, love.” 

You ended up sleeping over that night, door wide open still, your mom texting him when she couldn't reach you on the phone. 

He helped you through that breakup, just like you helped him with his first breakup as well. 

He helped you mend your own wounds, he saw you grow stronger after the pain went away, he felt proud of you when you started showing up to your first uni parties without him having to convince you to go. 

Mingi remembers the first time he realized he wanted to kiss you. You two were laying under the stars, a little hazy and on a rooftop you definitely shouldn't be up in. 

That probably wasn't the actual first time he wanted to kiss you, just the first time he admitted it to himself. Your friends were on the rooftop as well, dancing around, yelling, being silly, just as drunk as you two were or worse but, for a moment, it was quiet. Now that he thinks back to it, he probably imagined it. 

The noise quieting down, that is. 

Mingi remembers that he had turned to you to ask what you thought was going on but your eyes were closed. He remembers the breath he took in as he traced the side of your face with his eyes, carefully, like the staring alone would get you out of whatever peace you were enjoying at the moment.

Have your lips always been so perfect and inviting? He answered himself immediately: Yes, of course they are perfect, she's perfect. 

He doesn't really know how he didn't realize it right then and there. When his heart soared at the thought of it, of disturbing your peace only to kiss you. 

And then the noise came back, laughing and screeching and something alarming came out of Jongho’s mouth. 

“Shit, shit. Security!”

You opened our eyes and found him already staring at you. He should've felt embarrassed to be caught, but you smiled at him before rushing to your feet, offering your hand and shaking it for him to take it. 

“Can you get up or should I stay and be escorted out with you?” 

No one got caught that night except, maybe, his heart. 

Because he realized he loved you around a week after that, as he saw you do the most mundane task ever: washing your teeth in front of your bathroom sink, still trying to rant about something that pissed you off in one of your classes. He remembers pressing his shoulder against the doorframe and looking at your and your frown through the mirror. He also remembers the frantic beat of his heart as he realized he wanted to do just this with you every day of his life. 

Going to bed together, waking up next to you and listening to you rant about things you're going to forget the next day. He never wanted that with anyone else, only you. 

You, you, you. He got so lovesick the next year after that he tried desperately to cover it up. With different activities, with people kissing his neck at parties after dancing for a while, with anything and everything that could distract him from the fact that he was utterly and irrevocably in love with you. 

Not because he didn't want to explore but because every single time he tried to say something, the words would die down under the weight of years of friendship and loyal companionship. 

He couldn't lose you, he didn't even know how to make sure you liked him back! 

And so the yearning got unbearable enough for everyone in your friend group to notice it, except for, well, you. 

“At some point you have to tell her about it, right?” 

No one in the group presses on things. Woo and Gyuri (Woo’s ex girlfriend who, somehow, is still his friend and everyone's friend as well) maybe, but when it comes to matters of the heart, they let everyone be. So it surprised him when Seonghwa, of all people, spoke on it. 

“You can't keep looking at her like that from a distance and waiting for it to pass, Mingi. It's not going to pass.” 

He remembers sighing and then giving you one more glance before turning to his friend.

“She probably doesn't feel the same.” 

“Who cares? You're never going to find out keeping it to yourself.” Seonghwa gave him a tiny smile before bumping his shoulder against his, both teasingly and reassuring. “Besides, she loves you too much to allow some romantic feelings to get in the way. Just… Think about it, yeah? Not forcing you here,” he shrugged, “but we all do, kind of, maybe, want you two to kiss.” 

Snorting a laugh, Mingi remembers shaking his head no and then thinking about it for, at least, three months after that before actually making a move. 

He remembers feeling humiliated by one of his attempts to put his feelings for you to rest, he remembers confiding in you and your friends, he remembers when you agreed to tell him how to make it right the next time he slept with anyone else. He doesn't really remember asking you to show him. 

His mind disconnected after he saw the blush painting your cheeks beautifully, his heart took over him when he kneeled in front of you to kiss you that first time, when he allowed himself to give in and touch you like he had wanted to for so long. 

And then the days and the months blended so gracefully after that summer that he doesn't really recall when the weather started getting cold, just that the color of the snow contrasts against your winter coat when you both go outside after having Christmas dinner at his house, with both your parents and his present. 

They were friends before, but now? They see each other more than you two. 

Well, that's a lie, but almost. And, like all best friends do when spending the holidays together, they get lost in good conversation and company, in a bubble made out of wine and laughter, cozy enough that it allows you and Mingi to slip out of his house hand in hand easily. 

You have a little smile as you look around the street like you don't know the houses you pass on the way to yours. He wants to indulge you, but the words slip out his mouth without even thinking about it. 

“Am I walking you home because you wanted to change into something more comfortable or because you want to give me an additional Christmas gift, love?” 

“Stop ruining it! You know I'm not good at hiding things,” you click your tongue, pretending to be disappointed and kick the snow with your boot when you stop and pull him close, “We haven't got alone time in forever.” 

“Two days,” he says with a nod, arms going around you and head going down to kiss your lips tenderly for a quick second, “Three, if we count today.” 

You pout “That's like… A lifetime.” 

“I know,” he gives in, chuckling against your lips, “I'm going through withdrawal symptoms and all.” 

He watches as you close your eyes and lean in. He gets ready for it, inhaling cold air that hits his lungs as a reminder where you two are, what he's allowed to enjoy in public, and closes his eyes as he waits for your kiss that never comes. 

Instead, your nose nuzzles his softly, barely nudging the skin and you take a step back, taking his gloved hand and intertwining it with yours “I also may or may not have a gift for you.” 

Smiling in victory, Mingi fakes an annoyed gasp “I knew it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you're so smart,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and entering your front yard without letting go of him. “Hurry, I'm freezing!” 

“This was your idea, love.” He deadpans but hurries anyways and afterwards, as the warmth of the foyer allows him to shrug off his coat and leave it in its designated spot by the door, he laughs at your clear enthusiasm. 

You're already shoeless, coatless, gloveless and scarfless and waiting at the third step of the stairs, impatiently blinking at him as a signal to hurry up, again. And when goes upstairs with you, you make him promise to keep his eyes closed as he walks towards your room. 

“You're too tall, I can't cover them with my hands so promise, Song Mingi.” 

“My eyes are literally closed!” 

He hears a door open. It has that creaking sound the door to your room has and when the smell of your perfume hits him as you press your hands to his chest to stop him, he doesn't have to open his eyes to know where he is. He knows his way around these halls anyway. 

You turn him, so that his back is probably facing your room, and then instruct: 

“Look up and open your eyes.” 

Mistletoe. That's what he sees when he opens his eyes: mistletoe that is badly tape to your door frame, just above him. It makes him smile and then the best friend in him takes over when he looks down at you and your blushed cheeks. 

“Love… That's so chees—” 

“Just kiss me, you idiot.” 

And he does. He lifts you up from the floor and you bury your fingers in his hair before securing your legs around his waist and he walks the room he knows like the back of his hand until he reaches the bed. He doesn't sit down or puts you down yet, lazily opening your mouth with his tongue when you sigh against him. 

“Wait— Mm,” you speak against his mouth, words silenced by his eager tongue a second later. He has to physically throw his head back to stop himself from kissing you further, but when his eyes return to his face, his will almost falters. “That was not the gift.” 

“Okay.” He breathes out, smiling. 

“Sit on the floor.”

He does and the carpet is soft under his fidgeting hands as he watches you move around the room. You go into your closet (literally, you disappear behind the closed doors) and when you come back with a large box he blinks a few times in astonishment.

Huge box, really. It almost doesn't fit the space between you when you sit down in front of him and glance at him excitedly, a shy color to your voice when you speak again “Open it!” 

There's no way he can help the smile that curves his lips when he opens the box and finds an assortment of handmade things. Yes, the ornament that you made may have looked like something else entirely, but he starts to believe you made it on purpose when he pulls out the first gift: a bouquet made out of candy, his favorite sweets. 

“This is beautiful, love…” 

He lets out a chuckle when you steal one immediately and he promises to dig into it once he goes through all the gifts. 

