#but he still takes the L with a little bit of dignity and it makes sense for her to get her space and leave

[these-are-the-first-steps]

Ok so like.....*sigh*

So like in the show he basically asks her to marry him and she says yes, and they're both like "Promise? Promise!" but she keeps fucking conveniently remembering and forgetting "the promise to mother" like I know he's intoxicating af and it's hard to hold a thought around this man (I also have a very hard time holding a thought looking at him), but pick a goddamn side and have a backbone about it ffs!! Like you can't waffle on people like this girl!! You literally sat here and engaged yourself to this man and then you go off and do THAT???

I would like to note that so far in the (very drastically different) novel, there is no such promise ever made, and she fucks off to the steppe because she's mad at Ning Yi thinking the whole entire time he had just been cozying up as part of a plot to kill her so leaving bought her time, space, and a power base to fight back and he just eats the misunderstanding like "????? fine, come and kill me when you're ready, at least I'll get to see you again, I am ok with this." which makes a bit more sense tbh.

In a loooot a lot of ways, the tv show is about 1000x more polished than the book, but at least the book has fewer slaps in the face like this. They become a bit more obvious on rewatch, especially after pawing through the novel. (I hope the translator finishes it someday!! They picked it up again this past may after two years of nothing so here's hoping!)

[13eyond13]

Hii! I don't know if you were asked this before, but I'm curious whether you prefer the manga or anime ending of death note and why? Also, your berserk meta posts are always such a delight to read!

Hi hi! It's admittedly been a long while since I've either read or watched the series at this point, so I took some time going back over my asks to see if I could find one where I'd talked about this before. Didn't come across one, but I've definitely contemplated this before, so I'll just do my best to remember what I thought.

So I like both of them in different ways, basically. But if I had to choose one over the other I'd choose the manga ending as the one that I prefer.

Here is a quick rundown of what I think are the biggest strengths and weaknesses of the anime ending:

The best things about the anime ending to me:

-Portrays the horrific awkwardness and tension in the warehouse between everybody leading up to and including Light's confession extremely well. I get so on the edge of my seat and anxious during the buildup to his big breakdown every time!

-Excellent voice acting and iconic laughter during Light's big dramatic Kira confession scene. Who DOESN'T remember that moment, it's definitely one of the anime's best

-Takes a slightly more gentle and merciful and quiet and melancholy approach to Light's death scene with the sorrowful music and the pretty sunset behind him, and takes the time to do things like flashback to his pre notebook innocent self, which is actually the only scene in the series that always makes me cry. Lets Light have a certain dignity and sadness to his death by allowing him to escape off by himself from the others and look as though he's drifting off slowly to sleep. For audience members who still empathize with Light on some level or see the sad side of how he was corrupted by the notebook this can be a choice that they prefer

-Gets so ridiculous and campy at certain points with things like Mikami stabbing himself to death with a pen and then exploding like a bag of blood that I can't help but laugh through the pain a bit

-Makes some nice aesthetic choices like having Light die symbolically on a staircase (which seems like a nod to the fact that he's going to Mu / an in-between or "nowhere" sort of place after he dies, or that he was stopped halfway up in his journey before he could truly attain the "godhood" he desired, and also seems like a bit of a parallel to the rain scene of him sitting on the staircase with L – also gives a little visual flashback nod to L during Light's final moments).

The worst things about the anime ending to me:

-Cuts a lot of important moments and stuff out of the conversations between Light and Near that really enhanced the overall meaning of the story and added to making Near a much more interesting and sympathetic character to me in the manga (particularly stuff like Near talking about what they have in common, and about letting other people have agency and freedom of choice, something that Light was uh not super great at)

-Did Mikami pretty dirty and cut most of his awkward interactions with Light in the warehouse (I feel like he doesn't even get to yell "you're not God!!" at Light in the anime, does he? I'm kinda forgetting now)

-Makes the SPK and the Task Force look a bit dumb and useless in how they're just saying stuff like "there's nothing we can do, he will be dead in a few minutes" while Mikami's bleeding out on the floor and just letting Light escape and run away from them all... also kinda makes it look like Light was SO wounded by the gunshots that he would've died soon anyway. Which takes away some of the dramatic impact that comes from Ryuk writing his name in the notebook!

-In the anime Ryuk seems almost to be writing Light's name in the notebook as a mercy killing, or like he's trying to put him out of his wounded misery, which I find detracts a bit from the whole idea in the manga that Light is forced to experience the same cold and cruel fate of somebody deliberately taking his remaining years of life from him with a death note against his will... something that he remorselessly inflicted upon so many others previously himself. The two of them also don't have any discussions before Light's death in the anime like they do in the manga, which were some pretty interesting and chilling parts of the ending to me (especially Ryuk saying stuff like "you're no longer entertaining me, so you should die right now" to him)

-There is no flashback in the anime to Light and Ryuk talking about EVERYBODY going to Mu after they die no matter how they behaved on earth, which was kinda hugely important as part of the point of the story to me (because I think it forces the audience to draw their own conclusions about who they think was truly good/bad or right/wrong in this story without pigeonholing any of them into one category or another, or by sending anybody to rewarding or punishing afterlifes... I also like that it doesn't treat the notebook users as any special category of person)

-As brutal as the manga ending is in how humiliated and frightened and alone Light is while he dies, I also think there's a certain poetic justice to the horror and embarrassment he experiences during that time. He was constantly taking other people's lives and treating them like pawns in his games, backstabbing and deceiving and discarding them once they were no longer useful to him, and even cruelly gloating over watching them die. I don't particularly enjoy watching him suffer except for how it is a bit narratively satisfying, in a tables-turning "you live by the sword you die by the sword" sort of way

-In general the anime kind of gave me the vibe that it thought Light losing in the warehouse was more about L's team finally winning against Light and getting revenge on him for L's death than about the deeper and more interesting philisophical/ethical questions and themes at play, and about all the entire cast of characters' journeys as a whole

--

Overall I'd say if you want a more narratively satisfying and logical ending with more food for thought and cruel irony and deeper character interactions and existential dread and poetic justice going on then the manga is superior in basically all of these ways

HOWEVER I do still also love the final episode of the anime, I think it's one of the best and most memorable episodes of the entire show, and if you decide to turn off your nitpicking brain a bit and simply enjoy the emotions that it conjures there are some very good dramatic/aesthetic/symbolic choices that it makes

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Komamura Sajin (Bleach) :Oneshot

“Why did I listen to Rangiku?”

You’ve gotten yourself into some deep shit because of her, but this feels by far the most embarrassing. The minute she found out about your crush she made it her mission to play matchmaker.

When she told you to make chocolates you thought nothing of it. She said that in the world of the living humans did this. Made treats for the ones they cared about. You never intended to actually give it to him.

You just like the idea of it.

Confessing your feelings while you handed him the treat. You even tied it with a little sticker with his name and a drawing of an adorable fox.

That very bag was now sitting in his quarters and you were trying to find a way to sneak in and grab it before he saw.

“When I get my hands on her, I’m going to strangle her.” 

Flashstepping through the barracks, you finally made it to his office.

You just need to get in and out.

Piece of cake.

Sliding the door open carefully, you tiptoed in, facing back to ensure no one sees you.

Maybe if you’d focused more on the front of you, you would have seen the male.

“(L/N)-san?”

You shrieked, instinctively slamming the door shut as you fell face first on the ground. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his head as he looked at you.

“Are you alright?”

You picked yourself off the ground, wiping your face.

“This is humiliating.”

It literally could not get worse.

“G-Gomen, Komamura-taicho.”

You bow, hoping to regain what little dignity you had left.

“It’s good that you’re here, maybe you can help me. I received this earlier today.”

In his hand was the entire reason for this dumb mission. The small wrapped packet of chocolates with heart and doodles decorated around his name. Not to mention that childish drawing.

“I believe someone left it for me.”

You wanted a hole to just open up and take you right there and then.

“It’s strange, I’ve never received sweets before. It must be a joke. My subordinates seem to be restless lately.”

Those words made you pause, and you lowered your head. For some reason hearing him make that assumption hurt. It felt like a mock of your feelings.

“It’s not a joke.”

Your stern voice caught his attention. The second you lifted your head, his eyes widened at your pained expression.

“I have to go, please excuse me.”

He didn’t get a word in. You disappeared and Komamura looked down at the small bag in his hand, gripping it a bit tighter.

Since the encounter you were careful to avoid him. Considering you are a member of the thirteenth division, it wasn’t that hard. You just kept a low profile when there were collaborations on missions.

Rangiku of course caught on and apologized profusely after learning what happened. You knew she was just trying to help, so you couldn’t be mad.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you!!”

She then persisted to dash off into a random direction. Probably to go to the world of the living and get you more of those cute stuffed animals that she knows you adore.

With a soft sigh, you intend to head back to your squad. It’s been an exhausting few weeks.

“I made everything weird.”

You scratch your head in irritation. You still haven’t figured out a way to face him, much less apologize.

“My brain hurts.”

With a frown, you drop your head, trudging wearily through the barracks. Maybe running head first into a wall would distract you.

“Ooof!”

Your head ran into something alright. Staggering back, you look up. Golden eyes stared down at you. Every bone in your body went stiff. Komamura looked surprised. Maybe because he must have realized that you were avoiding him. Because he’d barely seen you in the last few weeks.

“(L/N)-san.”

More than anything, you want to run, because your chest hurts.

“He knows.”

That’s all you could think about. He knows about your feelings. You made a sloppy statement last time and then bolted. Now here he is again and you can’t even form words. At least not the right ones.

“I..I..”

You’re literally trembling.

It might be time to come clean, because nothing you say can cover up what was already discovered.

“I LIKE YOU!!”

Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled that. You don’t even make the mistake of looking at him. You just have to be honest.

“R-Rangiku said that in the world of the living this is how they make their feelings known. You weren’t supposed to actually get the chocolate. She snuck it from me and left it on your desk. I-I’m sorry!”

You bow, both for the embarrassment and your poor way of handling the situation. Komamura isn’t a monster. Surely he would have understood. It just felt pathetic. Cowardly the manner in which you tried to confess.

“You made them for me.”

You nod, head still bent. You can’t look up.

“I’m sorry!”

Komamura’s expression softens. He can’t help but appreciate it. He’s used to people being so forward about their admiration for him as a captain. But this is the first time that he’s received such a confession. It’s not like this is the first time that he’s been aware of you. You’ve accompanied him on a number of missions. Your work ethic was impressive. You may not have been a ranked officer, but he was fully aware of your strengths and achievements.

It was nice to be the admirer in his instance. Because he knows that he admires you.

“I think it’s honorable to put yourself in such a position when you’re uncertain of how the other person feels.”

The statement makes your eyes pop open. Raising slowly, you somewhat gape at him.

“He’s smiling..”

You can’t believe it.

“I apologize for making light of those feelings. I’m not fully educated on all the customs of the human world. But I have to admit that I admire this one. Will you give me some time to properly think about your confession? I would like to respond to you properly.”

This must be a dream. Not only has he acknowledged your feelings, but he’s willing to actually consider them.

“Y-Yes!! Of course take all the time you need!!”

You don’t even care if you sound desperate. The person you’ve been pining after for the better part of three decades has finally become aware of you.

Komamura nods.

“Thank you.”

He sends you the most heart stopping smile, and in that moment, you sort of want to kiss Rangiku right now.

Who knew her terrible idea would turn out so well.

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

Uh, yeah....

Like, Viv...?

Babe?

My precious Baby Girl?

I love you, and while I can look past a little bit of jokey tackiness in the announcement trailer (even though it's still a major eye roll ...🙄)

If that little, um ...typo? Was in anyway meant to be an intentional pun, or if the entire last part of that paragraph and wording about "visuals" with *that* spelling was meant to invoke some sort of unneeded innuendo and complete tonal whiplash in the minds of your audience after just releasing such an emotional song for this kind of character with your brand new voice actor that you supposedly handpicked debuting for him, I'll be the first to admit that this wasn't it and this is not how you promote the new material, especially after Roman just proved himself more than capable of providing Angel Dust as a character with more respect, dignity, and pathos than I honestly believe Kovach had ever intended to or could. And this tweet shows a lack of respect for both Roman and Angel Dust as a character, which was already there, at in the fanon and fandom, mind you, but should've been dealt with and forgotten once... certain people involved in the original pilot moved on.

Like, everyone's talking about how Blake's voice braking immediately gave them chills and how beautifully serious he seems to be taking this character when it counts, in the way I still believe Kovach never could and wasn't prepared for. And then you go back to social media and where are we? Right back to making jokes about cum.

Which I'm certainly no prude and don't mind when the mood calls for it, but right now it very obviously didn't and I love this series but I'm sick of how it's constantly killing it's own vibe and and mood through it's own marketing by caving to it's "cringe" reputation every. single time. something actually good happens for it. 💀

I'm aware that they were never gonna hire a sensitivity consultant for writing Angel Dust specifically because it's a cartoon, but maybe the people involved could let their only Sex Working character have the same amount dignity from his shows (outside of all the cringe ass marketing) that he's allowed to have within the actual canon? For five seconds?! 💀

I don't like using the term "brainrot" at the best of times, but the leftover hunicast brainrot feels so real right now and I can't believe that little mouth covering emoji ether. Like she's aware of exactly how she's making things sound, she has to be, and in this case it's the sheer tonal dissonance of it all that's really quite tactless of her and actually unfunny. It's in poor taste, even. This shows marketing is constantly eating itself and ruined everything for everyone trying to promote this show to any actual adults outside of fandom spaces and I'm starting to agree about our little emo girlypop needing a social media manager. This is legit the most cringe, most unprofessional thing I've ever seen her do now regarding her own staff remembers outside of expecting her own fans and supporters to act as her personal therapists on her patreon and tumblr, which is something she should've especially kept nuked and never reopened, considering she (rightfully so) doesn't seem to particularly care for it, since she hasn't actually updated it, as far as aesthetically speaking, in years.

And again, if any Antis or ~"criticals"~ attempt interaction with this post, I will shoot you in the foot, just like this shows shitty marketing keeps doing to poor Angel outside of his actual canon. So no wonder why he doesn't like his feet then, l o l! 🤭

[dcviated]

it was raguna's birthday :: open

@runefactorynonsense sent: [ Happy Birfday 🎉 Nervous Lynguna as a treat ] -- This was not like those ambushes of old, but neither did she have the gall (gall. Not confidence, she most certainly did not lack the latter, hm) to approach such a sensitive topic directly. The Earthmate's birthday? How easy it would be to slip up, raise a brow, comment that the day he'd chosen was w-- No, NO. She would let him have this. And to acknowledge it, given that his patterns were almost equally regular, even on holidays, she... might have taken advantage of those afternoon hours where he wasn't home. A small intrusion (funny how that felt so invasive despite an unlocked door and offered friendship), a gift left on that counter, to be found at a later time, with a note that sat on top of a small basket of apple filled pastries; "Pardon the intrustion. These were left over, and you have occasion for them. And take half a day off every so often; It's good advice. ~L"

It wasn't the first time Raguna had seen Lynette's handwriting, nor did he imagine it would be the last. It carried a certain formal air to it that differed from the way the former military woman carried herself. Same dignity but well... who could say if she was or wasn't more stiff in person? Just mulling on the topic and comparison proves enough to lift the corner of Raguna's lip as his gaze pores over the words.

He appreciates the gift left, of course, but something about the letter touches him deeper. Further than empty platitudes, there was something else to be found between the lines and the sharp scratches of a nib against the clean surface of the paper. What exactly that was... Raguna wasn't really sure.

"But are these really leftovers? Seem pretty fresh to me... and what did she use the rest of them for to begin with? It's not as though there was a festival." A quandary that wouldn't be spared much effort from the Earthmate, instead choosing to sample the gift. Very tasty. The apples were perfectly tender, perhaps the pastry could use a little bit more work. Still, amazing start... Had she made them herself?

That'll be another question added to the list for when he hunts her down later. She will, after all, be properly thanked for the gesture. Perhaps he'll make something she likes to show the appreciation. This generous behavior from Lynette obviously needs to be encouraged, right?

The letter, however, will be tucked away for safe keeping. The farmer looks outside where the infinite amount of work and growth of a farm beckoned. He thinks. A glance back to the nightstand. And then, with a shrug.