There's a box with a card underneath that he goes to pick up but you stop him with a trembling hand “Save that one for last.” And he notices you're a little bit nervous, so he does, his own heart skipping at what might've inside the box, a similar yet smaller one weighing on the pocket of the coat he left downstairs. 

The other things left on the box are a few bills in the shape of hearts and a wooden sphere that he finds out, seconds later, it's a picture museum. 

“I couldn't fit every important picture we took together in a regular shaped box so I had to get this one.” You explain as he looks at the inside of the sphere. It looks like a miniature museum and Mingi feels like crying a little, so he takes your hand in his and gives it a kiss to ground himself “They're in chronological order, too, I had to consult the ancient texts to get them all right!” 

He laughs, confused “The ancient texts?” 

“Yes, my Instagram story archive.” You return, nodding and he gives your hand another kiss before letting it go to set down the museum next to the bills and the bouquet.

You let out a shaky breath when he returns his attention to the box and picks it up. You pick up the card. 

“Before you open it, let me read this to you.” 

“Of course,” he returns softly and takes the trembling hand you're extending in his direction. 

“First of all, look at how cute this is,” you turn the card and inside of it, it's decorated with kisses. Your kisses. Mingi would recognize them anywhere and he tries to take the card from you but you bat his hand away with it. “Later, let me read this to you. Um… 

“Dear Mingi,” he giggles at the formality of your tone and then forces himself to stop at the look you give him. “Dear Mingi,” you start again, “I don't have a way with words and I've re-written this letter a thousand times but I think I have come to terms with the fact that there are no words invented, no language discovered, that can accurately immortalize my feelings for you. The love I hold for you transcends everything and everyone, every concept ever created and every new idea future generations come up with. And, as I try to come up with a joke that can give this overdone confession any lightness, I have also come to terms with the fact that you're it for me. I already knew this, of course,” you laugh and he has to laugh a little, heartbeat on his throat and eyes full of tears and all, “I already knew how much I loved you. Platonically, romantically, it all has just blended into one because it doesn't really matter how I loved you, it just matters that I have the opportunity to do so, my love. I love you.” 

When your eyes catch his, the tears are already wetting his cheeks. 

“And now what didn't fit in the letter, because I chose this tiny ass card,” you laugh again, eyes already wet even though he can see you're telling yourself not to cry. “Our first Christmas together was the time I realized I wanted you in my life forever. It just felt right, like we belonged somehow and we do, Mingi. So I— Open the box.” You quickly say and when he does, the whole thing falls apart. 

Kind of. 

When he pulls the rope tied in a bow at the top and the sides fall he makes a noise of surprise that makes you laugh.

The sides have more pictures of you two and in the middle of the box there's another tiny box that he opens to find a necklace. 

With a ring that could fit him as its charm and a silver chain that's not too delicate but not too rough, just like the one he uses on a daily basis. 

The ring has your initials engraved on the inside and his initials engraved on the outside. He lets out a sob that prompts your tears to flow freely down your face and he catches you wiping them.

“I didn't want to give you this with the rest of your gifts this morning because, well, I'm shy and—” 

“You are not shy.” He speaks over you, wiping his tears. 

“And I didn't want our parents to scream marriage at us. I don't want to scream marriage at you either, my love,” you say before he gets any ideas. And it did cross his mind a second ago, but he's far from terrified of it. “But I wanted you to have something to remember me by, with our initials in it, as a token of how much I love you, Mingi.” 

He doesn't even know what to say. 

“A lot. I love you a lot, if you couldn't tell.” You add and he laughs and manages to scoot around the box of gifts to wrap his arms around your frame. You laugh into the skin of his neck, hugging him back. 

“I love you too,” he whispers, his lips close to your ear and his heart beating fast still. When he pulls back, you try to give him a kiss and he stops you, which prompts a confused look on your side. “You know that they say that overtime couples start to think alike?” 

“Look alike,” you correct with a tilt of your head and he gives you a look, so you backtrack, smiling. “No, yeah, couples start to think alike.” You nod and then let out a noise in protest of him getting up. 

He points his finger at you “Wait here.” 

And then he bolts downstairs, to his coat. 

It really does say something about you two, about the way your minds sync up at most needed time. Because as he enters your room, box in hand and knees hitting the carpet in front of you, he can tell you got his point immediately. 

“I'm not screaming marriage at you yet, love and I also didn't get you a letter or a chain to go with it, but—” He hands you the box and lets you open it, head immediately trying to paint into his memory the way you gasp at the ring, the way you take it delicately into your hands and examine it with care. “But I bought this months ago, in that antique shop you like so much because it reminded me of you and how could it not? Do you see how beautiful it is?”

It sparkles under your bedroom light, but he can see it from a distance: all the delicate details that make it look like there's two hands holding the pearl in the middle. In a way, it looks like two hands holding a heart. 

Just like you hold his heart. 

“As a token of your much I love you, Y/N.” 

You pout as he takes the ring and puts it on your finger. 

“You can't just steal my speech, Song Min—” 

He kisses you again. He can't not kiss you, he can't help but get you into your arms and thank you for choosing the ground to present your gift because he's anything but careful as he stands up, drags you with him, and sits on the bed with you on top of him. 

“Shit, hold on—” 

“Hm?” There's concern in the way your eyebrows crease and Mingi gets briefly distracted by how kissed out and breathless you look for a second before reaching for the floor. 

“My necklace,” he explains, reaching for the box and successfully getting it in his hand without having to take you off his lap. “Put it on for me, love?” 

“So you liked it?” You ask nonchalantly as you take the necklace, legs opening a bit more so that you're sitting further into his lap.

“You literally made me cry, Y/N. Tears,” he says, making a face that you catch before closing the clasp behind his neck. 

“Of joy?” You return in a whisper, eyes so sweet and smile so shy it makes him want to cry all over again. 

“I love you.” He says instead of answering the question, lips touching yours again, softly, wanting, forgetting you don't have a lot of time before your parents wonder where you went. 

There's no way careful thoughts can get through the fog your sighs against him create, in the way your teeth sink into the plush of his bottom lip and pull until he's moaning, the sting of pain passing by as your tongue caresses his. 

You've been getting a little bold lately, the nature of your encounters is always passionate but, somewhat, normal. Mingi loves every second you decide to give yourself to him but he also fucking loves when you do shit you like. 

Like taking control of the kiss, pulling his hair so his head can fall back and you can slowly make it messier, sloppier, even after the sweet moment you two just shared. 

Hands start to roam freely and, by the time you pull on his hair to detach your mouth from his fully, he's already breathless and hard against the fabric of his pants, mouth wet with shared spit. 

He's sure his pupils are blown, he's sure he's red on the face and fucked out already. He knows his expression mirrors yours as you take him, and the necklace, in, eyes scanning his frame before you roll your hips against him. 

He moans pathetically. 

You smile at the sound. 

“Like anything you see?” He tries to tease you to no avail. 

“You look so hot like this…” The hand tangled in his hair moves and he closes his eyes to welcome the feeling of your nails softly digging into his skin as they make their way into his neck, over the necklace and the ring resting against his collarbone. 

“With the necklace on?” 

“And the sweater.” 

He glances at his beige sweater with an arched brown and then he looks at your sweater, a warmer tone of beige than his, the neck a little high but not high enough to be considered a turtle neck, with the same expression. 

He puts the pieces together and then scoffs out an impressed laugh. 

“Where did you learn this kink, love?” 

“It's not a kink,” you defend yourself immediately, laughing when he looks at you like he doesn't believe it and then he leans in again, peppering your jaw with slow, open mouth kisses, “I just saw a video the other day and…” 

“And?” He encourages you with a shift of his hips of his own, gaining a curse that slips past your lips. 

“And then I saw you today in this.” The palm of your hand slips from his neck and into the fabric of the sweater, thumb passing over his nipple with purpose. He hisses in response. “So… We could leave it on, hm? What do you think?” 

He raises an eyebrow, trying to bite his smile back “What did they do in the video, love?”

“Oh,” you giggle into his shoulder as he kisses every inch of skin available to him, “it was a homemade video. I don’t watch anything super produced, you know that. They, uhm… Fuck, babe,” he licks his way up the side of your neck, successfully making you melt against him. “She was looking at her phone and he was eating her out,” you manage to get out. “And then she got on her stomach, legs straight a-and closed while he fucked her. Used her, kinda.” He pulls back at that, both intrigued and wanting to see if that’s what you actually want. 

“Used her to get off?” 

You nod and he leans in, nose brushing yours. 

“Is that what you want me to do with you?” 

“After you get me off,” you whisper back, smiling without any shame at your request “yeah.”

Mingi takes his time to think about it. On purpose, letting the tension linger as he presses both palms against the mattress, leaning back just enough so you can catch him checking you out unapologetically. Truth being told, his dick is twitching in his pants at the thought of helping you explore. This has always been your dynamic in bed: exploring, searching, discovering new things that make you wet, researching new ways of making you come and there’s nothing that gets him off more than the idea of you getting away with what you want. 

Even if that means sweating the fabric of this expensive sweater through. It’s okay, he has a washing machine. The way you wait for an answer, with eyes so bright and expectant, makes him bite his lip in return. 

Yeah, there’s nothing he enjoys more than pleasing you. 

He also knows you enjoy this. 

The anticipation. The teasing, the way his hand returns to your legs and slides the material of the sweater up slightly, only to neglect the idea a second after and, instead, turning his hand and letting his knuckles brush against the fabric of it deliberately, with laced intention into the touch even though his expression remains pensive at the proposal. 

A proposal he accepted, like, the second after you said it outloud. 

“Do you know how much I love your tits, love?” 

You let out a sigh as your answer and one look at you is enough to encourage him to keep going. Knuckles brushing upwards, he catches your firm nipple through the fabric. It's a little hard to do; considering you're probably wearing two layers underneath to shield you from the December cold; but he manages and you let out a needy whine. 

“Do you know how much I love you if I’m going to fuck you without taking one look at them?” 

Damn. He doesn’t really mean for his voice to sound so raspy but it does and the way your lips curve in mischief let’s him know that you catch it for what it really means: He’s so lost in it, in the sensual bickering, that he can’t help but show how affected he is, one way or another. 

And then there’s the urgency of getting on with it because you don’t know how much time you get alone, until someone calls your phone and asks for you or until your parents get tired of the wine and come back home. 

So it really does happen in a flash when you grab the collar of his sweater and smash his lips against yours with need, with a newfound spark that excites him. He practically rushes to take your bottoms off, to slide down until they pool at his ankles, to turn on the bed until you’re laying on your back and his mouth is marking your inner thighs, adding new color to the bruises already lingering there. 

You’re twitching under his touch and he has to press your hips down to keep you still when he takes your panties off and dives into your folds. Usually, he would be prepping you to make a mess. You teached him how to make you squirt months ago, the day before you officially got together and he has had the pleasure of making you see stars since then. 

Today, there’s not enough time. 

So he wastes no time in devouring you like he knows you like it. Your leg thrown over his shoulder, the sweater and the shirt underneath rising just enough for him to thrust his hips against the bed at the image of your skin. 

You try to keep it down, he sees you trying to contain yourself and under any other circumstances, he would scold you for depriving him of the sounds you make. But this time around, the view edges him. He wonders briefly what other scenarios he can propose to have you gulping down your moans, to make you gasp for air after pressing the palm of your own hand over your mouth so no more whines slip out of your lips.

He doubles his efforts, just to see you trying to contain yourself and failing to do so, again. It makes you double your efforts as well, probably just to spite him as you thrust your hips and chase your high, but it doesn't bother him. 

If anything, it makes him harder than ever. The way you ride his face, the tongue that flattens out and then curves around your clit and your conviction falters, hips falling still at the way he sucks into your sensitive nub. Your hand in his hair pulls a little and the sting of pain almost makes him come untouched. 

Chuckling into your heat, Mingi catches the exact moment your eyes roll to the back of your head. He feels your limbs locking, he tastes your release when your orgasm hits you, he helps you ride out the sensation while pleased moans fill the room. 

And, usually, he would kiss his way up to your lips. He could right now too, over the sweater, the idea of the fuzzy material mixing with your orgasm it's tempting but he remembers you have to see people after this as well. 

He remembers he doesn't have much time. 

And your words are ringing on the back of his head when his mouth latches onto yours again, when you moan after tasting yourself on his tongue. 

He pulls away to silently ask the question: Do you want to keep going? 

You nod, nose nuzzling his briefly before he turns you around. Harshly, like he knows you like it. He sees you grasp the comforter and a pillow between your fingers when he sinks himself into your wet heat, he hears the muffled cry when he adjusts a little and when you close your legs to lie flatly on the bed and in-between his, he all but sees stars at the feeling. 

You're not tight. That's good, that's a sign that you're comfortable with him, trusting of him, a sign that you want you. This position makes it a snug fit, though, and when you purposefully squeeze around him he presses on his hands on your lower back with a groan.

“S-stop stalling, baby, we're running out of ti— Fuck, Mingi!” 

Pulling out and then slamming his hips back down with measured force, he marvels in the feeling of you genuinely squeezing around him, out of pleasure and not to tease him. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, forehead connecting with the soft material of the sweater when he leans over you, on your shoulder and smiles when you moan at the way he picks up the pace. 

“Yes, yes, yes, f-fuck,” you mumble in response, head turning and breath fawning on his cheek that you attempt to kiss a second later, so he complies and turns his head to kiss you sweetly, a complete contrast of the way he's thrusting into you.

He falters when he notices just how hard he is going but your hand shoots back, attempts to grab his hip and your head shakes in disapproval. 

“Don't stop,” you ask, breathless, eyes scanning his face to see if he's not into this but he assumes you don't find that because he is into it, “use me, my love. That's what I want.” 

You don’t have to repeat yourself. He leans back up, hands finding a secure spot on your hips and uses you like you asked. He’s hardly the one to seek his own relief so soon. He likes to take his time with you, even when you don’t have much, and that means making you come undone at least twice before he even allows his dick to be touched, but now? 

With how turned on he is? With how full of love he is for you? 

He remembers the time, the years he didn’t allow himself to see you in nothing but platonic light. He remembers the feeling of your lips on his for the first time, he remembers the love you professed to him today and the way you make him feel so wanted, so adored, so—

“Oh— fuck.” 

His pace falters, his orgasm so close he’s unable to keep chasing for it with the same measured force he was using before. 

“Yes, Mingi,” you encourage, somehow managing to move your body upwards, meeting his own, “don’t stop, baby, please, I want to feel you inside of me.” 

He vaguely registers himself moaning, babbling nonsense as his movements pick back up. He hears your voice distantly, like he’s underwater, like the way you tell him to come inside of him and that you love him it’s what’s pulling him back up. 

And when he releases inside of you, his ears ring slightly and his forehead meets your back, eyes closed and chest heaving. He feels his heartbeat on his throat, he feels your heartbeat on your back and its rhythm matches his beautifully. 

No one says anything for a few minutes where you both try and recover from the intensity of what you just did. Something new, something that leaves you both exhausted and he can see it on your sleepy and content smile when he pulls out and you turn around, not giving a fuck that you’re bedding is probably going to get sticky with his cum. 

He throws himself besides you and your nose touches his cheek immediately. 

“That was…” 

“So good,” you say and he hugs you close, breath still ragged, “and we should definitely look into sweater fetish or whatever it’s called. I think you enjoyed it more than me.” 

He gasps in feign offense. 

“Stop projecting, love.” 

“Am not—”

“Yes, you are,” he sing-songs back and you weakly hit his arm with your fist. You don’t say anything afterwards and Mingi stops staring at the stars in your ceiling to look at you. 

You’re staring at your ring. He smiles, all the emotions that your words brought to him coming right back. 

“I want to marry you, Y/N.” 

He says it without really thinking it through. He doesn’t regret it even when you look up at him with a little panic behind your eyes. 

“Now?” 

He laughs “Someday,” shrugging, his lips connect with your hairline and you sigh, snuggling up to him a bit more “There’s going to be two more rings that I’m going to give to you and only you.” 

“Good thing you got my ring size right.” 