Raguna decides to sit down and read a book instead.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

💬 🖊 for Rilya

In my Arateph stories, Rilya is the best friend and prime supporter of the woman who would one day become Queen Marastel. Rilya's the youngest daughter of the lord of House Kepha, with a bold, outgoing, flamboyant personality, and a strong trickster side that delights in upending social norms. She considers herself a scholar--with a special interest in astronomy--and delights in social events. She's known for her shockingly egalitarian views and rebellious nature.

Marastel is Rilya's extremely distant cousin from the lowest ranks of House Kepha, about two years younger than her, became Rilya's serving-companion when Rilya was about twenty. Rilya became a friend and sponsor to young Marastel--still rather superior and condescending, but in a friendly, flamboyant Rilya way. (I always say she's like a combination of Emma Wodehouse and Psmith).

When Crown Prince Jemrauth was visiting Kepha, he spent a lot of time at Rilya's social events, which sparked rumors that he was romantically interested in her--which was a little bit of a scandal, since the other Great Houses have historically distrusted Kepha (which remained independent of the planetary monarchy almost a century longer than any other region). Rilya encouraged these rumors to hide the much more scandalous truth that Jemrauth was actually interested in Marastel. Being from House Kepha was bad enough, but being from the lowest ranks of Kepha made Marastel a complete impossibility as a marriage option. The truth eventually leaked, scandal arose, and Jemrauth's father forbid the marriage, keeping the couple apart for years, but Rilya was always the greatest supporter of the two. When they finally married, Rilya remained the closest confidant of the new queen.

Rilya would have been happy to remain a single spinster socialite, but she eventually married a quiet, practical younger son of another House. He's a little bit of an inventor, so they share an interest in scientific things, and his much more even-keeled, sensible personality is a necessary contrast to Rilya's wilder nature. She had a bunch of kids and was a doting mother (though she gladly would have let the childless Marastel adopt one if a legal condition of Marastel's marriage hadn't prevented her from doing so.) Despite doing all she could to further the cause of the common people among the nobility, Rilya was executed by the revolution not long before Marastel was, and she faced it with dignity.

As for quotes, l feel like sharing the two most prominent Rilya fragments from the story pieces where she shows up.

First is a conversation from very early in Jemrauth's courtship of Marastel.

Marastel said desperately, “Rilya, the crown prince is downstairs!”  “I know.”   So much for the theory that the visitor had slipped her mind. “You...you have to come! Now!” Rilya made some notes on her astronomical charts. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”  Marastel had been. Immensely. And it was so far beside the point that she didn’t waste her time telling Rilya so. “He’s been here for most of an hour. This is rude, even for you.”  Rilya’s thin eyebrows rose. “Rude? I’m being considerate.” She folded her charts. “I’m staying out of your way.”  “You're making me do all the work of entertaining your guest. Your royal guest. And making him waste half his morning waiting when he made a special trip to visit you--” Rilya laughed.  “Marastel, charitsia.” Her voice added extra nuances to the undertones of the naming-tongue endearment, somehow full of genuine concern and fondness yet remaining maddenly superior. Though Rilya was barely a year older than Marastel, she often acted as if five decades separated them. “He doesn't care if I'm there or not. He's not here to see me. He's here to see you.”

Next is Rilya's response to Jemrauth using his act of taking a regnal virtue name at his coronation to declare to the entire world that he plans to marry Marastel despite his father's objections.

Rilya smiled that smile that made her seem more like Marastel’s elderly maiden aunt than a girl barely three years her elder. “Marastel, charitsia, I’m flattered that you think I’m responsible for every scheme in your courtship, but I had nothing to do with this. It was all Jemrauth’s idea.” Her smile became a delighted grin. “And it was brilliant. He has to marry you now. The whole world saw him pledge loyalty to you. Hilath can’t refuse to let his son live up to his chosen virtue name. Not without exposing all his promises of promoting virtue as empty talk.” She settled back into her chair with a look of satisfaction. “Maybe I should have married him. He’s sharper than I gave him credit for. He’d be a very amusing husband--” She glanced at Marastel. “That is, if he hadn’t just made it clear that he’ll marry no one but you.”

[neko-naruto]

Again, and again, and again

Summary: Sapnap gets given a chance to do things right- he grasps that chance like a lifeline.

Warnings: check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I fucking did it, all seven days of SNF week written at record speed, I think I'm gonna have a writing crash now, get some well earned rest for my wrists and finger joints. I'll probably try and get out some fluffy crack for the bonus day because sometimes that's what the world needs. @sobredunia I swear I'm taking a break but I want you to look at this anyways cause I'm proud of it. Anyways! If you enjoyed maybe considering leaving a reblog, or checking out the Ao3 port, drop a kudos or comment over there.

"I want a second chance," Sapnap said, forcing his voice calm, the world felt so small around him as the it collapsed in on itself. Eyes trained on Georges form, looking for the smallest give, the faintest sign, any tell of an answer.

All George does is speak, everything else static aside from his voice, "And what makes you think you deserve it?"

"I miss you, I know we're friends still, and that's great! I swear it's amazing that we still hang out all the time," Sapnap explained, his semblance of confidence was starting to fall apart, "But, there's the whole, how do I put this-"

"You miss the sex?" George asked bluntly, relishing in the red that shot to Sapnaps face at the accusation, at the way it short circuited his friends brain.

"Well, yeah, obviously George, but other stuff too," Sapnap said, George stays silent, giving a small gesture to continue, tilting his head and lowering it down again in an instant. Sapnap couldn't help the way hands came to fidget at the hem of his hoodie, mottled gray fabric coming undone at the edges where he rested his hands to tug at it so often, "I just, George I miss all of it."

"None of those are reasons for you to deserve it, that's just whiny begging. Besides, you dumped me first, you're lucky I'm even hearing you out," George said, his voice was too calm. And too cold, icicles sharp as knives thrusting themselves into Sapnaps chest.

Sapnap paused, what was he even supposed to say to crack someone like George. He tapped the tip of his shoe on the ground, raking through his head for words, "Because I was an idiot and I'm not anymore...?"

George rolled his eyes, "I guess that's close enough, but it's been a year, so don't expect instant chemistry all over again," He stepped down from his front door as he spoke, the golden glow from inside silhouetting his form and casting a stretched out shadow.

Sapnap nodded, "I know, thanks."

"Just don't fuck it up this time, cause I won't be ready to hear out a pathetic third times the charm speech," George said, an essence of a smirk on his face as he spoke. He leaned in and placed a kiss to Sapnaps cheek, he tried to push down the urge to do it again.

"I figured as much," Sapnap said, so very, very tempted to return the gesture. Instead all he did was yank George into a short hug, he was shrugged off rather fast, "I love you."

George stayed silent.

Oh, oh did he already mess it up? Too soon? Yeah, he definitely dropped the L word just a little bit too soon. Anything would be better for his sense of dignity right now than stumbling over an apology he can't even picture in his head.

"I love you too idiot," George said, voice just a little bit quieter than before.

-/-/-/-

Sapnap finds himself at Georges door once more, knocking and waiting patiently for his date to arrive. George swung open the door, wearing something just a little bit more refined than usual. And he brushed his hair, it rested differently than it usually did, not by much, but just enough to tell.

"Hi," Sapnap managed just barely.

"Hi," George echoed back in a similar tone.

Sapnap clasped his hands together, "Any place in specific you were thinking of, or?"

George shrugged as he stepped down, following Sapnap down the sidewalk, "Wherever is fine with me, we could go get something from that fancy place you love so much."

"On a first date?" Sapnap asked, he sounded somewhat astonished, but the astonishment rested more in the fact he wasn't sure he grabbed enough pocket change, having left his card at home where Dream was faithfully watching over it.

"Can you really call it a first date?" George asked, "We've gone on a first date before Sap."

"Right," Sapnap begins, "On our first date 2.0?"

George nearly laughs at the concept, "Yes Sapnap, on our first date 2.0 I wanna go somewhere nice and get good food instead of getting something from a Burger King."

"I wasn't gonna take you to a Burger King, I have class," Sapnap said, traffic was already starting to filter into their path downtown. It was always busy downtown, but it felt calmer with someone to talk too.

"Then where were you gonna take me?" George asked, quirking a brow as he spoke.

Sapnap brushed his hand against Georges as he spoke, a silent invitation, "So there's this pizza place that opened up a couple months that me and Dream eat at every now and then, it's pretty good."

"Not really feeling pizza tonight, feeling fish and chips honestly," George said, "I miss Britain as of late."

"There's this place that does great fish 'n chips nearby actually," Sapnap said, diverting away from the planned path, "It's sort of a food truck, but they've been stationary for a while now."

"Every single restaurant ever sells fish and chips Sapnap," George said, he grabbed hold of Sapnaps hand and gave a gentle tug, "We don't have to go all the way to a food truck for one meal."

"What's the fun in getting all sorts of cheap, crappy food when we could go find a place that only makes one kind and does it really good?" Sapnap asked, he sounded somewhat genuine as he spoke.

George paused, "C'mon man, we don't have to get super good food, we never got good food on our dates."

"I was an idiot," Sapnap said, he sounded a bit stern, mostly to scold himself, "I didn't realize that I should cough up some cash for you, besides, you're homesick, a good meal should cure that."

"Fish and chips sound great," George said, crumbling a bit under the pretense that Sapnap wanted to do something nice, not just because he thought it was the right thing. It was the catalyst for the initial cannibalization of their first relationship, eating itself from the inside out, "Thanks."

Sapnap gave a warm smile, melting the frost of Georges hesitation with ease. He laced their fingers together carefully, "It's our first date 2.0, I'm gonna do it right this time."

"Yeah, cause last time you totally messed it up," George said with a somewhat teasing tone.

"I did! I bought us some Burger King, kissed you, and called it a day," Sapnap stated as they came to a pleasant halt at a crosswalk, "I totally fucked it up."

"I thought it was charming, very American," George said.

Sapnap gave a tentative glance to George, "And look where that got us, I was being an idiot and then I broke our relationship."

George squeezed Sapnaps hand a little tighter, "If you start being an idiot again I'll tell you right away, promise."

"Thanks," Sapnap said, a little bit quieter than before.

The street light shifted colors and they took their way through the intersection. Silence was there but it was a comfortable silence, a brief pause compared to gaping silences that once brought more pain than reprieve. One more corner and they were at the food truck, the all too familiar scent had George feeling twisted inside. Not only had he failed to realize he was starving, craving a food of any sort, but it smelt like home. The scent of grease and fish, crisping potatoes and a hearty sprinkling of lemon, that was his home in a meal and he missed it more than he thought he did.

"You good?" Sapnap asked, George nodded.

"'M fine, can I have two fillets?" George asked quietly, reading over the menu briefly.

"Totally," Sapnap said, fishing into his pocket to pull out a fifty dollar bill, the worker perked up and made her way over.

"Sorry for the delay," She said, she sounded spent, overworked.

"It's fine," George said, "We can wait."

She gave a small sigh of relief, "I'll take your order but I'm not sure how fast I can get it done, I'm sort of slammed at the moment."

"Then we'd like three fillets," Sapnap said, placing down the bill on the counter. She hesitantly took it and opened the register, unsure if she had the right bills to exchange, "Don't worry about the change."

"Alright," She jotted down the order on a slip of paper, "You two are number four, I'll call your number when it's ready."

"We'll be listening," Sapnap said before leading George over to one of the few picnic tables, people sat at other ones, waiting for their meal or already indulging.

George sat down across from Sapnap, drumming his hands along the wood.

He gave a small sigh before speaking, "Is it any good?"

"The fish?" Sapnap asked before he could stop himself, it was a stupid question, of course he meant the fish, what else could he mean?

George shot Sapnap a look, "Yes, the fish, is it any good?"

Sapnap nodded, "Totally, I'm always searching for this place, this is the longest it's been in one spot for actually."

George gave a hum, "It smells good."

"Wait until you taste it," Sapnap said, there was a tense pause, "Am I, am I doing this first date thing right?"

The question sucker punches George, "Of course you are, completely different from how you did last time, but you're still doing it right," He briefly thought over his words, "Can you even do a first date properly?"

Sapnap shrugged, "Probably, I bet theres like, books on it."

"I mean, Minecraft didn't have a tutorial but you got good at it, tutorials are for losers," George said, scraping the back end of his nail against partially chipping paint. Picnic tables have been in this town longer than he has, he wonders if he has much use as a picnic table. A conduit to make someone smile, a place people can go to let go and breath for a minute.

Sapnap paused, "Alright, good point, I still feel like I'm fucking it up."

"Would a kiss make it better?" George asked, almost teasingly, shifting the way he held his syllables like he was talking to a child.

Sapnap nodded, "Yeah," He leaned over the table a little bit, "A kiss would totally make it better."

George smirks a bit, "I mean, it's barely been one date-"

"Please," He cuts off George without even thinking, it garners a raised brow, and he does it again, "Please, give me, a kiss. Please."

"I was gonna give you one anyways Sap," George stated calmly before leaning in and gently pressing a kiss to Sapnaps lips, a muted warmth washed over the latter and he liked it just a bit too much.

"Sure you were," Sapnap answered with.

"I really was," George said, "I promise."

Sapnap had to refrain from rolling his eyes, he gave a sarcastic hum.

George placed a hand on top of Sapnaps, he didn't do much more than that. It was just a quiet calm of contact, calluses resting against the back of Sapnaps hand the way they did before. Sapnap let his gaze rest on George, he looked so soft, the sharpness he held dulled just a bit. To anyone else he'd still look sharp enough to verbally cut someone in half, but to Sapnap, to Sapnap the contrast was immeasurable.

"Number four!"

"I," Sapnap began quietly, "I'm gonna go get our food."

"Don't be long," George said, lifting his hand up before Sapnap left.

It was only a brief distance, but returning with a small basket of fish balanced in each hand made it feel like longer. He placed one down in front of George who barely waited until Sapnap had sat down to start eating. It tasted like home, the flaky tenderness and the smoothness of the tartar sauce, that was home to George.

"Is it good?" Sapnap asked between a bite of fry and fish, he had grabbed a squirt of ketchup before returning, sauce resting in a small metal container.

George nodded, "It's delicious, we're definitely coming here again."

Sapnap barely catches the faintest tightness at the mere idea of again, at going on a light dinner date with George once more. He forgot how nice it was, just him, his partner, and the sky turning from blue to orange. Even with the quiet murmur of people talking and the rumble of cars driving past it felt like it was just them.

"Helping out your homesickness?" Sapnap asked carefully, breaking a chunk of fish off and dipping it into the small bowl of tartar sauce.

"A lot, thanks for bringing us here," George said, reaching over to dip a fry in Sapnaps ketchup container, he gives an offended 'Hey!' before returning the favor.

Sapnap stays silent for a moment, reaching out to lay his hand atop Georges. He gets no recoil from the action, but he's sure his hand is sweaty, and burning hot. He retracts his hand before George could make a comment about his current state of being flustered and smitten.

When George finishes his fish, saying thanks once more, Sapnap calls a taxi while George scrapes the scrapped remains into the trash. He returns the sauce tins as the sign instructed, the plastic baskets join the crumbs in the trash. Then he's at Sapnaps side again, he leans into the shorter who leans back to counter the balance shift.

"Sapnap," George begins.

"Yeah?" Sapnap asked.

The Brit glances up to the sky, the shade had already begun to darken, "You're gonna be able to walk back to your place in time right?"

"Like, before it gets dark out?" Sapnap asked, he followed Georges gaze to the darkening sky.

"Yeah, I don't want you getting lost or something, raccoon attack or whatever," George explained, "If you died of a raccoon attack I would laugh at your funeral."

"I mean, I would laugh at yours if you died stupidly," Sapnap said bluntly.

George gave a hum, "If you laughed at my funeral I'd haunt you, make sure I'm always in the corner of your eye."

"I'd always be thinking of you either way," Sapnap said, the familiar sight of a taxi car came into view. It slowed to a rolling halt beside George and Sapnap who pulled open the back door and slid in.

George takes the window seat, Sapnap sits in the middles just to lean into him a little bit. George leans back, Sapnap leans harder, it reaches a point where they're just pushing against each other, a truly fruitless endeavor. It passes the small pocket of time though, it simply disappears in their game of shoving.

George stumbles out first, Sapnap follows, handing over the bills to the driver and following George to the steps.

"Considering we only went to a food truck I'd say that was a success," Sapnap said, George gave a small smile, faint, barely visible.

"Yeah, for a second first date, never thought I'd say that, it was pretty fun," George said, he gently wrapped his arms around Sapnap who easily returned the gesture.

"And just think, its only the first in a series of second first times," Sapnap said as George pulled away.

George rolled his eyes a little bit, "Good night Sapnap."

"See you probably tomorrow," Sapnap said, watching carefully as the door opened and closed, and George was out of his sight.

Even with the chill descending into the evening air he still felt sort of warm and fuzzy all over.

-/-/-/-

Every day that they did something together, something as a couple, Sapnap couldn't sleep the following night. It didn't matter how simple or interpretive it was, he knew they were doing it as a couple, so did George. And that's why it made his heart flutter no matter how mundane it was, he can't believe he was so dumb even one year ago, to let go willingly.

He doesn't get this invasive heat coiling across his nerves when he's with anyone else. He doesn't feel his heart rate spike, akin to that of a rabbit, when he's with anyone else. Not even Karl, his momentary rebound, made him feel as light and airy as George does. He can't even pinpoint the exact words, but it puts him on cloud nine, and all he can do is nod along and try not to be to much of the same idiot that sabotaged his chances the last time.

"Hey, Sapnap," Dream began, leaning over his best friend who was lazing across the couch.

"Yeah?" Sapnap asked, he sounded distant, drifting out to a sea of thought.

"Me and Wilbur were wondering if you and George wanted to double date with us," Dream said, drawing out his syllables in an attempt to grab Sapnaps attention, "Do you guys want too?"

Sapnap shrugged, "Ask George- don't know if we're solid enough to double date."

"You guys have been on like, a bazillion dates Sapnap," Dream said.

"Seven," Sapnap corrected before he could stop himself.

Dream gave a groan of annoyance as he stepped back, "Seven, you've been on seven dates, you should ask George if he wants to try a double date."

Sapnap simply rolls over, sliding off the couch and pulling himself to his feet. He stretches his arms over his head briefly, "Maybe, maybe not."

"Dude, just pick up your phone and call him," Dream said, he almost sounded desperate.

Sapnap gave a hum, reaching into his pocket and sending George a text, "Happy?" He looked at Dream as he spoke the words, trying to do the thing that George does, a halfhearted glare that drills holes into someone.

"Now I am," Dream said, he slumped back onto the couch.

"My spot!" Sapnap practically exclaimed, the entirety of the couch taken up by his friend.

"My spot now," Dream answered with, "Let me know when George responds."

Sapnap has to refrain from parroting Dreams words back in a mocking manner, instead he pivots on his heel and makes his leave. His leave doesn't take him very far though, only too the kitchen where he finds himself pouring a glass of juice. It's a mixed blend, one of those types with the exotic fruits and an apple base. Dream insisted on buying it nearly a month ago, and he hated it, Sapnap tolerated it.

He sipped away at the odd mixture of tang and sweetness resting in his mouth. A vibration shoots through his thigh where his phone rested, he's quick to place down the glass and grab his phone. He feels a slight wave of relief wash over him at the answer to his question about double dating with Wilbur and Dream.

"George said no!" Sapnap shouted through the empty door frames.

"Just no?!" Dream shouted back.

Sapnap watches as another text bubble pops up on his screen, "He says maybe next week!"

Dream is trudging into the kitchen, he leans against the counter, "Wil has a gig next week."

Sapnap gives a hum of amusement, a small one that could almost substitute as a laugh, "Sucks for you."

"I'm gonna bring this up again later Sapnap," Dream said.

"Answers gonna be the same Dream," Sapnap answered with, eyes trained on the typing bubble.

Dream swung open the fridge door, "Not every single time," He pulled out a can of orange crush and popped it open with one fluid movement.

"You'd be shocked," Sapnap said, then the typing bubble disappeared for a full text bubble to reappear in it's place, "Hey Dream."

"Yeah bro?" Dream asked before taking a swig of his pop.

"This new movie George wants to see is playing tomorrow, could you like, drive me down?" Sapnap asked, Dream didn't respond, "I'll call a taxi back."

"Consider it done, just bring me back some Mike and Ikes," Dream stated.

"Thanks man," Sapnap answered with as he typed back a quick confirmation to George.

-/-/-/-

"You're seriously wearing that to a movie date?" Dream asked as he looked over Sapnaps outfit.

"Yeah, seriously," Sapnap answered with, straightening out his cap once more and smoothing down his T-shirt.

Dream had to refrain from sighing at the travesty that was his friends fashion sense, "Alright, hop on in."

Sapnap went to open the front passenger door, Dream glared at him, "What? I'm not allowed to sit in the front seat?"

"Of my car?" Dream asked, somewhere on his voice was venom.

Sapnap rolled his eyes as he opened the back door, "I'm not a kid Dream," He said as he took a seat and rolled down his window with the manual crank, pulling down his seat belt afterwards, "Now please hurry up."

"For someone who claims to not be a kid you sure are impatient," Dream chided as he hopped into the front seat and jammed the key into the ignition before twisting as it rumbled to life.

"I don't wanna be so late that we miss a chance to buy tickets," Sapnap said, resting his arm in the window frame.

"We won't," Dream answered with, slowly turning on the radio as he swerved through somewhat calm traffic, "Think there was an accident?"

The bluntess of the question catches Sapnap off guard, "What?"

"Streets are empty, what happened?" Dream asked, twisting his words a bit so his question would come across more clear.

Sapnap shrugged, watching street lamps and bushes drift by, "Who knows, maybe the zombie apocalypse started while we weren't looking."

"That would be so nasty," Dream said, shuddering in disgust, "Puss and blood everywhere, I think we'd see some bodies if the fall out started."

"Good point, I raise everyone went on vacation except for a few people, all on a yacht sailing away while we're stuck here in the heat," Sapnap said, he glanced over to catch Dreams expression.

"That, my friend, would suck balls, unless the cops left too, we could break in to some fancy store and get some stuff for free," Dream said, "Maybe then it'd be a little bit fun."

"Only a bit," Sapnap said, "Or, or, or, we've slipped into a different timeline where everyone evacuated this town in the wake of rabid dogs."

"That's the most bullshit one yet," Dream said, taking a broad turn.

"More bullshit than the zombie one?" Sapnap asked tentatively.

"More bullshit than the zombie one," Dream parroted back, reaching down a hand to rest at the gear shift.

Sapnap glanced out the window he was rolling up, he found George sitting on a bench outside the theater. When the car came to a complete halt he shoved open the door, "Thanks for the ride!"

"Buy me my candy!" Was what Dream answered with as he rolled out.

George perked up a bit as Sapnap walked over, he stood up and brushed down his pants. He pressed a kiss to Sapnaps cheek and a hug, a greeting of sorts, "I was starting to think you'd bailed."

"I would never, Dream wasted precious seconds getting me to sit in the backseat though," Sapnap explained, George nearly laughed at that.

He tugged Sapnap over to to the ticket booth, "He made you ride in the backseat?"

Sapnap nodded, "Yeah, I can only wonder why, he probably has something up front he doesn't want me seeing."

"Could just be a mess," George proposed, counting out the money required for the movie.

"You never know when it comes to Dream," Sapnap said wistfully as George paid for the tickets, he handed one to Sapnap.

"Truer words have never been spoken," George said, reaching out to hold Sapnaps hand, Sapnap reciprocated it like second nature.

Sapnap took a steadying breath, "So, second chance at a first movie date?"

"First movie date 2.0," George corrected.

"Yeah, first movie date 2.0, think it'll go well?" Sapnap asked.

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see," George said, sliding in through the door into an already darkened room, previews sliding by one at a time.

The entire corridor was near empty, there was one other couple near the back.

Sapnap glanced at the rows of seats, he hesitated before asking, "How many seats do you think I can take up?"

"Three at most," George said, already able to see that this movie date was going to be eventful.

-/-/-/-

"So that was certainly a movie," Sapnap began with, George nodded.

"I've never left a theater with popcorn left over," George said, shaking the bag of popped kernels to punctuate his sentence.

"I barely had time to see how many chairs I could take up," Sapnap said, holding open the doors for George, a cold bite of frost on the night air.

"And then the last ten minutes," George said, shaking his head a little bit as he did so.

Sapnap nodded, "It was insane how they left us on a cliff hanger like that, it has to be criminal."

"Has to be," George said, he shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke.

"You have a ride back home right?" Sapnap asked, George gave a nod.

"Yeah, Fundy said he'd drop me off at home before heading to his friends place," George said, "His shift is almost over."

"And he knows where to pick you up?" Sapnap asked.

George nodded, "I'll be fine."

"Cool, cause I gotta call a taxi," Sapnap said before pulling out his phone and dialing the number, George stayed silent as Sapnap sent through the call.

"I love you," George said bluntly, refusing to wrap the words in ribbons, plain and simple.

"I love you too," Sapnap said before George leaned in and placed a prompt kiss to Sapnaps lips, the pressure so minimal he could say a ghost was kissing him.

George held out a hand, Sapnap took it, "Even if we aren't still a thing when the third part comes out we'll still watch it together right?"

"Of course man, but if I don't fuck it up we'll still be a thing by then," Sapnap said boldly, watching the occasional car drift across the slicked street. It must've rained while they were watching the movie, a light shower, minimal puddles laced the pavement.

"We're still gonna have to wait and see whether or not you fuck it up," George said, he watched a car come into view. It was an older model, but it ran smoothly, and the pieces of visible patchwork just made it look really cool. Sapnap was staring as it rolled up right in front of them, a window came down and a fox sat inside.

"Nice ride," Sapnap managed to get out as he stared at Fundys car.

"Thanks," Fundy said as George trotted over, Sapnap followed just a bit.

"I'll see you sometime soon, promise," George said as he opened the backseat door of Fundys car.

"See you soon then," Sapnap said as he took a step back and let the two ride off, watching as his own cab came into view.

He was running on fumes really, the entire time inside of the theater was euphoric in a sense. He paid no mind to the potholes the cab driver hit as they rolled through town. He just leaned against the window and stared out at the nighttime sights to be seen. Completely empty streets, light refracting across a sheen of water, darkened store windows- maybe some things are harder to romanticize then others. When they finally arrive, he hands them a fifty when he only needed to give forty, but they don't complain as he slides out the car.

He swears theres a bit of a bounce in his step as he makes his way up the drive. He doesn't even notice Wilburs bike sitting next to Dreams car. He does notice that the door refuses to budge when he twists the handle even though Dream promised to leave it unlocked. He did have his keys on hand but instead he decides to send Dream a text. He gets a delayed response of 'back door' and he reluctantly makes his way around back to find the door propped open.

He steps inside and glances around for Dream, finding him sitting down at the kitchen table.

Sapnap takes a seat opposite of him, "How come you locked the door?"

"I'm using our room tonight," Dream said.

"Dude, that's why we bought two mattresses, cause you insisted on making the other room a shared office," Sapnap said, almost agitated, "What was I supposed to do if you were asleep?"

"Sapnap I'm using the room for sex, Wilbur dropped by unexpectedly," Dream explained, watching red rise to his friends face, "So I need you out of the house."

"Can't I sleep on the couch?" Sapnap asked.

"What the hell makes you think these walls are soundproof?" Dream asked, Sapnap buried his face in his hands.

"There isn't a single place I can stay, not a lot of hotels in walking distance take customers so late," Sapnap said, Dream leaned over to place a hand on his shoulder, Sapnap glanced up.

"Sucks for you," Dream stated bluntly, "Go sleep at your boyfriends house."

"We aren't on boyfriend terms yet, he's just my partner," Sapnap said, voice dissolving as he spoke.

Dream gave an uncaring hum as he stood up, "I don't care and you don't have any options."

"Can I at least get some clothes for the morning?" Sapnap asked, Dream made a nervous noise.

"I doubt you wanna see the state Wilburs in right now," Dream said as he pushed out his chair, "But, a pair of shorts and a hoodie are on the couch for you to use as pajamas."

"Thanks," Sapnap said as he made his way to the living room, shucking his pants off as he did so.

"Don't be back too early," Dream said as he walked past Sapnap who was tugging on a pair of basketball shorts.

"Not even gonna ask," Sapnap muttered as he tugged off his shirt and pulled on the hoodie, leaving the hat on the couch.

Dream made his way over to the front door and held it open for Sapnap who reluctantly stepped out.

"Don't touch my stuff while I'm gone," Sapnap said as Dream slowly pulled the door shut.

And then Sapnap was out in the chill of the night, except it was closer to ten, where the temperature stagnated at one he couldn't sleep in. He didn't want to call a taxi after just having called one up so late considering he was sober. So he started on his brief walk to Georges place, it was a short stroll, no more than ten minutes either way and close to flat.

It was silent out, cars lined up in driveways or parked along the curb, the golden glow of streetlamps shimmered in the minimal water. He swears his footsteps are echoing, louder and louder as he gets closer and closer to Georges home. It's just one night, he'll crash on the floor if he has to, he'll be out by ten and on his merry way home to his own couch without being much of a bother. Are his hands shaking? No, not much, they can't shake half as much when they're balled into fists and shoved into the singular pocket of his hoodie.

His eyes are trained on the ground, scanning over every crack and crevice where water gathers. His shoes are starting to show signs of wear, scuff marks at the plastic tips and laces coming undone. He taps his toes against the steps as he ascends the few stairs of Georges porch. Then he raises a hand to knock, he has a cadence to how he knocks, its about seven knocks in the pattern.

He hears faint footsteps before the door swings open, he barely manages to choke out a weak, "Hi."

"Sapnap," George began as he looked at his partner who was currently standing outside of his house in the middle of the night wearing naught but a hoodie and shorts, it was an unexpected sight, "It's ten PM what the hell are you doing outside?"

"Dream kicked me out," Sapnap said, "So I was wondering if it's time for a second chance at sleeping under the same roof?"

George moved out of the way of the door frame, "Come inside before you freeze to death idiot."

Sapnap took hesitant steps past the doorway, closing it behind him slowly, "Thanks."

"Look, I'm tired, and too lazy to blow up the air mattress, so you're sleeping on the couch," George said, gesturing to the general area where the furniture sat.

Sapnap nodded, "Cool, I'll try not to bother you."

"It's fine, but why did Dream kick you out? I thought the two of you were best friends?" George asked as Sapnap sprawled himself across the couch, one leg hanging off the side while the other knee stunted itself.

"He just wanted the house for the night, cause Wilburs over," Sapnap rolled his eyes as he spoke Wilburs name, "It's happened before, I just had time to get a hotel room."

George gave a hum of amusement, "Nice story, if you wake up before me the cereal is where its always been."

"On top of the fridge?" Sapnap asked.

"On top of the fridge," George repeated.

"And the milk?" Sapnap asked.

"If you empty the carton feel free to open the other one," George said, leaning on the back of the couch, "If you take a shower or whatever everything is in the same spot it's always been."

Sapnap nodded, "Cool."

"And if you need more blankets feel free to yank one off my bed," George said, "I probably won't notice."

"Good night George," Sapnap said.

"Night Sapnap," George echoed back, leaning in and placing a small kiss to Sapnaps forehead before taking his leave.

He left his bedroom door open instead of closing it, burying himself in swaths of blankets once more. He ended up contorted in the pile of comforters, light blankets, and the occasional piece of clothing wrapped in. The few pillows he had were askew in an effort to get comfortable once again, he was right on the cusp of falling asleep when Sapnap knocked.

And now he couldn't fall asleep again.

He just felt cold despite the amount of fabric that he was suffocating in. He didn't exactly know how he was supposed to fall asleep again when his partner was just laying on the couch with a blanket and pillow calling it a night. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to engulf him once more in it's oozing embrace, but it didn't. He couldn't keep his eyes closed for much longer than brief counts of mere seconds.

George gave a heavy sigh as he pulled himself from his bed and made his way back to the living room. He rested against the door frame, "Are you still up?"

He gets a groan in response.

"I changed my mind about you sleeping on the couch," George said, he sounded hesitant, "If you want you can have a second chance at sharing a bed with me."

"Gimme a minute," Sapnap said, he already sounded sleepy as he sat up and slid off the couch.

"You don't have to," George said, "It's just, if you'd like, I'll be in my room."

He turned to slide back into the comfortable darkness of his room once more. Curtains hanging over windows dutifully to try and dampen the morning light. He only burrows under the first layer of blankets, resting on his side and staring at the spines of books resting on a bookshelf. He startles a bit when Sapnap drops down beside him, resting on his back and trying to give ample space.

It gets tense really fast.

"I'm not gonna bite if you touch me Sapnap," George got out quietly, edging into the warmth of an arm resting atop his middle.