Your joke makes him laugh and you lean up against his chest a bit to look at him. 

“I’m going to say yes, Mingi,” you whisper and he melts against the pillow, his hand on your cheek a second later. He sees your eyes go down to the ring on his necklace and the smile that brings to your lips makes his heart pick up again.  “And then I’m going to show off my ring to everyone and I’m going to be insufferable as a wife. I hope you’re ready.” 

You fall back down on his chest, cheek just above the beating of his heart and eyes closed. The smile lingers on your lips and, as he brushes your hair back with his hand and smooths his hand under your sweater, he can’t help but smile back.

“I don’t want it any other way, love.” 

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH and happy holidays! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[livingdeadblondequeen]

Off Script Feelings

Pairing:  Norman Reedus x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4453

Warnings: RPF, This is a work of fiction.

Summary: Something happens between you and your friend Norman that changes things.

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated.

Dedicated to: @minervadashwood & @littlegodzilla

‘If he was Rick, ya’d done the same thang.’

Erin shook her head, ‘No, because Rick wouldn’t treat me like Merle treats you.’

‘Ya don’t know nothan’’ Daryl snapped. 

‘I know Merle was the one that took me, Glen, and Maggie, back to that psycho as some kind of peace offering knowing what he was like. How could you go with him after that?’

‘Merle is my family, my blood. He’s all I got.” 

‘No, you got us. After everything, we’re family too.’ Erin pleaded. 

‘Nah, that’s Rick, and, Carl, and the baby. I’m just a tagalong ya’ll keep round to hunt n’ stuff.’

‘Then why’d you come back?’

‘I dun know!’ Daryl raged. 

“And Cut! That’s a wrap!”

You watched as all the anger and frustration vanished from your costar’s face, replaced with his concerned eyes and a small smile before he stepped forward to envelop you in his arms. You buried your face in his broad chest and took the comfort he offered you. “Sorry, sorry. Was it too much?”

“No, it was good, it just felt a little too real is all,” You explained as you pulled back and looked up at him. “Sometimes you’re just too good of an actor Norman.”

“Nah, just good at being an asshole,” Norman replied with a laugh as he kept his arm around your shoulder.

You laughed along with him, thinking of one particular instance where he had indeed been a bit of an asshole or at least you thought he was. It just happened to be the first time they met. 

You had been hired as one of the original cast members of The Walking Dead TV series, to play the younger sister to Andy’s character Rick, Erin Grimes. You had bonded quickly with your onscreen ‘family’ including Jon but also the other cast members so you had been excited to meet another one going into the next episode. 

You had been grabbing something to eat between takes at the crafts table when you heard someone come up behind you. You turned to discover it was Norman Reedus (You’d googled him like you had almost everyone) but before you could introduce yourself, he gave you one look and laughed in your face. You were so thrown off guard and embarrassed that you had stomped away. You couldn’t believe they had hired someone like that and you mentally hoped they killed off his character quickly. 

It wasn’t until a short while later when Sarah pointed out that you had food on your face that you knew that was why Norman had laughed at you. Your anger dissipated, replaced with embarrassment. The next time you saw Norman, the two of you talked about what happened and your friendship had begun. Now a few years later, the two of you were thick as thieves. 

“Let’s go out tonight, and grab some food and drinks,” Norman suggested as he guided the two of you off the set and towards your waiting trailers. “Nothing shakes off the day like shots.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his suggestion. They usually used shots as the cure for anything, though sometimes that led them to more trouble. “While I like the idea, I am not up for going out. Today took a lot out of me.”

“We’ll stay in then.” He said with a shrug. 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” You said as you shook your head. You didn’t want to ruin his night. “Go out with the others and enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t know of anyone going out tonight,” Norman replied simply while rubbing a finger along his bottom lip and you knew he was coming up with something. “How about we go to my place? I’ll even cook if there is nothing we want to order and I have plenty of liquor. You can crash overnight if you need to.”

You were close to declining his offer when you thought better of it. While being out with a bunch of people didn’t sound appealing, neither did being home alone. “How can I say no to that offer?”

Norman smiled that beautiful smile that made the fan girls melt at you and you felt your heart beat a little faster, your stomach do a little flip, and another part of your anatomy grow in warmth. You couldn’t help it. Norman may be a close friend, but what you felt for him wasn’t just friendship. You knew it was more yet you did your best to not show it. You didn’t want to ruin things between you so you did not admit how you felt.

The two of you talked over the details before you decided that showering at his house would be better than your trailers. So you changed out of your costume, grabbed your bag, said goodbye to the rest of the cast and crew before you followed Norman’s bike to his house in your car. 

Showering at Norman’s or one of the cast’s places wasn’t new. It happened more than most people would think. It came in handy given that the cast hung out a lot together after their days were done so you needed no direction to the guests’ bathroom at Norman’s house. This was good considering his cat distracted him when they walked in the door. The powerful pressure and hot water felt wonderful on your skin as it washed away the dirt and makeup from the day. You became so relaxed that you stayed under the water longer than you meant to, so you quickly shut off the shower. 

Dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt, you headed towards the music playing in the living room to look for Norman. It only took a moment to find him in his kitchen, phone to his ear, talking to someone while cooking. From what you could see by the ingredients, he was making one of your favorite dishes. 

You took a moment to look him over. His hair was still slightly damp so you knew he must have showered before he dressed in a dark pair of lounge pants and a plain white T-shirt with no socks, perfect for a night in. When he caught sight of you, he motioned to the beer he was drinking from then the fridge where you knew cold beer was waiting for you.

Not wanting to eavesdrop on his call, you took your drink to the couch to relax. You were so focused on the game on your phone that you didn’t hear Norman approach you until a plate of food suddenly appeared. It smelled delicious and you could barely contain a moan. “You’re a Saint.”

“Aye lass,” Norman replied in his Murphy accent as he winked while you laughed. Along with the food, he had brought another round of beers that he sat down before taking a spot next to you, close enough that the lengths of your legs were touching. 

As you ate, you listened to Norman as he told a story about something that had recently happened during his last trip to New York, as always surprised that he didn’t end up wearing half of his food as he did so. Norman always talked so animatedly that people teased that you watched him talk versus listening. It was like having dinner and a show. You had just finished the second beer when the topic of your conversation turned towards work and the scenes you had been filming. 

“After what we shot today, it looks like the writers are planning on something happening with Daryl and Erin,” Norman commented as he looked at you as if he needed confirmation. 

“Yeah.” You nodded in agreement. During season one, there was a scene between their two characters when the gang was at the CDC that got the fans speculating that there could be something more between the archer and the sheriff’s sister. The idea grew after season two aired and they shared more scenes on the farm and the search for Sophia. People ‘shipped’ them, they said they enjoyed watching Daryl’s interactions with Erin as well as his friendship with Carol. It had been talked about quite a bit at the conventions they had been to, though not all of Daryl’s fans were on board. “Or at least the seeds of it, see if the fans really want it. Drag it out as a slow burn.”

“What?” Norman asked confused. 

“Slow burn, it’s a well-known romance trope, where the writers take a long time to get a couple together.” You explained.

“Ah, I defer to the expert.” He said with a smile. It was well-known on set that you read a lot on set between takes, most of them being some type of romance novels. Norman and Andy loved to tease you about the more racy ones you read. 

“Hey!” You replied before smacking his arm. “Not all of us can be the brooding photographer, I need something to keep occupied during the downtime.” 

“Well all you’d have to do is ask and I’d be happy to keep you occupied.” 

Trying not to let Norman’s joke affect you too much, you focused back on the talk of your characters. “IF they get them together, they will actually be doing several troupes; enemies to lovers, best friend’s sister, maybe idiots in love.” 

“Whatever they do, I’m still all for playing Daryl completely lost at what to do,” Norman professed. You had heard him talk about playing Daryl as a stranger to physical relationships, or as he explained it ‘having no game’. “Not like a virgin but damn close. Erin would have to make the first move. I’m sure any time he’s been laid in the past was drunk in an alley or something quick like that.” 

“So Erin would be a seductress?” You asked as your eyebrow raised. 