Sapnap gave a hum, "I didn't wanna find out the hard way," He curls into George protectively as he speaks.

"Alright," George said, speaking softly, "Love you."

"Love you to," Sapnap managed to get out before yawning just a little bit, "I'm to tired to talk."

George gave the faintest nod, "G'night."

-/-/-/-

Sapnap woke up alone, partially covered in a mess of bed sheets, and in a dimmed room. He glanced around wearily for a clock of some sort, eight AM, he gave a groan of annoyance as he fell back onto the mattress. He trained his gaze on the ceiling, picking apart where the paint peeled and where the light cover had a crack. Then he heard faint footsteps, ah, George was already awake, he didn't decide to just take the couch instead.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled himself up, he really didn't want to be awake. But he still made his way to the kitchen and started pouring a bowl of cereal. He sat down beside George at the kitchen table, taking a bite of rice krispies as he did so.

George nudged over a small cup of tea, "I forgot your favorite kind."

"It's fine, whatevers whatever," Sapnap got out blearily as he took a sip of the hot beverage, flavors coating his tongue comfortably, "Thanks for letting me crash."

George shrugged a bit, "It was nice, you could stay the night more often if you'd like."

"Dream would probably like that," Sapnap said, "More time to do whatever it is he does when I'm gone."

"Next time we should plan it though," George said, "Instead of you showing up on my door step cold and alone."

Sapnap nodded, "Definitely, have a home cooked dinner or takeout with a movie."

"That'd be nice," George said, he took a sip of tea, "We're like, official now, right?"

The question catches Sapnap off guard, "If you want to be, then yeah."

"SNF is go then," George said, his nonchalant nature behind the words had Sapnap pausing a bit.

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Sapnap said, George gave a small smile.

"Really? You seriously hadn't thought of the fans Sap?" George asked, placing down his mug as he spoke.

Sapnap shook his head, "Not really, I tried not to last time at least."

George gave a hum, "I did."

"Of course you did," Sapnap said, refrain from rolling his eyes.

"I'm always thinking of the next thing," George said, giving a soft smirk, "We don't have to really tell anyone."

"Thanks," Sapnap answered with.

"So, second chance at spending an entire day together?" George said, Sapnap nodded.

"Might be a lazy day," Sapnap said.

"Don't care, we could just, drink tea and watch anime," George offered, "Unless you wanna go deal with Dream."

"Anime and tea sounds good," Sapnap said, scraping the bottom of his bowl as he spoke.

"Fundys already at work, but I think he's coming back closer to four," George explained, reaching for Sapnaps mug, "Are you gonna finish that?"

"No," Sapnap said, George easily swiped away the mug, slowly sipping the beverage.

"Thanks, I'm gonna go set up Netflix," George said as he stood up, he swiveled around the table and rested his head atop Sapnaps, "Love you."

"Love you too," Sapnap echoed back, the worlds already feeling familiar in his mouth once more.

[echo-bleu]

10 random lines

I was tagged by @clottedcreamfudge , thank you love 💙

Rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people. 

I’m going to do the last 10 posted fics, since they’re more or less what I’ve posted in the last six months.

1) Didn't the trees tell us their stories? (The Witcher)

“I… I got lost. Not,” he holds out his hand to stop Aiden from interrupting. “Not spacially. I just, when Geralt… We were up in the mountains. I came down, and I.” He clears his throat. “I’m afraid I lost grip on my… body. This human form, it takes some effort to maintain, especially here in the woods.”

2) i'll sing silence (the Witcher)

 So Jaskier sobs. He melts into Geralt’s embrace, so strong that he knows it will bruise, and he cries his heart out, silently, breathlessly. The singing downstairs has stopped. So has the music always playing in his head, snippets of songs and wordless melodies and improvised tunes. It’s gone.

 It’s all gone.

3) Holding Angels (Shadowhunters, WIP)

 “I won’t trade my dignity for a bit of leniency,” Alec says without hesitation. He’s not sure that he really thinks it, not anymore. Not when he has a good idea what’s coming. The dread in his chest has had time to settle, and it’s growing with every hour.

But he will bear it. For Jace. For Clary. For Magnus. Renouncing his decision, pleading for mercy, would put them all at risk.

4) Dandelion Season (The Witcher)

She falls to her knees beside him. “Jaskier!”

Still nothing. She slaps his face gently, unsure if she should move him – he might be injured, humans don’t lie on the floor like this for no reason, right? She runs a light hand over his chest, pulling at the doublet to open it. It falls apart under her fingers. That’s when she sees the blood.

It pools underneath him, already staining her dress where she kneels. There’s so much of it. She’s not sure how he’s still conscious – if you can call his weird lethargy conscious.

5) every promise and lie (The Witcher)

Jaskier takes a deep breath and limps to the door. He clumsily unlocks the bolt and pushes down the handle with his elbow.

He takes a step back, hides his hands behind his back because, yes, okay, he’s more than a little self-conscious, and he takes in Geralt’s form in front of him.

He looks exhausted and jittery and yet really fucking hot, god-dammit. It’s entirely unfair just how much Jaskier yearns for him even now. He hasn’t seen this face in a year and a half and he just wants to—

“Fuck it.”

6) your smile in mine (The Witcher, they/them Jaskier)

Jaskier's heart clenches. Is that it, then? Is that what she means? Is Geralt shutting them out because he's about to break up with them? Jaskier knows that their personality and their issues are a lot of handle, and the fear that Geralt will one day wake up and realize that Jaskier is just too much (or maybe not enough) is always present at the back of their mind, but this time they can't even pinpoint what they did wrong.

 "Hey, Jaskier, breathe," Yennefer calls out, and Jaskier realizes that they're hyperventilating. Yennefer has moved from the armchair across from them to the couch, and her hand is hovering over their arm, as if asking for permission to touch them.

 Jaskier slips their arm away -- the thought of being touched makes their skin crawl right now -- but they take a few deep breaths to calm down. "Sorry."

7) the wallpaper inside my heart (the Witcher)

“Does he matter to you?” is her question once Geralt is done relating the story, cheeks heated up in shame at his fuckup.

Geralt takes his time to think. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“Then go and apologize. If he really doesn’t care about you, he’ll tell you. But if he does and he’s just going through a rough time, then not only you’re losing a friend, but you’re hurting him unnecessarily on top of that.”

8) a flower by any other name (The Witcher, they/them Jaskier)

It takes Geralt about an hour to figure out how he wants to do it, which is far too long when he knows that Jaskier is anxiously waiting and trying to keep it all in. Finally, with a muttered "fuck it", he does something that he would never normally do: he lifts his phone and takes a selfie of both of them, hugging in front of his sloppy omelette.

Bon appétit from Jaskier and me, he captions the photo, adding the only buttercup sticker he can find in the app, and he sends it to the group chat.

9) remember me I sing (The Witcher)

He’ll find a way to slip away, maybe, meet Rience just to see him do it. Or maybe he should just treasure every moment he has with his family…

His family.

He hasn’t let himself use that word, even in his head. He’s known since the start that he’s a liability, that his days are numbered. He didn’t mean to get attached to Ciri. He didn’t mean for Ciri to get attached to him.

10) Collapse (Shadowhunters)

It builds up. Or maybe it built up before, all the way up to now, all the things that went unsaid and the trauma they didn’t acknowledge and the fights they never had, and now it’s boiling over. It’s boiling all over Alec and he can feel the burn on his skin and he doesn’t remember anymore if the pain is from that goddamn demon venom or from the hurt in Magnus’s eyes and it freezes him all inside.

He can’t stand up and he can’t walk and Magnus sits there looking at him like that and Alec wants to cry.

-

That was fun! No pressure tag for @eveningspirit (feel free to give us your wonderful original writing as well) @moonlight-breeze-44 @xianvar @pherryt @flightsfancy22 @entropic-saudade

[justafleck]

Alrighty clownies, lets have a discussion! We are going to talk about my blog a little bit just in case there is any confusion in terms of interactions with my portrayal. Please take a moment to read.

First and foremost, I do have a carrd that’s got my rules, about and a link to my arcs are located at the bottom of his about page. I also have the links to my arcs on my pinned post on my profile for your convenience.  To be blunt, I can tell if you haven’t read my rules, arcs and my about pages. Although I am very tied to a canon portrayal, I do have important information noted in all three places that explain to you how my Arthur functions whether it’s during the Joker 2019 timeline or after. 

I have also just linked them on this post right here on the first paragraph and I highly suggest you go give them a read if you haven’t already as I will not hesitate to drop threads the second I’m made aware you have not acknowledged any key points to my portrayal. It’s rude and disrespectful: I take the time to read yours, the least you can do is read mine.  After the movies timeline is currently and will remain entirely headcanon based. I am aware that they are making a second ( what i dare call ) movie ( musical...wtf ) : though there is not a single thing I like about the sounds of the future production thus for my blog will have absolutely nothing to do with it. That’s for a tangent another day: the important thing is that you read the information I provide to you so that you know what my portrayal is all about.

Important Notes ( straight from my rules & about page ) : — I will not water down or filter Arthur Fleck as I don’t want to take away from his canon character.

—  Do not try to change Arthur’s canon. The events of the movie are crucial for his character development and unless heavily plotted otherwise ( and I mean HEAVILY plotted ) .

— Do not expect me to or try to sway me to write Arthur as any other variation of Joker. He is Arthur Fleck. If you have any question on what he may or may not do, please ask me. Never assume!

— There will never be a time when I would ever write rape, sexual assault, dubcon, incest, racism or pedophilia on this blog. If you write these things, see yourself to the door.

—  Arthur will never be abusive.

—  Arthur's personality will never be watered down, filtered or altered for a ship. He continue to still have suicidal tendencies, thoughts and actions. Being in a relationship will not magically cure Arthur of his mental illnesses.

I would like to elaborate a bit about my portrayal of Joker. While there are many variations of Joker: I write Arthur Fleck and Arthur Fleck only.  He is no where near like the other Jokers. He is mentally ill, but everything he does is with a great purpose. He doesn’t kill ‘for funsies’. 

There are no mass murders, massive explosions, bank heists or any of that off the wall stuff. He does not have ‘goons’ : he does have followers that he may rarely use to his advantage but he prefers to work solo.  There is also no vats of acid: we literally saw the build up to him becoming Joker in the movie. There will also never be any of that clique abusive Harley & Joker content on this blog either: he treats ALL of his partners with respect and dignity. His kill count by the time he is put into Arkham Asylum at the end of the movie is 6 people. His victims are the three wallstreet guys, his mother Penny Fleck, Murray Franklin and the first therapist he’s assigned in Arkham Asylum. I headcanon in his Asylum arc that during his first escape from Arkham asylum, he killed people to get out of the  Asylum. Though I did not specify the amount in the arc, I’d say it was most likely anywhere between 8-10 maximum. The only reason this happened is one: to ensure his freedom and two: he is heavily influenced by Jonathan Crane’s fear toxins. He is not in his regular mind. After his escape, he does continue to kill those who betray, hurt or slander him. In his P U N C H L I N E ! arc, he does kill the owner of a night club ( a truly horrible man : it’s all written out in plain text in the arc  ) and takes over the club.  He doesn’t murder people he deems innocent or people who have generally have nothing to do with him in any capacity nor does he go around popping heads on the streets just because he’s got a gun in his hand. This isn’t grand theft auto. At this point, we can lose track of his kill count but please do not assume that he’s just going around blasting everything that moves like he’s playing call of duty. That is just not how my Arthur works. 

I’d much appreciate it if you need clarification: please, come and ask me if you’re unsure because the quickest way to peeve me is by assuming things that Arthur would simply never do.

[clavissionary-position]

"Please... fit... Come on..." A muffled grunt sounds through the bedroom wall.

The flock of residents piled against Jean's door exchange looks ranging from disbelief to sly smirks as they eavesdrop on the scandalizing events happening on the other side.

J E A N ⨉ R E A D E R

a morning affair ☆

. . . . . content warning: smut...? voyeurism? or are things as they seem? hehehe (also Shakespeare makes a comment that low-key implies non-con, but there's nothing non-con happening here, I promise) m a s t e r l i s t

╂ ╂ ◆ 18+ blog, minors dni. I don't respond to ageless blogs

"Is that really our Jean?" asks one of the residents.

"Don't go crying on us, Chief," adds another. "How do you think he made a baby?"

"Have you men no sense of propriety? We are listening in on Jean making-"

An amused chuckle cuts him off. "There's no honor among men for all men are children." Rustle of sleeves. "Popcorn, anyone?"

"Yes, please. May I have some to give to Theo too?"

"Of course, young man. Have some complimentary syrup as well."

"Ssshh! Everyone keep your voices down!"

"He's right." Pen scribbling noises. "I require absolute silence to record this moment."

"Wait, 'record'...?"

Another forceful grunt comes from the other side of the door.

"...you know, I don't hear any bed-springs..."

"Maybe they're doing it on his desk?"

"That would make a considerable bit of noise too, I think...?"

"B...Broer, how do you know of such things?!?"

"Jean's always been quiet, so I can't say I'm surprised..."

"Tis an art of finery indeed, for such skill is as the assassin plays his knife into his mark with naught but the blade and the hole to bear witness."

"What?"

"Jean's stealth-fucking."

Several of the men giggle.

"I doubt they've even started. This is stupid. I'm leaving."

"FIT, DARN YOU!"

That same resident slaps his ear back against the door.

The man beside him gasps. "My Gods, how big is he?"

"How big is who?" You ask as you walk up behind the group.

"Why hello little bird, we're just listening to..." The resident pales. "Wait, if you're here, then..." He taps a gloved finger against the door. "Who's in there?"

"Infidelity!" another resident gasps.

"And so soon in their relationship!"

"What do you mean 'so soon'?"

An indignant huff. "Jean isn't like that. He would never."

"Then have we just been sitting here listening to him masturbate this entire time?"

"Fiiiiiiiiiiit!"

"...attempted masturbation."

The more you listen to these guys the more confused you get. You frown as you weave through the tightly and ridiculously clustered group of men.

Jean's door opens just as you go to knock.

"Oh!" Jean smiles with unbridled joy when he sees you. "I was actually just coming to find you. Could you help me?"

Jean holds up your infant daughter who sports a lop-sided knitted-hat that seems a little too small for her head.

The collective silence resounding from the group of residents is palpable, sliceable, edible, even.

Jean finally notices everyone else. His pretty lips curve downward. "Has something happened?"

You look over your shoulder at the panoply of men trying to salvage what dignity they have left.

"Why are all of you coughing?" Jean asks. "Are you ill?" He twists his body to shield the gurgling child from the residents.

You break the tension with your melodic laughter. You feel everyone's eyes on you at once. Ignoring all of them save for Jean in front of you, you reach for your daughter, gently taking her into your arms.

Your husband, presumably still worried about possible sickness, looks wary.

You give him a tender peck on the cheek to reassure him. "I'll tell you about it later. Let's find her a different hat, shall we?"

[uncouth-the-fifth]

Prompt 138 and 189 for Dames pls🥺🥺

138. "Were you just masturbating?" and 189. "I don't know what to do." / "Then let me teach you," with Damian Wayne.

i claimed i was going to start writing shy readers, then i immediately wrote the boldest reader ever 🤰 that’s my legacy. set when Damian still lives at the manor at about 19 <3

The house was suspiciously quiet. You knew that Bruce and Alfred would be gone, but considering how your texts were left on delivered, Damian had probably forgotten you were coming over. Or, some grand adventure had carried him away for the night. You tried to brace yourself for disappointment as your footsteps padded through the echoing halls of the house. Worse case scenario, Damian had forgotten and you’d get to make dinner and spend time with Alfred, like last time.

Even after being Damian’s girlfriend for several months, the Manor still intimidated you. It’s structure was confusing and sound travelled oddly, like it was cushioned by the breath of the Wayne family ghosts. You weren’t freaked out, per se. But you did sneak a little quieter while looking for Damian.

When you couldn’t find him in the library or with his pets in the observatory, your last option was his room. Again, you were daunted with the task of remembering which door was Damian’s, since they all looked the same.

A muffled sound drew you to the middlemost door in the hall. Damian was the only one who lived at home anymore, so it had to be him.

Still spooked by the rest of the house, you took the handle and eased it open as quietly as you could. Damian could be napping. He could be painting, or sketching, and neither would make a good moment to disturb him. He could be—

Touching himself. Naked.

Damian had just gotten out of the shower. His bronze shoulders were dotted with water drops, and his short, tousled black hair was shiny and damp. There was a sexy, tired edge to his face that told you he’d had an awful day - then it broke into shy bliss when his thumb brushed his tip. One hand held him up, sitting at his bedside with his legs spread and a towel open under his thighs. He was stunningly hard. The long, girthy dick that you’d only glimpsed on accident before sat awkwardly in Damian’s hands, and it occurred to you that this was the first time he’d ever done this. He’d never pleasured himself before.

Not once. If you thought about it (and you did, often), Damian seemed too prude and impersonal to satisfy himself that way. It was more in character for him to beat on a punching bag for a couple hours instead of destressing... like this.

You locked your surprised gasp in your throat, arm jerking to slam the door. A thousand apologies came to mind. But you couldn’t lie to yourself.

It was hot, and you wanted to watch.

This, of course, was right when Damian noticed you. Before you could blink, he was across the room, the towel was around his waist again and he was snarling at you, face explosively red. Damian cursed in Arabic. He moved to slam the door in your face, spitting in shame, but you were in the way of the frame. It felt like your feet were glued to the floor.

Your boyfriend, with his moist muscles, his sexy scars, getting a hard on for you... Thinking about you a little too deeply in the shower, and emerging to resolve it himself... Damian had only gotten turned on with you once before - you’d been making out, hands in each other’s shirts and tongues in each other’s mouths, only for him to suddenly bolt up and disappear. You wondered what he’d been thinking about. Or even better, who.

Stupidly, you asked, “...Were you just masturbating?”

“No, I was battling Clayface,” Damian snapped. “What do you think I was doing, L/N?”

“Wait!” You yelped, but you couldn’t understand why he’d want to. “Was... Is this your first time doing that?”

Damian glared at you hard enough to steamroll you, shame leaking out of his pores. If you dared to look between you - and you did - he was still painfully hard, and so, so big. Drool pooled into your mouth without your permission, and you had to audibly swallow it to be able to speak again. When Damian realized where you’d peeked, he blanched. He was still soaking wet. (You probably were, too).

He shuffled in place, and did something that surprised you. Damian avoided your eyes. “Why should you care? And - and what are you even doing here?”

“You texted me that you missed me last weekend. You wanted to teach me chess, and I think you said that we could talk about the book we’re reading together,” you babbled. “We... we made plans for today? It’s okay if you don’t remember... um, it looks like you had a very hard day...”

To help your predicament, you added with a sigh, “...Very hard.”

Damian cleared his throat. He put a hand on the doorframe beside you, bicep raised by your face. “...I - I did. Miss you.”

Again, you gestured to his towel. “I can tell.”

He shot you a flat look that very clearly read, not funny. Damian forced himself to stand still, at a total loss for words beyond that point. To you, it looked like an opening.

“Maybe I could...” you hooked your finger into the waist of his towel, moving deeper into his space, “help you with that?”

Damian smelled like pure sex. Beneath that was his heady bodywash and shampoo, which floated off him like his humidity did, intoxicating and full of flavor. It was like stepping into the radius of a love spell. You already loved Damian, but the heat coming off of him made you want to show him how much.

His expression was demure. Damian lifted his chin to snatch up his remaining dignity, and you didn’t miss his sacrifice of vulnerability. “...Yes. I didn’t... I didn't know what to do.”

Damian’s answer winded you. Your sudden role-reversal was strange, but the newness was welcome. Usually, you were the embarrassed one that Damian was teaching, so an opportunity to teach him - especially about something like this - seemed irresistible. And Damian admitting that he wasn’t equipped for something? He might as well have dropped down on one knee and given you a ring.

“Then let me teach you.”

He allowed you to slide past him, and quietly, aware of his self-indulgence, shut the door with a click. Damian shuffled back to his bed and sat down, chewing his lip. As cute as he was when nervous, you wanted him to enjoy this, so you gifted him a warm, sweet kiss before you eased your hand around his thigh. Damian returned it with a muffled hum, warmed by the taste.

You both sighed. The stress seem to leave his frame like air out of a beaten balloon, relaxing his back. Still, his fingers twitched at his sides, and only more so when you chased your kiss to your knees and encouraged him to lay back. 

He had the courage to watch, so you found the charisma to ask him, “Comfortable?”

Damian nodded, shy.

“Can I touch you, beautiful?”

Again, Damian closed his eyes and shivered out a gruff yes.

Opening the towel was a gift within itself. Damian’s bulge practically opened it up on it’s own, popping free, unrestrained. If it seemed big before, it was huge in your palm. Just holding it made Damian hiss. His cock was proud and freshly cleaned, begging to be tasted. A string of drool slid off your tongue and pooled around his rosy tip, making Damian gasp and wince. You rolled the wetness down his veiny shaft, reveling in his little noises, the way his toes and fingers curled in delight. Not once did you forget that you were the first person to ever touch him like this - neither did Damian, who looked at you like he would do anything to be touched.

“Like this,” you whispered.

The shape of the tip was made for your mouth. Once he was nice and slick, that was the first place you took him, curling your tongue around his dripping, bulbous head. Damian melted, shoulders first. Taking even a little bit of him into your mouth required your lips to wrap around him, and you sucked until the fit was snug - an inch or two in. Otherwise he hung in your hand, desperate to be squeezed. You closed his shaft in your fist and twisted, hastened by pre-cum and spit, until Damian’s thighs tensed into rock.

Finally, you took his closest hand curled it around his cock. With his knuckles under your palm, you showed Damian how to guide himself into your mouth, and how to do it without you. His chest puttered up and down with every drag, his hand working at a dangerous pace. Soon, he was a pro with enthusiasm. Damian met your mouth with his hand every time.

With a shaken sputter of your name, Damian came. Like a dam, he flooded into your mouth, filling and filling until it felt like you’d drank an entire cup of his cum. It drizzled over your chin and down your neck, which fluttered with every breath and mouthful you gulped down.

“I-I think I understand, now,” Damian said, throat hoarse and breath spent, “but just in case... Would you mind showing me that again?”

[shemarmooresfedora]

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Content/Warnings: mentions of abandonment, unwanted sexual advances (outside character to spencer), swearing, mentions of cheating (doesn’t actually happen), happy ending

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You woke up with Spencer’s arm lazily draped over your waist. Rain was pitter-pattering against the window.

You rolled over and cuddled yourself into Spencer’s chest.

“Good morning,” he hummed contently.

“G’morning,” you sleepily mumbled.

“Is my little angel tired from last night?” he asked.

“Very,” you nodded, “Do we have to pick Callie up from her sleepover?”

“She’s staying there until after her soccer practice. I have to go back to my house and get some more clothes to bring over here but other than that, my day is wide open,” he gently stroked your hair.

“I just have two appointments later in the day so I’ll have to go into the office this afternoon,” you yawned.

“I’ll make us breakfast,” Spencer tried to shift out from underneath the covers.

“Or…” you wrapped your arms around him once again, “We can get breakfast on the way to your house and then I get some extra cuddle time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Spencer pressed a kiss to your forehead.

-

“Um hello?” Spencer asked as you both approached the woman standing at his front door.

She turned around and Spencer’s eyes practically bulged out of his head.

“Spencer!” she ran to hug him.

Spencer refused to unclasp his hand from yours, making it very clear he had no intention to return the hug.

“What are you doing here, Austin?”

Austin. This was Callie’s mother. The woman who abandoned them both.

“I’m in between jobs right now, figuring out my purpose in life, you know? I just took a bus and ended up back here again. Got me thinking I should stop by and check in,” she smiled like this was just a casual visit from a friend.

“You wanted to stop by after 11 years and no goodbye?” Spencer asked incredulously.

“I could also use a place to crash for a few days. How’s Camellia doing? Does she still do that thing where she twitches her little nose? I always loved that.”

“Don’t act like you know my daughter at all,” Spencer seethed.

“Spencer,” you got in between them, putting your hands on his chest to calm him down.

You turned to Austin, “One second.”

You led Spencer back down the steps, “Look, I know what she did was very wrong but she did give you the greatest gift of all, Callie, so maybe you could invite her over for dinner and she could just sleep on the couch for the night?”

“Just one night?” Spencer confirmed.

“If you don’t do this now, Callie will probably just track her birth mother down later in life without you there to supervise. Lots of my past foster kids have and it doesn’t always end well.”

“Fine,” Spencer relented, heading back up the front steps.

“You can stay with us for one night,” Spencer emphasized, “I will be watching you the whole time you’re with Callie.”

“Deal!” She clapped her hands excitedly.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself, opting to not give a label.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied with a sickeningly sweet smile.

She loaded her few bags of belongings into the back of the car as you and Spencer grabbed some more of his clothes from inside.

Spencer opted to drive so you headed to the passenger side. Austin grabbed the car door handle at the same time as you.

“Oh I’m sorry, were you going to sit here?” she feigned politeness.

“Yeah, I was,” you narrowed your eyes.

Spencer rolled the window down, “Austin, there’s plenty of room in the back.”

“Oh, of course!” she nodded enthusiastically.

You buckled as Spencer placed his hand on your thigh, in view of Austin. You settled in for the most awkward car ride of your life.

-

“Can’t you cancel? Please don’t leave me here with her,” Spencer begged as you got ready to go in for work.

“I would if they were just check-ups but Timmy has a rash I need to check out and I need to write a script so Jessica can get a refill on her medication. If you really don’t want to be alone with her, come with me,” you replied.

“I would but I also don’t trust her enough to leave her alone in your house,” Spencer sighed.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” you kissed him, “An hour and a half tops.”

“What do I even say to her?”

“You don’t have to say much. You’re already being generous enough to let her see Callie for the night. Just make dinner while I’m gone. You could offer her a bath or something if you want her to get out of your hair,” you suggested.

-

Spencer had offered Austin a bath so he didn’t have to deal with the awkward silence while you were gone.

He got to work cooking Rossi’s famous pasta for dinner, dicing onions and boiling the water. He would check the clock every minute and started a countdown in his head of when you would return home.

He heard the water drain from the tub upstairs.

Fuck, he thought, at least 10 more minutes until you’re home.

Austin sauntered down the stairs after her bath in just her bra and underwear, wearing one of Spencer’s unbuttoned dress shirts over top.

Spencer’s hands flew to cover his eyes, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hopefully you,” she smirked.

“I have a girlfriend, well it’s not official yet but I am very much committed to her,” Spencer stated.

“If it’s not official,” she drew closer, “Then, this wouldn’t be cheating.”

“I don’t care if it’s technically not cheating. I only have interest in Y/N,” Spencer spoke firmly, his hands still over his eyes.

“Just once, Spence…for old time’s sake,” she whispered in his ear.

“No,” Spencer backed up further into the pot of sauce he was cooking for dinner, spilling a bit of the hot liquid on himself.

Spencer opened his eyes at the burning sensation, “Now look what you did,” he sighed frustratedly, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt, “I have to soak this before it stains. I can’t believe you. Why would you think this is okay?”

“Just go wash your shirt, Spencer,” Austin rolled her eyes.

Spencer, being so angry, didn’t hear the door open.

“I’m not finished with you, Austin,” he stared her down.

He heard a squeak from the other side of the room. You were standing there, fresh tears running down your face.

Spencer looked down at his unbuttoned shirt, Austin’s lack of clothes, and recalled the last thing he said.

“Y/N, it’s not what it looks like-” he tried to run after you but you were already out the door, slamming it behind you.

Spencer scrambled outside to where you were starting your car back up again.

“Y/N,” he frantically tapped against the car window, “Please let me explain.”

You didn’t even turn to face him, shifting the car into reverse and peeling out of the driveway.

Spencer stormed back inside, grabbing Austin’s bags, “Get the fuck out of Y/N’s house and get the fuck out of my family’s life.”

“But Callie isn’t even home yet,” she argued.

“Good,” Spencer yelled, “Because it took you less than 3 hours for your true colors to show again. You care about nothing! You didn’t want anything to do with us then so you don’t get to have anything to do with us now,” Spencer escorted her towards the door, “I will not hesitate to file for a restraining order if I see you near me, Y/N, or my daughter ever again.”

“Can I at least change?” she asked as Spencer threw her bags on the front step.

“You were plenty comfortable showing me who repeatedly told you no so might as well show the whole neighborhood,” he slammed the door in her face.

-

How dare he? In your house. Probably in your bed.

You went back to your office because Spencer couldn’t even leave you the dignity to retreat back to your own safe space that was now tainted with bad memories.

Luckily, you had a few pairs of spare clothes that you always kept in the office and a fully made cot in case a patient needed to rest. You settled yourself on the bed, letting the tears begin to fall again, drenching your pillow as you let sleep take over.

-

“Please pick up please please please,” Spencer begged.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I can’t come to the phone right now-”

Spencer hung up and hit his head against the steering wheel. He had already said what he needed to say in the previous 20 voicemails, followed by the additional 30 calls he made every 15 minutes, hoping you would pick up.

“At least you’re not blocked?” Callie tried her hardest to put a positive spin on it.

She didn’t know the full story, coming home after soccer practice to see her dad crying on the couch. Spencer told her that her mother had come back and hurt Y/N’s feelings badly because that was essentially what happened, right?

Spencer had been replaying the situation over and over in his head. Yes, it looked bad from the outside perspective but he didn’t think he actually did anything wrong. If only he could find Y/N, explain it to her and have her believe him.

“Have fun at school,” he hugged her goodbye before she hopped out of the car.

“Remember to tell Mrs. Roberts to drop you off at our place, not Y/N’s,” he reminded her.

“Our house is going to feel so dull though. It’s always cold, did you notice that? We don’t even have a cat,” she whined.

“The least we can do is give Y/N her space to process,” Spencer told her, “If she’s ready for us to come back into her life eventually, we’ll gladly take it.”

“If?” Callie grimaced, “How bad did my mother mess this up?”

“I’d rather not say,” Spencer simply stated.

“That sounds promising,” Callie sighed, “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

-

“Could you give this note to Doctor Y/L/N?” Spencer asked the receptionist.

Y/N,

Your house is cleared out. Despite your previous statement, it is obvious we have overstayed our welcome at the moment. I hope if you give me a chance to explain, it will ease your pain and in turn, mine. I swear to you, angel, nothing happened. I can tell the full story whenever you are ready and I hope you can hear the truth in my voice.

Yours,

Spencer

“Jake Gomez?” he heard you call out.

He turned around to see a little kid hopping out of his seat in the waiting room and following you into the clinic area. You made brief eye contact with him and you looked so broken. It took everything in him not to run up and beg on his knees for your forgiveness.

-

Callie had a big soccer game coming up and you really wanted to go but you also really didn’t want to see Spencer.

Sure, you got his note but he could easily have lied. It was hard to argue with what you saw right in front of your eyes.

You pulled your hair back into a low bun and wore a hood pulled over a hat as well as sunglasses. You made sure to blend in with the crowd of moms.

You saw Spencer about 2 rows of bleachers down, leaning against the fence. God, why did he have to look so good in jeans?

Despite your sunglasses, one of the moms caught the subject of your stares.

“I’m pretty sure he’s single too,” she nudged you, “If I didn’t have a husband, I would be all over that fine piece of ass.”

You just nervously nodded in response.

-

The game had gone into overtime. The teams had to take turns shooting on the opposing goalie’s net. Each team must take 5 shots with 5 different players and whoever makes the most wins.

Callie was put in the stressful position of needing to make the shot to win the game for her team. She took her time, lining up the shot and stretching out her legs.

Callie ran in for the kick, faking left and when the goalie dived, she kicked right.

“Score!” the ref announced.

“Yes, Callie!” you stood and screamed in excitement, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

After the initial shock wore off, you realized Spencer was staring directly at you.

You grimaced, “Um excuse me, sorry, excuse me,” you repeated as you tried to quickly get out of the aisle.

“Y/N, please wait!” Spencer ran after you.

“I came for Callie, Spencer, not you,” you huffed, slowing to a walk because the parking lot was up a hill and you weren’t about to sprint the whole way.

“Please, Y/N, let me explain. I miss you so much, it hurts,” he pleaded.

“Oh you’re hurt?” you asked incredulously, “I’m sorry that me leaving after I found you cheating on me hurt you.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Spencer insisted, “She was coming on to me but I rejected her every single time. I was yelling at her for how inappropriate her behavior was, that's what you walked in on.”

“You were yelling at her with your shirt off?”