“Ha, nothing like that. Just like in the moment, she would have to be the one to do anything because Daryl wouldn’t think to do it.” Norman explained. “Say the two of them are really close, physically I mean, and anyone watching would think it is the moment, but Daryl just wouldn’t do it.”

“Hmmm. I can see it.” You agreed. You didn’t know if it was the buzz you were feeling from the beers that gave you the courage to do it or if you had just lost your mind but you shifted around so you were on your knees and brought your face closer to Norman’s. You saw a brief flicker of surprise in his beautiful blue eyes before they turned curious as to what you were doing. 

“What if Daryl did something for her, and as a thank you she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek? Then when she pulls back, their faces are really close. So then she would take the chance and press her lips to his.” You explained. 

“I think I see what you are saying, but you should show me,” Norman said, his eyes dropping to your lips at the same time as his eyes darkened.  

You licked your lips before you began to lean forward. You had kissed Norman on the cheek numerous times, but this felt different. Not letting your nerves stop you, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his stubbled cheek, just a hairsbreadth away from the corner of his lips. You pulled back slightly, keeping your eyes locked on Norman’s. “Like that, then when she pulled back, he would be looking at her and they have a moment. Then she would kiss him.”

“Hmmm,” Norman murmured in acknowledgment and kept his eyes locked on yours. “Show me.”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. They were soft and tender, not at all like you expected them to be. He was tentative, and exploratory, the velvety smooth touch of his lips ignited desire within your body. Norman's lips moved against yours for a moment before he withdrew slightly away from her, opening his eyes to look to you for a reaction. Instead of saying anything, you ran your hand along the side of his neck and pulled him towards you to place a firm kiss on his lips. 

This kiss was full of desire and passion. All the sexual tension between the two of them that had built up over the time you had met each other fueled the moment. Norman’s mouth molded over yours, hard and persuasive, parting your lips with the thrust of his tongue. He ravished your mouth as he brought his hands to your hips and tugged you to straddle him, bringing you closer to him deepening the kiss as he did. 

Your bodies rubbed against each other trying to touch as much as possible. You could lose yourself in his touch the way your body instinctively molded into his. Norman moved away from your mouth, his soft lips left soft kisses against your temple, the outline of your ear, your jaw. He found a spot behind your right ear and lingered there until your breath grew ragged. 

He continued his journey down the column of your throat, his breath warming where your neck met shoulder. You couldn’t help but bite down on your lower lip to stifle a soft gasp as his stubble brushed against the delicate skin along your collarbone, his lips sought out and found the most sensitive spots on your neck, causing the nerve endings in your skin to tingle in anticipation. You released the hold you had on his neck, letting your hands slide down so you could run your hands over the muscles of his chest. You could feel his muscles contract a little at your touch and your hips moved, brushing your core against his hard arousal. 

At your movement, Norman’s hands slid down from your waist to over your ass. He squeezed it roughly before he moved them down farther to the back of your thighs. His grip tightened on your thighs before he rose from the couch. When you felt yourself leave the couch, you wrapped your legs around Norman's waist. You yelped a little in surprise, but you knew that his strong arms had you secure against him. Without pulling away from you, Norman made his way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

*****

The first thing you noticed as you came out of sleep was a heavyweight you weren’t used to draped across your midsection. You cracked your eyes open to see what it was and found yourself face to face with a sleeping Norman. He lay on his stomach while you were on your back, and his arm wrapped loosely at your side. Your eyes wandered lower and saw naked flesh down to the slope of his ass where a sheet lay half-hazard. Confusion flooded you for a moment before the memories of the night before flooded your thoughts and you know exactly how you got into the state you were in; naked in Norman’s bed with him. You had had sex with him, and not just once if your memories and ache in your body were correct. 

Very carefully you slid out from under Norman’s large arm, thankfully not waking him, and began hunting for your clothes. You couldn’t believe you had been so stupid to let yourself give in to your feelings for Norman. What were you thinking? This was going to screw up everything. If it had just been sex between friends, you could deal with it and you knew that was what Norman had probably been thinking it was. However, your feelings for him made things much harder to deal with. 

Once you found your clothes, plus your keys and phone you crept towards the door but stopped when a flicker of movement caught your eyes. You glanced over thinking it was Norman but instead finding yourself caught in the stare of Eyes in the Dark. And if you weren’t wrong, he had a look of judgment on his face. “Great, I’m caught doing the walk of shame by a cat.”

After you escaped the house and headed back to your place without breaking too many speeding laws, you took a quick shower. A part of you didn’t want to wash off Norman’s scent but you had to go to the set and you couldn’t go smelling like sex. You found several marks on your body but thankfully he had kept them in areas that could be covered easily by clothes. You didn’t want to have to explain to the makeup people why they had to cover up hickeys on your neck. 

Thankfully the scenes you had to do for the day were with Andy and Chandler and not with Norman. You couldn’t even remember if he was filming that day, the lack of sleep and your mind going over what happened had done a number on you. Luckily you remembered your lines and had no issues that might give yourself away. Or so you thought. 

“You seem off today is all,” Andy said as he came up and sat next to you out of the way as the two of you waited for the crew to line up the next scene. You looked up from your phone, you noticed you had a few missed phone calls and even more missed texts from Norman. 

“Just tired.” You replied with a small smile but Andy seemed to study you even closer at your answer as he took a drag off his cigarette. 

He nudges your shoulder with a teasing smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "I don't think that's it," he comments, the words hanging heavy in the air between you, thick with unspoken implications. You know with a certainty that borders on dread that Andy won't cease his gentle pestering. His persistence is unmatched, a relentless tide of playful prodding that washes over you, leaving you feeling increasingly exposed. It reminds you painfully of Norman, his own brand of determined teasing, a constant, low-grade annoyance that somehow, inexplicably, you found yourself strangely drawn to.

A wave of self-deprecation washes over you. Internally, you roll your eyes at your own predictable weakness. You know, with a frustrating certainty, that you'll soon cave.

"Fine," you relent, the word escaping your lips before you can fully consider the consequences. "But you cannot say anything to anyone. Except Gail, of course. But no one else."

Andy, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that belies his easy going demeanor, assures you, "You have my word."

Casting a quick glance around, you check for any lurking ears, your gaze sweeping the room for potential eavesdroppers. The air feels thick with a sudden, unwarranted paranoia. Finally, you commit, the words tumbling out in a rush, "I might have… kind of… had sex with Norman last night."

Andy raises an eyebrow, feigning an exaggerated seriousness that does little to conceal the amusement bubbling beneath the surface. "You're not sure?" he asks, his voice dripping with playful disbelief. A gentle jest, you know, aimed more at easing your tension than anything else.

Your glare is half-hearted, a feeble attempt to scold him for his teasing. "I'm sure we did. That's the problem."

"Why? Was it that bad?" he quips, unable to fully suppress the grin that threatens to split his face.

Unable to suppress your own laughter, a sound that bubbles up from somewhere deep within you, you find yourself admitting, "Stop! It's not that."

"What?" He laughs with you, his eyes gleaming with genuine curiosity. "Just asking why it's a problem?"

Exasperated yet oddly amused, you exclaim, "WHY? Why do you think? If it was just sex, between friends, it'd be okay, but this is sex with Norman."

Andy's confusion is evident, his brow furrowing slightly as he tries to decipher your words. "How is that different? You and Norman are friends, close friends."

"We are," you confess, the weight of your admission settling heavily on your chest. "It's just… I might care about Norman as a little more than a friend." Saying it aloud is strange, a truth you've only ever confided in Lauren, a secret that has festered within you, unspoken and unacknowledged. Now that you've started confessing, it's like a dam has burst, the flood of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "So sleeping with him was beyond stupid of me. It's like I wanted to torture myself because I know something more with him is something I can't have."

Andy, with the ease of someone who has long since accepted the absurdity of your situation, asks, "What makes you say that?"

"Because Norman just sees me as a friend," you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Andy's sudden, boisterous laughter catches you completely off guard, the last reaction you were expecting. "I'm glad the mess of my life is funny," you retort, a mixture of playful indignation and genuine hurt coloring your voice.