“I had my eyes covered at first so I wouldn’t see her indecent but I accidentally backed into the sauce and I didn’t want to stain my shirt.”

You sat there in silence, processing his story.

“Please say something. I’ll do anything to make it right, I need you back.”

A tear fell from Spencer’s eye which was followed by many more.

“I think your story is just crazy enough that I believe you,” you spoke.

“Really?” Spencer asked.

“Really,” you outreached your arms for a hug.

Spencer dove into your embrace like it was his air. He cried into your chest for 10 minutes until he finally met your eyes again.

“I’m sorry, I just thought I was never going to get to do this again,” he squeezed you tighter, “I love you, Y/N, and I want you to be my girlfriend. I actually want you to be more than my girlfriend someday but this is a good start for now.”

“I love you too,” you kissed him, “And just curious, what did you have in mind for the future?”

“I’m going to make you my wife someday,” he grinned.

A/N: one chapter left of this series! 🥺❤️

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[animeloverskylarmoon]

Human Legoshi/Beast x Reader- Oneshot  AU - Extra (Beastars)

Distracted, you barely hear Juno’s enthusiastic greeting. She’s standing right in front of you, and blink, but still don’t acknowledge her presence. You’re too preoccupied with your own thoughts.

“Legoshi is..tonight’s a full moon. “

He told you not to worry about it, but that was just Legoshi. He went out of his way to make others feel safe, yet when it came to his own well being, he always tried to brush it off.

“That idiot!!” you screamed, Juno jumped when you took off, just staring at you. You skated around the corner, and when you got to your homeroom, you slid the door open swiftly. All heads turned, and when you saw the head of silver hair you pointed.

“You’re spending the night with me Legoshi!!”

He gaped. The rest of the classroom went into a frenzy.

“Are they dating!”

“Such a bold declaration!”

“Gambatte (Y/N)-chan!!”

Louis smirked, and your face was slowly becoming red at how wrong your statement actually sounded.

“I-I didn’t mean that we- I-I was just..”

There was no way to salvage that. Once again your impulsive nature led you to embarrass not just yourself, but Legoshi too.

~~~~~~

“Pft-hahahahahahah!.” You frown, hitting Legoshi on his arm.

“I-It’s not funny you big oaf, now people have the wrong idea!!” Folding your arms you turn your back to him, sitting against the tree. Legoshi was wiping at his eyes, shoulders still lightly shaking from his little fit.

“I told you not to worry, I’ve dealt with it pretty well so far. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re just saying that, you didn’t look too good the first time I saw you.” Legoshi lowered his head.

“Yeah….” He now looked a bit far away.

“Why were you at that abandoned building that night anyway?” Based on what you’d learned, staying indoors would be the best option, so why was he roaming the streets that night.

“I was..trying to get rid of your scent.”

“My scent?” He nods, and you can see the flush that adorns his cheeks.

“E-Earlier that day you pushed me to a wall. When we go through this cycle, it heightens our senses. Everything is a lot more overwhelming, especially our smell. It was driving me crazy so I thought if I went outside it would balance out. That’s why I was at that house, but then you showed up and spotted me, so I ran.”

You were a bit baffled.

“D-Do I really smell that bad!” Mortified, you raised your hand and started smelling yourself.

“I can’t believe it this entire time we’ve been hanging out I must have been killing his nostrils, how humiliating!”

“W-Why didn’t you say something sooner! Baka!” you raised your hand to smack his shoulder again, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you. In a matter of seconds your back was pressed to the soft grass. You stared up in shock.

“It’s the complete opposite.” Your eyes shook at the change of his tone.

“You smell amazing, intoxicating..” He leaned down, and your eyes closed when he pressed a kiss right behind your ear. “I’m doing all I can to go about as if I’m not affected, but it isn’t easy. When the full moon rises, it’s almost impossible.” Another soft kiss to your skin. You twitch when he opens his mouth, licking the shell of your ear.

“L-Legoshi..”

The courtyard was pretty vacant during breaks, that didn’t mean someone couldn’t still stumble upon you two. You barely process when his hand makes a tug at your tie. That’s until you feel him sliding the material to the side, exposing a bit of your shoulder. You’re about to voice your alarm, but his lips land on your skin and you choke out a moan when his teeth nip your tender flesh. You make a grab for something, and he guides your hand to the back of his head.

Gripping at the silver locks, you tug and Legoshi jolts, biting down harder. There’s a faint ache of pain, but more than anything you're aroused. Legoshi detaches his lips, growling under his breath.

“You like it when I bite you, don’t you (Y/N). You enjoy being marked. “

You can’t utter a response because your body is trembling with desire.

“You’re almost begging for it..” You whimper, making another harsh tug on his hair and he groans, cupping your breast roughly as he dives back in to leave another significant bruise. Even without his fangs, the action drives you wild. You never thought something like this would be your weakness.

“Are you both quite done?” Louis is standing a few feet away, and Juno is behind him, covering her face.

You shove Legoshi off your body so fast and he goes smack dab into the tree.

“L-L-Louis-senpai!!” Scrambling to adjust your uniform, you shoot upright.

“I’d advise you to keep your little adventures for when you're at home. “ There’s a teasing in his voice, and he says nothing more, taking a flustered Juno as he walks away.

“How embarrassing.”

How could you let such a thing happen, at school no less.

“(Y/N)-chan…” Legoshi is whining from his spot on the ground and you jest back pointing at him accusingly.

“Y-You horny wolf!!” Stomping off, you do your best to look presentable before you enter the school again.

Legoshi just stays planted on the floor.

“It’s your fault (Y/N)-chan.”

~~~~~~~

That afternoon as you make your way home, you do your best to forget the events of that day. You can’t help but blush when your fingers graze your neck. Luckily the collar of your shirt had covered up all the evidence. Juno could hardly speak to you without stammering either. With a huff, you slam your door the moment you get inside.

“Baka Legoshi!” This was all his fault. Getting you all hot and excited at school. Did he really have no dignity?

“I didn’t exactly push him away though.”

“N-No, he’s to blame!”

He should know that you have little self control when it comes to him. Dropping your bag on the couch, you kick off your shoes. The first order of business is to take a bath. Once you’ve washed up you’ll be of clear mind.

Climbing up the stairs, you enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You start filling the tub, reaching over to get a towel and busy yourself until the water has filled up. Stopping at the mirror, you pull at your collar.

Two prominent bite marks are right at the base of your neck. You aren’t sure how long you just gaze at it. Flinching your head whips and you rush over to shut off the pipe. With a sigh, you strip out of your clothing, stepping in as you lower into the water. Your muscles relax immediately, and you close your eyes to enjoy the bliss of the warm water.

“You’re almost begging for it..”

Your eyes pop open and you slap your cheeks.

“Damn it!!”

[writingsbychlo]

let it snow | joel dawson

word count; 20,746

summary; the night is made for doing things you probably shouldn’t do, and the mornings are for running away from them. except, for when you’re snowed in, and trapped with your problems for who knows how long.

notes; this is based vaguely on the movie ‘two night stand’, but very loosely, it does not follow much of the idea at all, just the basic outline. you absolutely do not have to have seen the movie to read this.

warnings; smut, reference to unprotected sex, very light (accidental) slut shaming, that’s about it.

It took you a moment to realise that you weren’t in your own bed when you woke up, startling a little as you came to the realisation. Your walls were not painted blue, and you definitely didn’t have a desk that messy pressed up underneath the window. In fact, your bedroom didn’t have a view like that at all, your bedroom window looked straight out into New York city, and the alleyways behind some dodgy fast-food restaurants.

This was a nice view, calmer roads and little houses, fields sprinkled with snow became visible the more you sat up, and you hadn't remembered it snowing this heavily last night. Sure, you’d been rather preoccupied, and okay, maybe it had been snowing a little bit, but this looked excessive. Although, it would explain the deep chill in the air right now.

You were still a little foggy, jumping slightly as hot breath washed over you from behind the bedding pulling as another body shuffled, and you were stiff all over. Then, it hit you. Reckless, a few drinks in with your happily loved up roommate and her boyfriend, who made you feel more and more painfully single every time you saw them, before you’d retreated to your bedroom, tipsy and secretly bitter, and checked some dating websites. A cute guy, some witty jokes, a funny conversation, and then him.

Everywhere, all at once, a quick train ride and some frantic kisses, your clothes being stripped from your body as that same mouth moved lower and lower, sweaty and hot and barely stopping to ask questions before you were waking up now, a little bit panicked and filled with ridiculous regret. Rubbing a hand over your eyes, you forced yourself to roll over, as calmly as you possibly could, to try and take in the sleeping man beside you.

Messy brown hair, the same shade as dark chocolate, your tongue tingling at the thought of the sweet treat as you liked your lips, resisting the urge to reach out and see if the stands were as soft as they looked. His face was half-hidden within the pillow, slumped down into it, but pale skin reflected little brown moles, his hair beginning to speckle with a light tracing of stubble, the tingle of which was now beginning to make itself known again between your thighs. Long eyelashes on closed lids hid his eyes from you, but you had a distinct memory of them, burned into your mind.

Warm pools of amber and gold, swirling browns that glittered in the low light that had taken over, like flickering candles and pools of caramel, a shade of whiskey that you wanted to be drunk on, beautiful and bright from all the times he’d looked at you. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that, an odd surge of pride rushing through you as you congratulated yourself on at least being able to pick out somebody physically perfect to have a one-night stand with in your self-pitying loath.

The blankets were sitting around his middle, one hand stretched out a little towards your side of the bed, long and veiny fingers, and you remembered a little just why he’d driven you so wild now, those same veins making tracks up his forearms, disappearing just before his biceps. He was toned, but not overly so, the muscles along his chest standing out, a smattering of dark hair between them, and you could finally remember tracing the slight definition of abs with your tongue, before you’d been tracing something else, and your face flushed with heat as you remembered just how much of the man before you you’d seen.

It felt scandalous now, to be sharing abed with a stranger whom you could barely remember, and to know exactly what he looked like naked, or how he sounded while moaning as he came, but to not even know his last name, or to fully remember the address that you were even at. It was dirty, it was filthy, it was wrong. Oh, but it had been so fun, an experience that everybody should have at least once in their life, a naughty little secret, the one night stand you picked up at a bar, or through a friend, someone you’d look back on fondly once you were ten years older, married and settling down, and as you thought about it more, your lips were still flicking up in a smile.

You’d laugh about it one day.

Slipping from the covers, you tried to find your clothes, not wanting to linger any longer, not wanting the awkwardness of having to deal with stunted small-talk and forced politeness as you tried to adjust to the morning alongside him, someone who was still a little fuzzy in your mind, and your clothes were scattered around the room within easy access, a fortunate happening that made you thank whichever god or deity might be watching you right now.

Sipping your jeans back on, you wiggled a little, trying not to make the flooring creak underneath you, and only pausing long rough to put on your socks, shoes held in hand as you adjust your jumper on your body, a hand running through messy hair to tame it. The man shuffled, and you froze, watching as he paused for only a moment, before flipping over and away from the side you’d been sleeping on, a sleepy huff sounding from him, but he was still snoozing heavily, and you let out a little sigh. Your coat was hanging on the rack, and you grabbed that too, anticipating ho grateful you’d be to have it as you battled against the freezing cold that was surrounding you, toes chilling more and more against the concrete, but you didn’t want to wait much longer to leave.

A scrap of paper, a post-it note from the pad in the hall and a pen that barely had any ink left in, but you scribbled down a few quick words, pinning it up to the corkboard beside the door, and nodding to yourself as you deemed it good enough.

‘had a great time last night, thx.’

With a smiley face and a sign on your name to finish it off, you were undoing the catch across the door, the chain rattling slightly as it fell loose, and you winced, waiting to see if you’d woken him again, the studio apartment he resided within offering little in the way of walls and doors to muffle the muted noises of your escape. When you deemed it clear, your hand sealed around the door handle, clicking it open carefully, and pulling the door towards yourself.

So close, the corridor in sight, but the alarm beeped loudly, and you jumped, the computerised voice startling you so violently that your whole body jerked a little, and you went wide-eyed. You closed the door, hoping it would stop, but the beeping only intensified, and your heart raced in your chest.

“Shit!” Your voice was hissed out in a whisper, and you panicked, hearing the man in bed begin to stir a little, and in a last-minute bid to try and reclaim what little dignity you had left, not wanting to be caught sneaking out, you tore the note back down from the pin-board crinkling it slightly and tiptoeing back to the bedroom. Placing your shoes and coat down quietly as the man began to surface, and you tucked yourself back under the covers on the opposite side, pulling them up to your neck and faking a yawn as he pushed himself up with a groan, sleep broken.

He wandered away from you, your eyes diverting from his body a little bit as the covers fell away, and you were grateful to find that at some point he’d pulled his boxers back on, because you weren’t sure you could handle any more embarrassment this morning. The beeping came to a stop, a mechanic voice informing you that the alarm had been rest, and he was rubbing at his face and yawning as he wandered back through.

“False alarm.”  His voice was still raspy, filled with sleep and cracking a little.

“That’s so weird.” He only hummed in acknowledgement of your words, before he was shaking himself down, settling back into the bed and rolling onto his side, away from you as he fell right back into his slumber, and you sat up. “Bummer that it woke us up. I should probably get going anyway. I had fun, though!”

“Thanks, I think.” He was still half-asleep, barely processing your words, you picked at the sheets a little, trying to decide whether or not you were sufficiently polite enough to be able to leave yet.

“It was perfect for.. y’know.. what I needed. So, thanks, Joe.”

“Joel.” He mumbled, your brows furrowing as your legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor, and a loud creak sounded out under your sudden weight on the floorboards.

“What?” He huffed, deciding that sleep clearly wasn’t a luxury he was going to reclaim, and he pushed himself to sit up, pillows popped behind him.

“My name, it’s Joel.”

“What did I say?” Your fingers were doing up your laces, ignoring the burning heat of his gaze on you.

“Joe. My name has a little ‘L’ at the end. Joel.”

“Right, yeah, my bad.” You cringed a little, picking up your coat from the floor, and pulling it up your arms, an amused look on his face as he watched you.

“Did you sleep fully dressed?”

You looked down, shrugging a little and swallowing thickly as this got more and more awkward, and this wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured the morning after your first one night stand going. “I, uh, got cold.”

“Uh-huh.” You patted your hand at your sides, not sure what else to do, and he stretched his arms out, rolling his head from side to side, before looking at you again. “So, do you want to get some breakfast? Or do you normally just take off?”

“Normally?” He paused his stretching, looking up at you, a confused expression flicking across handsome features, and he made a vaguely confused noise, as though he didn’t know what he’d just spoken. “You said ‘normally’. Like, as if I do this so often that I’d have a normal and abnormal version of it.”

“That’s not what I meant. I have no idea how often you do this, I just thou-”

“I told you last night that this was my first time doing this, or even anything remotely like this!” You remembered that part clearly, because you choked a little on your words when telling him, and then he’d laughed breathlessly and kissed you, while pushing you back into his bed, and your face flushed as you remembered the exact moment, graphic detail almost disturbing.

“Yeah, but, c’mon.” You raised your brows at him, hands sitting on your hips as you stared at him, hoping your face portrayed the fact that you absolutely did not know. “(Y/N), c’mon. Do you really expect me to believe that this is your first one night stand, ever?”

“Yes! Because it is!” He stared at you blankly, before shrugging a little, seeming to accept it, but you were still feeling distinctly judged. “The only reason I’m even here is that my roommate and best friend had her boyfriend over, and I was feeling particularly lonely in the holidays, and they were, y’know, about to.. so, I had to do something, an-”

“No, yeah, you were sexiled, or whatever. I remember that. It’s just, surely this isn’t the first time your roommate has wanted to sleep with her boyfriend while you were home, so this can’t be the first time you’ve.. yeah.” He waved his hands, motioning between the two of you, and your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him.

“I am sensing some distinctly judgy vibes coming from your side of the bed - which is odd, considering what we did took teamwork - and I haven’t even done anything worth judging!”

“There’s no judgy vibes coming from this side of the bed!” He laughed a little, shaking his head incredulously at you, and had your anger not been reaching its peak, you probably would have been a little more embarrassed. “Honestly, I really admire what you did. I wish more girls were that forward.”

“Forward?” You seethed, rolling your eyes at him. “There we go with that ‘slut’ thing again!”

“Wha- what ‘slut thing’? I’m not calling you a slut!” He moved now, standing up himself from the bed and you averted your eyes, letting him scoop up his shirt from the floor and tug it on over his head. “I’m calling you a girl, who went over to a stranger’s house at midnight. If only there was a word for that.”

“You know what, screw you!”

“That was a joke.” You stormed past him, hearing him chase after you with his own laughs as he tried to suppress them. “That was a joke! I’m sorry, bad timing.”

“You invited me here, just remember that!”

“That’s not quite how it happened, but it doesn’t matter.” He was biting at the inside of his cheek to contain his smile, fixing you with an amused gaze. “Look, why don’t we just have some breakfast? I make really good oatmeal, with a little smiley face made out of jam.” He almost had you, your resolve breaking just a little, before he was snickering to himself again. “And it’s not slutty at all.”

“Save your stupid oatmeal, I think I’m just going to take off.” You swung the door open, a bitter smile on your face as you looked back at him. “Thanks for having me, it was just awesome getting to know you. Have a great life, Joe.”

“Okay, cool, well, I’m just going to assume you did it on purpose that time, because I already told you a bunch of times that it’s Joel with an ‘L’.”

“It wasn’t, but don’t worry, you just have a stupid name!”

“Great.” He huffed, no amusement left in him as he stared at you with frustration. “Well, ‘bye! Lovely having sex with you!”

“Wish I could say the same!” You hissed, his jaw dropping a little, before his eyes were narrowing.

“Sounded like you had a pretty good time last night.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.” You were prideful and mean, and you’d probably feel bad about it later but right now it was the only way you were getting through this disaster of a morning. “Especially when it’s something like ‘Hey, Joel - cool name.’ Like, what is that? Sounds like the first draft of a name!”

“Okay. Fuck you, (Y/N).”

“Fuck you, back!”

It was a weak ending to the argument, but you didn’t care, the door slamming behind you as you stormed away, quick to hold your coat closer to your body as the temperature between the apartment on the halls was radically different, your breath clouding in the air even from within the building, and you located the staircase.

It was only four floors up, the building being rather oddly constructed, only two apartments per floor, and it was unusually quiet behind all of the doors. When you finally reached the main entrance, remembering him coming downstairs to let you in last night, you undid the catch, your shoulder pushing against the fogged up glass as you made to leave, and a confused and slightly pained cry sounded from you as the door refused to budge even an inch.

You tried again, before you were wiping at the glass, to clear the condensation and try and see what the blockage was, but you quickly discovered it wasn’t fog but ice. Moving over to the window beside a door labelled ‘laundry’, you were met with the sight of snow piled up high, almost three feet up to reach the base of the window, and the roads weren’t even visible. You hadn't realised just how heavy the snow had gotten, and how bad the extent of it all was, until now, where you could see the

“Oh, no, no, no.” Panic flooded through your system as you realised just how screwed you were, trapped in a building with no way out, and your phone was dying, and you weren’t even sure whether your roommate would be up in time to come and find you and clear the snow before the battery died. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Pulling up google, you were quick to check the news reports in the area, finding that the snow had increased and come down heavily overnight, it was a city-wide issue, and there was no way that they’d be getting anywhere near where you were for hours, if that. It was still snowing, albeit not as heavily, but they were prioritising inner-city roads and train lines, not little apartment blocks on the edges of cute fields and open space.

Of all the people you could choose to hook up with, you had to pick the person who was living in the most inconvenient location for a snowstorm.

Glancing around, you realised this was it, you were just going to have to hunker down for a few hours, and in all fairness, it could be worse. At least it was clean and smelled pleasant. Settling yourself down against the cool concrete flooring in the edge of the room, you stretched your legs out before yourself, daring to tap the ‘call’ button on your phone, and bringing it to your ear.

You waited, listening to it ring all the way until it went to voicemail, and then again, and again. After three times, and a whole 5% of what little battery life you had left remaining, you gave up on your roommate, knowing that if it were you at home, you’d be snuggled up cosy in your bed and still fast-asleep too. Switching the device off to conserve power, your head fell back, resting on the wall. Most wonderful time of the year, my ass.

“No, it was super fuckin’ weird. Totally fine, and then suddenly everything is a screaming match an-”

You cursed under your breath, the one voice you had wished you wouldn't have to hear again, followed by rhythmic bouncing of footsteps coming down the stairs, and you glanced up, offering a small wave to the person whom you’d hoped never to have to see again, and his brows furrowed, pausing where he was stood.

“I’m gonna’ have to call you back.” Tucking his phone into his pocket, he took the final few stairs slowly, coming to stand before you, and you pushed yourself up from the floor, brushing the dust from your pants. “What are you still doing here?”

“Blizzard. A whole bunch of snow piled up and now the door won’t open.”

He turned back to look at it, adjusting the basket in his arm before placing it down on the floor, and moving over to the door. Your arms crossed over your chest as he did, watching as he pushed the barred handle down, shoulder ramming into the door, and a grunt left him as it refused to move. He tried it again, before rubbing at his arm lightly, and moving away to peer out of the window just like you did, a little shocked at just how much it was, and you rolled your eyes at him. “I told you.”

“I was just trying to help, there was no need to be rude.” He muttered, and you scoffed once again, turning away from him as he picked the basket back up. He wandered away from you, into the laundry room, disappearing from sight, and you sat back down on the floor.

You heard him test the taps, water still coming through them miraculously, the metal and water within not having completely frozen over, and you brought your legs up to your chest, arms crossing over your knees and chin balancing atop them, preparing yourself for a long while of being bored. It was after many clicks and dials, the soft beeping of the machines as they rumbled to life, that you heard him appear once again, dirty Adidas scraping against the floor, before he came to a stop in front of you.

He looked at you for a minute, seeming to analyse whatever thoughts were going through his head, and you raised a single brow at him, prompting him to speak sooner rather than later. “You can come back upstairs, if you want.” You stared at him for a further minute, jaw dropping a little, and he tucked the laundry stock under his arm. “It’s going to be hours until those roads are cleared, even if they do unblock the doorway. You’ll freeze down here, and you haven’t eaten anything. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

He offered his hand, and sliding your palm against his, he pulled you up from your position on the floor, dropping your hand and spinning on his heel to guide you back up to his apartment. It was awkward, to say the least, and you rubbed your hands together to try and warm them back up, the chill in the air beginning to seep into your clothing and cool you to the core.

When the door opened back up, you let out a little groan, wishing you’d suppressed it better but being caught off guard, and you heard the man before you huff a laugh as your eyes scanned over the small space heater that was set up in the corner, warmth radiating from it and spreading across the apartment. Hanging your coat back up on the hooks by the door, you shuffled through the apartment, not too sure what you should be doing now that you’d returned to the scene of the crime from which you’d fled.

You chose to simply follow what Joel was doing, repeating his name like a mantra in your head so that you didn’t mess it up again, and taking a seat at the round table with a few mismatching chairs around it within his kitchen, watching as he clattered about with pots and pans at the stove. You busied yourself with your phone, finding that you at least had a signal, and could access your social media.

Instagram and snapchat were filled with videos and photographs of the snow, taken aesthetically from the windows, roofs and balconies of people who were lucky enough to be in their own homes, curled up with steaming mugs of tea and the loves of their lives to take pictures from behind frosted glass of the winter wonderland that was more like the bane of your existence.

You replied to a few texts, and messaged your friend again to update her, leaving it there for her to read whenever she came back around to consciousness, to tell her that she didn’t need to rush, and that you’d at least found yourself somewhere to keep warm and safe. Your head snapped up when a steaming bowl of oatmeal was paced down before you, smelling delicious with maple syrup and fruit, a spoon clattering down beside it before the scraping of the chair opposite you was ringing in your ears.

Poking at it, you couldn't help but notice the smiley face sitting on top, the syrup beginning to sink in as the blueberries scattered over the top were almost half-submerged, looking a little wonky but still adorable, and you looked up at the man who was already tucking into his own, finding him staring at his own meal in silence.

“Smiley face.”

Your voice cracked a little with your whispered words, but his eyes met yours, pausing only a second before the edges of his lips were flicking up in a gesture of a smile, and one shoulder rose and fell in a weak shrug. “Told you I would.”

You only nodded, spoon stirring at the contents of the dish, mixing it all together and the face on the porridge disappeared as you blended the flavours, before lifting a heaped spoonful to your mouth. Blowing on it carefully, you took the mouthful between your lips, this time successful in holding in your little sounds of appreciation as the food hit your tongue. It was delicious, you couldn't deny that, warm and satisfying as you tried to fight off the cold that was still threatening to creep in.

It wasn’t that you hadn't worn suitable clothing, but you’d only worn a camisole and jumper with a pair of leggings that were undoubtedly on the thinner side, because warm clothing hadn't been your main concern the night before when they were only going to be peeled from your body an hour or so later, discarded to the floor. Now, you were deeply regretting that decision.

You also hadn't realised how hungry you’d been, because the headache that had been forming, throbbing behind your eyes with a dull ache, was beginning to recede, the anger that had been dwelling within your system was fading, and you were allowing your mind to replace it with guilt instead. You’d been a little crass this morning, yelling and lashing out at Joel when it had been your fault that you felt like shit, succumbing to the sensual temptations of nightfall and your loneliness, and blaming your decisions on everyone else when the sun had risen.

“Look, we’re going to be here a while.” You jumped, spoon clanging against the edge of your dish, and Joel tried - and failed - to bite back his smirk at the amusement of having scared you out of your thoughts. “Why don’t we just pretend like last night never happened? Start over again? You can stay on one side of the apartment, I’ll stay on mine, we don’t even really have to interact. We’ll just coexist until the snow is cleared, and then we can part ways and never meet again. Sound cool?”

You let out a breathy sound of amusement, nodding your head as relief flooded your system. “Works for me. Clean slate?”

“Great.” He nodded, that flickering look of amusement passing over his face again, and he reached a hand out across the table. “Hey, I’m Joel. Your roommate for the next couple of hours.”

You paused, letting out a sigh as he arched his eyebrows in a silent question as to whether you were going to leave him hanging, before you accepted the outstretched hand and shook it. Giving him your name in return, he nodded his head, before he was standing up, and taking both of your bowls away to the sink, dumping them into the soapy water that he’d already prepared so that they could begin to soak.

Crossing your legs under the table, and your nails tapped for a second, silence filling the room for a few minutes, and you desperately searched for something to say that you could use to fill the silence. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

His voice sounded almost as strained as your own, but you let out a little sigh at the fact that at least he’d broken the tense silence between you both, and you hummed. “Yeah, that's good with me. Do you have a phone charger I can use?”

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, hands still submerged within the sink, but you waved the device at him as he took it in. “Yeah, I’ll grab it. You can go and pick a film; remote is around there somewhere. Pick something good.”

You were more than eager to get away from sitting idly at the table in awkward quiet and waiting for the hours to pass, each tortuous minute making you wish you’d just remained downstairs alone, slowly freezing into a statue. The couch was large and plush, slightly worn seats but it only made it look more inviting, a plethora of cushions and pillows laid out for you to settle into, and just as he’d said, the controls were already out on the coffee table, a few coasters and random pieces of stationary covering the surface too.

Switching the television on, you waited for it to boot up, finding that he had netflix downloaded, and there was a list of films in the back of your mind that you’d been waiting to watch, and you flickered through them all as you stared at the screen. Narrowing it down, you felt like a comedy might be a good choice, lighten the air with something easy going and funny, nothing too intense, and the couch dipped at the very opposite end as your company sat as far away as he could, leaning against the other arm of the couch but dropping his phone charger down onto the space between, an olive branch extended in the form of a tangled phone wire.

“How about ‘Jumanji’?”

“Good film.” He mumbled, and you nibble don your lower lip, before he was letting out the breath he was holding and turning towards you. “Second one is on here too, we could watch them both. I haven’t seen that one, just the first.”

“It’s a plan.” You confirmed, clicking play on the movie and crossing your legs, leaning over the side of the couch to try and locate a socket, pushing the plug into the wall, and hooking your phone up the power, the device buzzing in your hand as it began to charge up.

Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart were an entertaining pair on screen, and as the group began to navigate through the jungle, you let yourself become immersed in what you were seeing on screen. It wasn’t all that hard, because Jack black was hilarious. The occasional echo of a laugh from one or both of you would crack the silence when something happened, and the picking of loose threads on your jumper had begun to stop as you settled a little more into the situation, your anxiety settling and not needing to be quite so stiff.

When there were only twenty minutes or so until the end of the first movie, your phone buzzed, and then again, a series of rapidly incoming texts, and flipping over the device, it was revealed to you as your friend. Swiping it open, you pulled up the texts, chuckling to yourself at the frantic collection of broken messages that she had sent to you.

[soph 🌹] only just woke up, so sorry!!

[soph 🌹] just checked news, no way to get to u!!

[soph 🌹] roads all blocked, wtf, when did this snow come down??

[soph 🌹] kinda funny tho.

[soph 🌹] only u would go for a hookup and get snowed in there.

[soph 🌹] is he at least hot? tap that again. fill the day with hot sex??

You scoffed, but your lips were forming a smile, and you could feel the glances that were being cast your way every couple of seconds, choosing to glance up and return the look as he turned to face you once again.

“My friend just woke up, she’s finally learning about the snow.”

“Did she know you were still, um..” He scratched at the back of his neck, other hand casting around the apartment. “-out?”

Heat flushed your own cheeks, before you were nodding your head, and he seemed or accept that, silence forming between you both once again as he turned to look back at the TV screen, but stretching out with a little more comfort, long legs crossing at the ankles from where they were extended before him, and he lounged back a little more.

> that’s definitely not going to happen.

You were only given a moment of reprieve, before your phone was chiming again.

[soph 🌹] why not!! not like you’ve got anything else to do

> probably bc we're not exactly getting along. civil at best.

She didn’t respond after that, leaving your message on read, and you assumed that she’d become preoccupied with the man you guessed would have spent the night there with her, and once again, you were envious of her for being at home and comfortable in her own space, when instead, you felt like you were walking on eggshells.

The majority of the second movie was spent more on taking in the details of the apartment around you, instead of the plot line and characters. Posters hung up on the walls, and you wondered how he could afford to live here, the place was nice, but there was nothing here that suggested another person lived in the apartment, but there was no way a college student could afford a place like this alone, unless his parents were paying for it. It was a nice area, the kind of place you could live with if you had kids or were elderly, and you were pretty sure on your way over here the night before that you’d seen someone walking a dog, making it the picture-perfect neighbourhood.

College textbooks and stationery were around, a stack of notebooks and text printouts sitting on the little table before you, and it was almost fifteen minutes before you built up the confidence to lean forward and take them all in with a little more detail. He watched as you went, your eyes moving to meet his as you waited for permission, but he never stopped you, so you picked up the first book that was on top.

‘Art within Literature: The Importance of Illustrations’

“Didn’t have you pegged for an art kinda’ guy.” You mumbled, and you heard him chuckle, before he was sitting up a little straighter, moving across the couch closer to you just slightly, to see which one you had picked up.

“Not the first time I’ve been told that, actually.” He grabbed at the controls, your eyes flickering up to the screen as the sound of the movie cut off, replaced by the boring drone of the local news station, but right now, it may as well have been the most important thing in the world as the two of you perked up to listen. Placing the book back down, your legs folded underneath yourself, and you secretly had your hopes up that they were going to be getting around to this end of the city soon.

It took a while, the list of places that were being cleared was working out from the inner city in circles, your hopes falling more and more and you listened, getting an update on the weather about how it was expected to be even colder tonight than it had been last night, and the snowfall wasn’t expected to stop anytime soon, but instead, you would be here even longer than expected. The earliest that there were any plans for the road to be cleared in this area was tomorrow morning, and sadness was once again spiking within your system, feeling the man beside you sag with just as much disappointment.

“Guess I’ll set the couch up for you, later.”

“Thanks.” You hoped your lack of enthusiasm didn’t show in your voice, because you truly were grateful, and he stood up, wandering away to his bedroom and grabbing the plastic woven basket he’d been using earlier as he went, presumably to start up another load of laundry. When the door to the apartment closed behind him, you were left in silence once again, and you turned down the volume and picked up the next book that had been on his pile.

This one was a sketchbook, that much was clear as soon as you opened the book, and his full name was written across the front page, information on how to return it if it came up lost followed it, smudged fingerprints from graphite and coloured chalks were also along the corners. Flipping the first page, you were caught a little off-guard by the image you saw, yet not entirely surprised.