"Oh sweetheart, that is not what I'm laughing at," he explains, his laughter subsiding as he pulls you into a comforting embrace. "It's hilarious how blind the two of you are."

"What do you mean?" you ask, your curiosity piqued despite your earlier annoyance.

"It is obvious to everyone but you two how much you care about each other," Andy says, his voice soft and sincere. "Maybe even in love with each other. You might have just told me, but I've known for a while now. Jon even left me with orders to text him as soon as the two of you got it together. We might all be actors, but the two of you can't hide it to save your life."

You opened your mouth to argue more, but before you could the call back to our marks was called out. Everything Andy said was on a loop in your head an hour later when you headed back to your trailer for a break. You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice the other person inside until you shut the door behind you. Then you found yourself trapped by a pair of piercing blue eyes. “Norman.”

He sat on the sofa in his regular clothes, hat, and sunglasses sitting next to him. His phone was in his hand but he paid no attention, instead focused on you. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up and found myself alone this morning.” 

“I had to get to set.” You stated but even to your ears, it sounded like a weak excuse. You could see Norman thought the same thing by the look on his face. 

“I’ve been texting, and calling. Decided you couldn’t ignore me if I showed up,” Norman said as stood up and walked towards you. You could tell he was watching you to make sure he didn’t make you uncomfortable or that you’d run from him. When you didn’t, he leaned his forehead against yours and his hands on your hips before he whispered. “Did we mess things up last night? Did I?”

You closed your eyes as you leaned into him. “No. It wasn’t you. I shouldn’t have kissed you in the first place.” 

“You might not have noticed, but I didn’t mind.” He joked. “I enjoyed it a lot and I thought you did too.”

“I did. A lot.” You admitted. It was the truth. The night spent with Norman had been incredible, and not just because of the many orgasms he had pulled out of you. It had been passionate and intense mixed with tenderness. A level of intimacy you had rarely felt before. And you were feeling it right now in his arms as well.

“I wanted everything just as much as you did. I wanted you.” Norman stated before adding. “I still want you.”

“It is not that simple Norman. I wish it was something as simple as sex between friends, blowing off steam after a tense day. I can’t separate sex from how I feel about you.” You admitted. You hadn’t planned to tell Norman how you felt, but what had gone as you thought it would since last night. “I could put those feelings aside to just be your friend but having a physical relationship would be too much.”

“Then don’t.” 

“Don’t?” You repeated.

“Don’t put your feelings aside,” Norman explained. “For me what happened last night wasn’t just sex. I took you to my bed because I wanted you, not because you are beautiful and sexy as hell but because you’re you. And when you kissed me, I hoped that meant something, that there was something more between us.”

“Really?” You asked and Norman nodded. You couldn’t believe it, Andy had been right. 

“Yes.” He answered. “I enjoy the time we spend together, and I value you as a friend, but friendship is not the only way I want you in my life. I know I’m not easy to deal with, even working together there are times I’m gone, and there are a bunch of other reasons why you wouldn’t want to be with me but I hope.”

“I don’t care.” You said to interrupt him. “I know what I’m getting into and none of that stuff matters.”

This time the smile Norman gave you was a shy one, but still got your heart rate up. “So we’re doing this?”

“Yes. I want to see where this goes.” 

“Hmm, I think we should seal this with a kiss.” 

“Oh you do, do you?” You said with a laugh. 

Instead of answering with words, Norman moved to do what he suggested. His lips had just brushed yours when there was a knock at the door, one of the crew calling you back to set. You both groaned at the horrible timing. 

Norman kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead before saying. “Go finish your scenes. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“You’re staying here?” You knew Norman had no reason to be on set today besides coming to see you.

“Yeah. I’ll keep myself occupied and when you’re done, I’ll take you out to dinner. Unless you want to stay in again?”

“Tempting, but I think dinner out would be nice.” You stated. You liked the idea of the two of you alone but also thought it would be nice go to out. It would keep the two of you in check if others were around. 

Norman planted a quick kiss on your lips before pushing you towards the door. “Go, before I decide to say fuck the shooting schedule and not let you out of here.”

You laughed at his ‘threat’. “Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” 

[five-and-dimes]

💄? I am so intriuged, in that sort of “oh yay suffering :)” sort of way all dreamlings are

lol yeah I'm realizing there's a lot of suffering in this fic 😅 I promise there's a happy ending!

I know I've posted the first part of this snippet before, but now I have the companion scene that goes with it finished!

Dream is 24, and he’s a little out of breath when he gets to the bar, but at least he isn’t late. Thessaly is strict about punctuality, and this is the first time she has agreed to introduce Dream to her friends. But when he approaches her by the entrance, she simply looks at him and sneers. “God, you look awful.” Dream looks down at himself. He is dressed in his nicest jeans and a black button up rolled up to his elbows, nice but still casual. But when he looks back at Thessaly, she’s not looking at his outfit. She’s looking at his face. “I…” he touches his bare cheek nervously, “I did not put any makeup on. I was running late and-“ “I’d rather you show up late than show up looking like a corpse,” she snaps, “God, you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”  He is tired. But she doesn’t sound concerned. She just sounds mad. “I’ll fix it,” Dream blurts out, desperate, “Just, just tell them I’ll be a little late, I won’t be longer than fifteen minutes-“ “You better not be,” Thessaly huffs, turning away to walk into the bar, “If you’re later than that don’t bother coming at all.” Dream runs. He sprints like the devil is on his heels, bursting into a convenience store and grabbing handfuls of makeup. His hands shake as he stands in the public restroom and layers foundation onto his face to try to fix it. To fix himself. Ten minutes later he is kissing Thessaly on the cheek and greeting her friends. “That’s more like it,” she says to him tersely under her breath, “now you just need to not be a freak for an hour. Try to stay seen and not heard, okay sweetie?” Her voice drips with condescension. But Dream knows she’s right. He keeps quiet. He sits on his hands. He makes sure to always keep spare makeup in his coat after that. Thessaly still breaks up with him on their six month anniversary. But for six months, he isn’t alone. ~~~ Dream is 30, and he is running late, but he looks immaculate. He saunters up to the bar where Hob stands, waiting for him. The makeup in his pocket is expensive, but does the trick. Hob grinned slyly, “You’re late.” “It seems I owe you an apology,” Dream purred, slinking up into Hob’s space until they are chest to chest, “I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends,” Hob gasped as Dream palmed at his groin, “waiting.” He lets Hob drag him into the restroom and push him to his knees. He lets Hob fuck his face until he gags and chokes. His lipstick never smears. His eyeliner doesn’t run. “You are unfairly composed,” Hob states with a grin, still panting slightly from coming down Dream’s throat. Dream fixes his hair with quick efficiency, and smirks, “I’ve had a lot of practice.” Back at the bar, Dream is poised and flawless. He lets Hob do the talking. He sits on his hands. At the end of the night, Hob kisses him and asks him out again. So he must be doing something right.

[pinep-ne]

Req: How do you think Charles and Arthur's first romantic dance went out? It can be a drabble or one shot, whichever you'd like! Go ham-

Ohh I love this.. I have an answer and a little one-shot for you. I got really carried away with this one,,

I think in a modern au, which is what I am assuming, for the sake of *romantic* and their *first*, it'd have to be the classic dinner date.

I like to think they knew each other beforehand from work or similar, and after some painfully obvious pining, Abby and Hosea were practically begging Arthur to just ask the dude.

I've never really thought of Charles being the type to initiate too much in relationships, being alone for so much of his life, and Arthur's probably had more experience being a ladies' man if Mary says anything, so I thought the trope fit. And with Charles being a closed book, Arthur probably didn't have any other promising ideas such as this one.

So he pops the question, to which he receives a sheepish yes. Panics a little because he was fully expecting to be friend-zoned, or a secret open-ended thing in between, and also had nothing else planned except for a place, a budget, and the time.

Of course the cherry on top is that the 'table-for-two at a warmly lit and hushed restaurant that pours champagne for hundreds' scene isn't really something familiar to either of them, so the dinner itself ends up pretty abysmal. I mean the evening is nice, and they're clicking, and it's not necessarily awkward, but they'd really just rather be anywhere but here.

Anywho. In truth, as their relationship unfurls I think Charles and Arthur would kind of stray to the more unconventional dates— hiking, camping, volunteer work, roadtrips, etc etc. It's safe to say a rich and lavish night of romance isn't really something they're super inclined to. Plus, there's just something a little impersonal about sitting across from the table from your potential lover, and these idiots have always seemed like the 'parallel play' type to me.

I hope I've embodied a lot of this in the fic well enough... sorry if it's all a bit of a spoiler!

Anywho. I hope you enjoy!!!!!!!!! It gets a little introspective like most of my works... so apologies in advance. And for reference, this is probably set in the early 2000s.

(i have this fic and more posted on ao3!)

----------

Arthur leans across the center console, trying to catch a glimpse of the apartment numbers once more. Re-checks his watch. Flips the visor down, and re-checks himself. He gives the reflection a once-over, kneading at his face, flicking back a particular chunk of hair, only for it to bounce back over his forehead. Curses, mulling over for the umpteenth time this whole affair, and steps out of the truck.

He thinks, immediately, that he should've asked earlier. In April, or something. Not December, when the sun's always further than it should be, and the truck only starts up on a prayer. It's too cold to wear something nice without it looking unfitting, but he supposes he's done okay. He wonders if Charles is any better, as if the man's ever looked bad a day in his life.

The quick jaunt to the door has his stomach flipping inside itself. He buzzes once, and twice, and considers a third time before it squeals open. Straightens. Crosses his arms before letting them down again at his sides. Thinks it better to just push them both into his pockets.

Charles is there, like he should be.

He's wearing about the same thing Arthur is, about the same thing they both wear normally, only more polished. Boots and jeans and a simple flannel, covered by a thickly lined denim jacket.

He gives Arthur a look. Something akin to amusement, maybe. Holds his gaze to Arthur's and gifts him an earnest little smile, like it's a secret just for the two of them.

Usually, he's got an inch or two on Charles, but with the man on the doorstep, Arthur's looking up a good bit. He's got one hand on the door, the other occupied with necessities, rested in the air with idle anticipation. Gaze following Arthur's every move, every frantic bout of shuffling, and fidgeting.

Arthur's chest stirs at the sight, at the tilt he keeps his neck to. He lingers on the feeling, and breaks the contact, looking over his shoulder while it settles.

It takes a second or three for him to even process that he's supposed to do something. He shifts on his heels and lets out a chuckle himself, smiling ear to ear.

"Hey," he huffs, and gazes up once more.

"Hey," Charles mimics. It makes them both laugh, the whole situation. Arthur can't seem to wipe the smile off his own face at that. He shoves fists further into his pockets, glances back to the truck, then down at his feet. Face feeling like ice, burning at the core. He's sure it's screaming quite a shade of red.

He steps back, letting Charles step onto the porch beside him. "You ready?" He asks, to which Charles hums.

They both settle in the truck. Arthur quickly fumbles for the keys before he can bear any drawn silence. His shoulders drop as the engine sputters to life, just ready to start the damned night.

He doesn't remember ever being this anxious for anyone. With Mary, there was almost a standard, or rubric for him. He knew her type well, what she fawned over in their early days. Could mold himself into it easily enough and be loved by a woman how he ought to be loved, and in turn love her the way he ought to love her.

With Charles, it seems it's flipped itself around. Some way or another Arthur'd bared himself enough for Charles to wrench that mask from him. And he supposes that is the issue, that there may in fact be nothing behind it, or at the very least, an entirely lesser man. One that would be realized, and discarded for what it's worth.

But, hell if he doesn't want it. Hell if Hosea didn't plead him for it either.

Arthur never told him about this excursion, but he plans to. Regardless if it goes well or not. The man deserves that much and more after putting up with his stubborn self. He just worries like a parent should. Arthur doesn't blame him, with how his past two relationships went. He supposes he worries too. Wonders many more chances he can take, before his heart is disciplined into something less malleable, less childish.

If anything, he is grateful that it'd have to happen now. He's felt freer, softer than he has in years. By instinct he wants to hate that, wants to beat it down before it gets a chance to blossom, but as a stronger nature, he finds that mere notion impossible the moment Charles finds him again, and shows him how easy it all is.

And Christ, it makes him sick.

They haven't even made it a minute down the road before Charles nudges Arthur, supposedly thrilled if the look on his face says anything, but with something unreadable behind it.

Arthur figures his nerves must be afire, too.

Charles turns to him, speaking low, an odd tilt of his tone, "Surprised you didn't bring me flowers or nothin'," he rests his elbow on the center console, pausing. "The girls told me about your... 'charms', as they called it."

Arthur balks, "Oh— pff. You're kiddin' me," he groans, rubbing a palm over his face.

Charles makes an amused noise through closed lips. "Maybe Ms. Gaskill just told it a little rosier than you did."

Arthur tilts his head around, shrugging. "Well... I mean, it was all puppy love back then. I ain't blamin' her none."

"Lucky I'd known before. Woulda second-guessed this whole thing."

Arthur leans back in his seat, one arm outstretched to steer, like those big rig drivers. Trying to loosen up, even if it seems unnatural. He looks at Charles, brows furrowed. "You ain't already?" Still trying to ride on the teasing, but there is genuine surprise there. He wonders if Charles wants it just as bad.

Arthur watches him open a pack of Marlboros, offering one. Watches him light both and take a drag. Voice a little more genuine, a little lower, "Can't say I'd ever," he says.

Arthur nods to that, and they fall back into silence.

The last bit of blue hour has fallen beneath the horizon, a void swallowing the road. The restaurant is further into the city. Not like neither of them really live in the city to begin with. The reviews were good enough, a little too distinguished for his taste, but he hopes there's at least some bit of casual-ness, with it being downtown.

They make it to the place, parking a block or two down. Before Charles can even think, Arthur's rushed out of the car and rounded to the passenger side. He whips open the door with a flourish and bends down with a hand out, grinning coyly.

Charles barks a laugh, turning his face away, as if he could flee the scene. "You bastard."

But Arthur persists, cheeks round with an actual smile now, still holding a palm out for Charles to take. "You ain't an exception to my romantic charms, Mr. Smith."

Charles steps out, shoving past the hand. "Sure," he breathes, face to face with Arthur on the curb, who's stood like a deer in headlights, performance quickly smothered. Charles gives him a perplexed look.

"Could use a little work, though. Face gives it away." He starts down the sidewalk.

"My— What about my face?" Arthur's pitch raises, catching up to Charles. He merely laughs in response, and throws another look Arthur can't quite put his finger on.

They reach the restaurant. A glistening tower of brick, about three stories, crammed between its larger neighbors. Arthur quickly settles in. Strides past Charles and makes a bee-line to the host, leaning across the stand. Mumbles where Charles can only hear the drawn vowels of his accent, low and grumbly.

They both follow the host like a family of ducklings. It's a lot more crowded than Arthur anticipated, or wanted frankly. He immediately begins to recognize his own askew presence, but decides not to bother.

Their seats are snug against the wall, on the second floor, with a little square table that hardly fits both their forearms, and a large window that reaches past their heads and down to their heels.

They each order a beer, in quiet agreement that they've already painted an odd portrait of themselves by wearing jeans to what is quite the esteemed establishment. There's a second of consideration before just picking the cheapest meal the place has, and deciding they'll share it.

Charles shifts in his seat. He clears his throat and takes a few sips of beer. Clearly the dread in the air has become palpable.

"Arthur, how've you been?" He says. It's blunt, and uncomfortably shallow. Arthur thinks like second nature, though with some amount of disappointment that it's where they must tread now before hitting any deep-end.

He tries his best to salvage it, anyway.

He takes a few sips himself before opening... whatever this conversation should be... and scrunches his face at the taste. Right. Cheapest options.

"Well y'know," his confidence tapers as soon as it had been mustered. "Pretty static right now. Dutch ain't sending me on any jobs lately, 'cause of the ice. Good time to—"

Charles, honest to god, giggles, though faint, waving his hand in a subtle gesture to Arthur. "We're not here to talk about work, Arthur," he sets both his elbows on the table, shifting again, like it's some interrogation. "How are you?"

Arthur sits, lips parted. He looks out from the window, then back at Charles, who stares expectantly. Then, his body suddenly rights itself, reanimating with an odd ferocity.

"Right— sorry... I ain't really connected like this, with you. Just not used to it." he pauses, "Long way from coworkers now..." he winces. "But I'm good. Not just in a shallow way, I mean. I'm real happy about this. Happy, in general. At least Hosea thinks so." he looks back out to the window, humming. "How're you holding up yourself? I know you... ain't really open up much 'round work and all."

Charles also falters, it seems, spotlight suddenly upon him. Arthur thinks the same epiphany's occurred to the both of them simultaneously. That a date does, in fact, take two.

Charles opens his mouth with a brief noise, much like a string of vowels that've been severed. He settles a little dejectedly, posture slightly shrunken.

"I don't really know what I'm doing, to be honest," he says. Avoids looking for Arthur's reaction, he barrels on. "It's just been a while since I've really... pursued anything? But I'm glad— y'know, that you are, but I'm also glad myself. Content, I think. Maybe a little anxious," he huffs and hides behind his beer again.

Arthur balks, "You?" He watches Charles perk up, smile growing, even if a little reluctant. "And here's me wakin' up 'fore dawn and starin' off half the day, I was so worried."

"We're in the same boat then," Charles says in stifled laughter. Arthur bites his cheek, stirred by the sight of it. He keeps the yarn spinning, coaxing more, slowly peeling back the layers eagerly.

The food comes, and he takes it as an opening. They share it together as planned, which could be a little tastier with the damn price of it. Not that Arthur is really paying attention.

They trade throughout the night. Little details, and Arthur learns more than he'd expected to. About Charles' mother, with sparse mention of his father. That this is both their first serious date with another man. That Charles has a sweet tooth, shyly confirmed after the pursed lips he'd given when Arthur declined a dessert. Little quirks about him that Arthur's already begun nailing into his own heart, forgetting entirely to share anything about himself until prompted to.

By the end of it, the creaky stools and odd stares all around hardly really mattered anymore. He supposes he's grateful for the experience as they walk out, and only knows for sure when they're both shoulder to shoulder on the street again. His heart stutters despite it. He feels he owes something.

"Charles. Hey, I'm uh," he stops them when they reach the truck. "Sorry if this was all kind of a bust."

Charles faces him, remnants of a smile still lingering. "What do you mean?"

"Not that I didn't enjoy it! I mean you're— it was really amazing. I loved it, I'm just kinda realizin' maybe the fancy night-outs ain't fit for us, or me for that matter," his hands stay at his middle, fidgeting with the keys, averting his gaze.

Charles looks at him even more confused. Taking a second to process that, then, his features relax in what seems to be understanding. He lends another smile, "Your company was wonderful Mr. Morgan," his voice falls back into that same timbre from earlier in the evening. "But I think you're right," he says, to which Arthur only huffs.

They settle back into the truck, silence looming over once again. Arthur can hear the rustle of fabric as Charles shifts in his seat; he doesn't feel any urgency to turn the keys.

"What about lights?" Charles asks.

"Lights?" He mimics.

"Christmas lights. Whole festival for them, next weekend. Should be near your area." He does the same move he'd done on the drive here— elbow on the console, except his head rests in his hand, and he's leant closer a great deal, wholly confident in his proposal, although Arthur can't imagine how he's already figured out the answer.

He clicks his tongue, turning the keys. "Sure," he says. "I'd love that," voice pitched and quieter, like an admission to himself.

The drive back is in contentment. Arthur feels like a wad of knots that've been untied and strewn limp on the floor. Part of him longs for more, more of Charles, more of his voice, for some odd reason. Part of him wants to just crash at his place and wake like it's been the two of them all along, but he knows he can't rush it. For both their sakes.

Dutch has always prodded him for having a pliable heart. He's never found it in him to disagree. He's starting to think he wouldn't have it any other way, though.

They reach the screen door, mirroring the position they were in just hours earlier, Charles on the doorstep, Arthur tilting his head to meet his eyes.

He sways around, air a lot colder, trying to keep his nerves about, before stilling a moment, and turning to Charles with as much coolness as he can. "What was it about my face? Said it didn't help my 'charm'?" He asks, voice breathy.

Charles squints, confused, before his eyebrows raise with recognition, a faint laugh bursting out— a small 'oh' buried somewhere between it.

He takes a breath, "You blush a lot, Arthur."

Arthur's face scrunches, "What?" He exclaims. "That ain't fair, 's just cold, Charles,"

"Mm. I noticed it that first ranch job in August," Charles offers, snuffing out Arthur's poor excuse.

Arthur turns his head to where the truck sits, trying to save the embarrassment for later, if at the cost of Charles' amusement. "Pfft. Bastard. It can't be that bad?"

"How do you think Hosea picked up on it before either of us did?" Charles supplies, still grinning.

Arthur grumbles out a string of empty curses, letting the topic go, for now at least.

A pause. The truck rumbles behind them.

Arthur inhales sharply, "Well I suppose I should get going."

"Yeah," Charles says. He rests his hand on the door handle.

"Thank you, for y'know. See you next weekend?"

Charles searches his face, eyes like palms tracing the shadowed features. "Yeah. Take care."

Arthur lends a smile in response and finds another shot back at him with a fervent sincerity. Turns around before it gets the best of him, and walks down to the truck.

[seilon]

please don’t by k.will did more for the gays back in 2012 than any boy group can possibly do with fan service and crop tops in 2024

[impostorsshow]

I'm actually so obsessed with him it's not even funny if i'm not listening to a TikTok or music directly related to him I can't focus free me free me

This is @/cherubpuppet's OC for a object show [au? pitch? wip show? How do I categorize this] and I've been destroyed by the fact that ruler art is infinitely superior [and 10x longer] and i don't have a good enough grasp on lip gloss's personality to make fanfiction so I am frozen in "want make fanart but fanart takes effort :["

[tazzmanian-devil]

im so scared of the future. i dont know what im going to do with myself. i am not mentally capable of working enough hours to support myself without killing myself. i truly believe that if i lived alone i would burn my house down. i cant work jobs that require a lot of standing or interacting with others. i dont have the autism that makes me good with computers to do something online. i have no idea what im good for. i dont even draw well or often enough to do commissions, and i feel too guilty about not being in a difficult financial situation to even offer them.

i dont know how to apply for disability or what it would even grant me besides tax benefits. one of the questions on the website is for employment status, and the two options are employed and unemployed/seeking employment. i do not think i am capable of working a regular job, and i have no idea what IRregular jobs there might be. i tried reaching out to my school's employment coordinator, and her ONLY advice was to sell my work. i am trying!

maybe it would be different if i felt more direct and specific pressure of a problem to solve and less general pressure to do what im supposed to without knowing what that is. im living with my grandfather and aunt right now, so im not feeling housing pressure. my parents are paying for my education, so im not feeling pressure to pay that back. why do i need that? what is it for? what is my goal? i dont know. i have money from student loans in my bank account paying for my groceries.

i feel like a horse whose ass has been spanked. something is driving me forward, but i dont know what or which direction to run. i have no idea whats coming, and its horrible. i dont know what i want or what i should be doing next, except for 'get a job' which is such a vague instruction that its leaving me spinning my wheels.

i should get a job so i can live alone...but i dont want to live alone. i dont think i CAN live alone, unsupported. what is any of this for??? i start taking steps forward, and im haulted each time by myself asking why? why am i doing this? whats the point? what do i want from this? nothing? i want nothing? im only doing this to satisfy external pressures? then whats the point? cant i just watch movies all day instead? whats the point?

[gothteddiesdotcom]

not to post about someone who isn’t here anymore but I miss bbycnt so bad that’s my fucking friend right there she was the fucking best 😭

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinkbing about. him

[manasurge]

.

[stabyou]

me when running away from everyone makes me end up all alone:

[fragglerockopinions]

.

[johndonneswife]

someone really should be talking about how difficult it is to plan a wedding - a gay wedding - when both of your families fucking suck