Clearly, his passions lay with fiction and fantasy, the name of what you assumed to be some kind of ancient Greek novel, much like ‘Iliad’ or ‘The Odyssey’, because a range of different creatures and monsters were scattered across the pages beautiful drawings, incredible details and shading, and you’d never seen anything quite like them. You wanted to trace your fingers over them, but resisted in fear of ruining the delicate art, and flicked through the pages instead.

At the top of some pages the book titles changed, inspirations from different famous works, some you knew and some you didn’t, but the drawings were always perfect. When you reached the final page, you placed it down, guilt once again running through your veins as you remembered the way you’d snapped at him this morning, because the more you learned about him, the more you realised he wasn’t all that bad, and he was probably a pretty decent guy, if you’d just given him the chance to be.

Getting up from the couch, an idea was forming in your mind, a way to at least try to pay him back or make your appreciation known, and you found yourself again in his kitchen, hands on the cupboard doors as you began to look through them.

They were mostly empty, not much in place but enough to make it work, you were sure of it, you could whip up something out of all of it, and you moved across to have a look at the contents of the tall refrigerator hidden in the corner.

“Need help finding something?”

You startled, turning to look at him and closing the fridge, and his hands were on his hips as he stared at you, your arms wrapping around yourself gently as you shrugged. You couldn’t blame him for being a little putt-off, you were just a stranger after all, but you wanted to at least try and make proper amends with him, and so you let yourself be unbothered by the frustration flashing over his features.

“What are you looking for?”

“I was just seeing what you had in.” You waved a hand behind yourself, swallowing thickly and taking a small step around the dining table towards him. “I was just seeing what you had, because I was hoping to cook dinner for you, maybe? Y’know, as a thank you for letting me stay with you, and keeping me warm and all, even though I was rude this morning.”

“Oh.” The tightness in his shoulders loosened, his body slumping a little, tension melting away, and a bashful look flickered over the anger, taking its place as he tried to muster a smile for you. “That would, uh, be nice. Thanks. I don’t have a lot in, though.”

“You really don’t. Do you just survive on junk food and pasta?”

He laughed, a genuine laugh at that, before he was standing before you and reaching over to the cupboards, pulling out a packet of pasta, and holding it out to you. “What’s wrong with junk food and pasta?”

“Nothing! But it’s all you have!”

He only grinned, opening the fridge and standing to the side, double-checking what he had in. “Well, I’ll have you know that I make a great minestrone, and that’s what I was planning to have for my dinner tonight. You can join me.”

“I don’t know how to make that.”

“Well, I’ll teach you, and it’ll change your life. I swear it.” He closed the fridge, leaning back against it with a questioning look on his face, and you shrugged, but you felt a lot more comfortable already, the simple banter between you both mending a broken bridge.

“I was supposed to be cooking you dinner though.”

“You can be my sous-chef, how about that?” Now that was a deal you could work with, and you shook his hand, this time it was filled with giggles and wide smiles, as opposed to the last time you’d come to an agreement over breakfast only a few hours ago, the beginning of the day bringing much brighter prospects than the early morning had. “Now, what do you want to do until then?”

That was a good question, and it took you a minute to think about it, eyes glancing around his apartment for inspiration, pausing on the television stand with boxes of games stacked up underneath, and you lit up a little. “How about board games?”

He groaned, loudly, and you found amusement in it once again, being that this was his apartment, and he was finding issues with his own methods of entertainment and possessions. “Nobody plays board games while sober.”

“It's midday! We’re not getting drunk at midday!”

It was scandalous, and you didn’t have much more space to give over to scandals within the next twenty-four hours, pretty much having reached your quota already, and a cheeky look flickered over his features. “Well, we don’t necessarily have to drink..”

“What are you suggesting?”

Your eyes narrowed on him, and he spun on his heel, not saying a thing but letting you follow him. He cleared the books from the coffee table, stacking them all away on the floor in the corner, before lifting up the fold in the middle. He reached inside, and you waited patiently, your jaw dropping as he revealed the item to you, looking more than proud of himself.

A bong, tall with green glass, and it was decorated and bejewelled along the bottom, stickers and actions figures stuck to it, the whole collections making you snort a laugh as you looked at him, before your hands were landing on your hips and a look that you hoped read as ‘seriously?’ written on your face.

“What, you don’t want to?” He waited a moment longer, nibbling on his lower lip, before sitting on the opposite side of the coffee table and finding his lighter. He also reached for the first box on the top of the file, producing a box with one word across the front, brightly coloured and you recognised it. “Suit yourself, but I am. I need something to get through the whole afternoon with you.”

The comment would have stung a lot more had it not been for the cheeky wink that he added onto the end to tell you he was joking, and you sat cross-legged opposite him, picking up the box labelled ‘UNO’ and tipping the deck out into your hands. He clicked at the lighter, waiting for it to spark up, before his mouth was meeting one end of the glass, the contents inside bubbling and gurgling a little as he inhaled, and you dealt out the cards.

He hummed, head tipping back, eyes closed as he settled into the feeling of his eye, and as though he could feel you watching him, his head fell forwards, eyes opening to look at you. “Sure you don’t want any?”

You waited only a moment longer, before huffing out, holding your hand out for them both. “Fine, hand it over.” He placed both pieces on the table, sliding them across the polished wood to you, and you picked them up. Clicking on the flame, you adjusted it in your hand, lips pressing to the cool rim of glass, swilling it a little for good measure, before you were lighting up the end.

Steamy smoke curled up into your lungs as you inhaled deeply, warmth racing through your body as a tingling kind of feeling ran through your throat, tickling and making you grin, in a way that you were familiar with and yet hadn't been accustomed to in a long time. The buzzing feeling raced through your body, already kick-starting nerves and reactions that had felt dormant for a long time.

You hadn't been to a party, a real and exciting college party, since your break up. You’d locked in and sealed yourself away ever since your heart had been broken, and it felt good to adventure back out into the world like this, even if you were locked away with a guy from halfway across town whom you’d known for about twelve hours. “Okay, you were right.”

“Feel better?” He grinned, holding his hand out for the device, and for a little while, the two of you simply shared it between you, letting that initial tingle grow into a proper buzz the world around you beginning to slip away into a haze. Your vision was soft around the edges, slightly out of focus, and the world felt a little more comfortable. Spreading your legs out underneath the coffee table, your back leaned against the couch, feet in his lap as he sat with his legs crossed and folded under him.

When you’d decided your high was enough, you’d started with the games. ‘UNO’ had brought on rivalry and chaos, the two of you raising your voices to the point that you’d been yelling at one another, throats going a little sore as you cursed and laughed, not quite sentient enough now to make the best calls at the game, and so it had felt like it had dragged on for hours, before you had finally been the champion.

He had challenged you to a rematch in the form of a board game called ‘Frustration’, and the two of you had been so busy playing that the time was slipping away around you, the board being flipped by you as he began to win, counters scattering across the floor, and he looked completely and utterly insulted at it, before cracking up laughing with you once again.

After that, you had sprawled all of the games out over the floor, some of them being team games that you were unable to play together, and you’d refused to play a drawing game with him, because you’d peeked at his designs, and were scared to showcase your own drawing in front of him, worried that he’d completely put you to shame and leave you embarrassed.

Poker had been too much of a challenge, half of the pieces for the monopoly board were missing, and you’d done every round of Mario Kart at least once by the time it had come to turning off the console under the TV. Joining you by your side, the two of you were slumped lazily into the couch cushions, shoulders pressed together as the bong sat between you, fresh hits racing through your systems to keep everything exciting, but the thrill of the act itself was beginning to die off, and you were once again out of things to do for entertainment.

At some point, the light outside of the windows had faded, the clumps of snow that had been left along the windowsill were still rising, flakes still falling in flurries from the clouds, except what had once been visible in the day was now dark, the low light of the lamps in the room spilling golden light out across the walls and carpet. Rolling your head to the side, you took in the man sitting before you, watching as he tapped his feet repetitively on the coffee table to the beat of a song you didn’t recognise.

“I looked at your drawings.”

“What?” He paused, twisting to look at you, and he sat up a little further.

“I was being nosey. Earlier, I looked at the drawings in your sketchbook.” His gaze flickered to the leather-bound book in the corner, stacked up with the rest of his belongings, before getting up and putting the bong away, folding the edge of the table back down, and wiping a hand over his face, cheeks tinted pink, and you weren’t sure if it was from the warmth of the room or out of embarrassment. “They’re incredible. Some of the best illustrations I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah. I could never draw like that. I can’t even draw stick men without them being wobbly, sometimes.” He smiled again at that, and you found an odd feeling running through you at the idea that you were able to make him smile, your stomach clenching and twisting as he looked at you fondly, shaking his head a little, eyes dropping to the floor.

“I don’t get a lot of practice with it, I can’t get any apprenticeships yet because nobody wants to hire someone who’s only experience is in one element. Mine being fantasy-sorts, I suppose.”

“Will you draw me?”

“What?” He looked a little startled, eyes wide, and you shuffled forwards on the couch, hand twitching to reach out and take his as you tried to reassure him, watching uncertainty flick over his face. “I don’t really have experience with drawing people. More the imaginary things, described but never seen, less to fuck up if there’s nothing to compare it to.”

“I don’t think you’ll fuck it up.” He swallowed thickly, moving to kneel on the other side of the table, his sketchbook in hands as he fidgeted with it.

“If I mess it up, don’t make me show you, okay?” You only nodded, and he hesitated a moment longer, before getting himself into a more comfortable position, searching through the drawers around him to find his pencils and equipment, laying them out and taking an extra amount of time to line them all up perfectly, and you were sure it was because he wanted to give himself a spare few seconds to hype himself up to it.

You waited patiently, just now beginning to process what was about to happen, and that you’d have to sit still for a long time, while he stared at you, drawing every highlight and flaw of you, while you remained steady under his gaze for as long as it took. When he was ready, you moved yourself a little more, sinking down onto the floor after rounding the coffee table, sitting at the side of it as he positioned you.

“Can you, um-” He tugged two fingers on his own t-shirt, and you looked down at your hoodie, the hood of it crowding around your shoulders, and you nodded, tugging it up from the bottom and over your head. A cool breeze swept over your skin, exposed with only the thin satin camisole hanging on your body to keep you warm, but you felt yourself light up on fire with the way his eyes swept over you. “However you’re comfortable. I’m just going to draw your head and shoulders, so, do whatever you want.”

You pressed your elbows to the wood, hand forming a loose fist and your cheek pressed to it, leaning like that, a slight ankle, and he nodded his head to himself, seeming to approve of the pose. Picking up a pencil, he studied you for a second, the nib hovering over the paper as he held it at an angle that couldn't see, perfect for him to work on though, before stopping.

Placing the pencil between his lips, he held it there, reaching forwards to pull a few strands of your hair free on either side, framing your face and letting them dangle there, curling one around his finger a little to make it twisted, before he was pulling back. “You’re so pretty.”

After that, he was working. Quick strokes of his pencil over the paper as he created the first outline of you, your head, where and how your hair would fall, your hand holding up your head and down to the spaghetti straps on your shoulders, quick movements, a lot of erasing, and very light brushes of the graphite over the paper. Once he was sure he had the form right, only a few minutes in, he started on the details.

His eyes, lingering on your face, licking at his lips to keep them wet as he worked, parted for short breaths, unaware of what he was doing and you resisted biting down on your own as you looked at him, trying to hold your position. It was hard, the look of concentration on his face while staring at your mouth, or the determination in his eyes as he held your gaze and yet was so far away, taking in every little detail, until he was rubbing his finger over certain spots to create shading, and create the minute detailed with finally sharped tips.

Your arm was sore and neck aching when he finally told you that you could sit up, and you rolled your head from side to side, loosening the muscles and tendons that had begun to lock up from the prolonged length of time motionless. He was clutching the pad to his chest, fingers tapping at the back, some slightly smudged with grey graphite, and you inched closer to him.

“Can I see?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He tried to laugh at his own comment, but was nervous, and you placed a hand over his gently, pulling it toward you slowly, and he gave no reluctance, but wasn’t moving of his own accord. “Okay, you can look, but you have to remember that I’m not good at drawing people, and I’m still high as fuck.”

You’d almost forgotten about that, and it was just now clicking with you why you’d been bold enough to do something like model for a sketch, your inhibitions lower, the boldness of nightfall giving you yet another boost in something that you’d never have done earlier in the day. Taking it from him, you turned it around, seeing the nervous look on his face before you were looking down at the sketch. His own worries had prepared you for the worst, but as you looked at it, you decided it wasn’t all that bad.

There was certainly work to be done, but he had the basic forms down, even you could tell that. It was clear that his skill lay elsewhere, the detailing of things like fins and scales was nothing like drawing the subtle imperfections of skin and the dips and dimples of a face, the creases where a fist held a head up nothing like the folds along the back of a monster, but he certainly had a grounding to work from, and you loved what you were seeing despite it all.

“I love it.”

“You’re totally lying to me.” He mumbled, and you shook your head, placing the notepad down, and fixing your attention on him. “It fuckin’ sucks.”

“It does not! I think it's really good. Especially since you said you had no practice, I was expecting something bad. This is so much better than you made it out to be.”

His lips flicked up at the sides, his head raising, bringing him a little closer to you as he straightened out, feeling better about it all now. “You should’ve seen some of the things I drew in high school. My portraits were awful back then, but I was drawing people while in the car, so it wasn't the smoothest of working places.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’ve come a long way since high school, and I think you’re really talented.”

He hummed, eyes flicking down to your lips again, and this time, as he licked at his own, there was no excuse of artwork, or anything else, your heart jumping slightly in your chest. There was a moment, a second’s hesitation as you questioned whether this was what you wanted. There was time to stop, to pull back, his nose bumping yours lightly, warm breath washing over your mouth, and you were a second away from closing the gap, before loud knocking was sounding at the door, and making the decision for you.

Pulling back, his gaze went over your head, brows furrowing as he stared at the door. “Hello?”

You winced at the loud shout, and he mumbled an apology upon realising it, slight disappointment surging through you, but not as much as relief. You were growing more and more attached to this man, but at the end of the snowstorm, you’d still have to leave, and he was still a stranger. You were high, and the romanticism of the situation was morphing things to look rose-tinted and alluring, and you wanted to be of a rational mind to make a decision like that. “Hey, Joel! It’s Mandy, I was wondering if you would grab your stuff from the laundry room, so I can put a couple of loads through?”

His eyes went wide, gaze dropping to your own for a second. “Shit, I totally forgot about the laundry!”

His hand slipped down to yours, fingers lacing together as he tugged you up from the floor, handing you the basket that had been discarded hours ago, and he opened the door, an older woman who looked positively exhausted, arms full of boy’s clothing, and you pitied her knowing that she must be trapped in a shoebox apartment with a son who would be bouncing off of the walls and unable to burn off that energy.

“Sorry, Mandy, I forgot about it. We’ll grab it now.”

“We?” You muttered, the woman’s eyes flickering over you in amusement, and you were tugged out of the apartment and towards the stairs quickly, hearing the door close behind you, and the much slower steps of the tired mother as she trailed you.

The concrete was cold underfoot, especially the lower you got, and you hissed as your sock-covered feet hit the icy stone, never having had a chance to put on your shoes. Putting the container down, he opened it up, steam curling out into the air, even though the dryer had been finished for hours.

‘You couldn't have let me put my jumper on before we came down here? It’s literally freezing over right outside that window.” You mumbled, Joel turning to you, and he cringed a little, as though he had only just remembered the scrap of fabric you were wearing as a top. Pulling an armful of the warm clothing, he sorted through them, pulling a cosy looking jacket from within, and wrapping it over your shoulders. Heat seeped back into your body, warmed from the machine, and you barely noticed the mother entering the room, waiting for Joel to clear his clothes out, watching as you ripped the hoodie up along the front of your body, hood pulled up and hands made into paws by the long sleeves.

“You look cute.”

“I look cold.” You retorted, and he only rolled his eyes, but Mandy laughed, and that was enough recognition for you.

“Yeah, well, we can make some hot food when we get upstairs and you’ll be fine, how about that?” He sat the collection under one arm, offering his other hand to you, and you pushed up the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie, weaving your fingers with his as he guided you from the room.

“I’ve been waiting for this minestrone you’ve been boasting about. I need to see if it lives up to the hype.

“Hey, everyone loves my minestrone!” He backed his way into the home, dropping your hand in order to place down the basket that wouldn’t be looked at for hours now, you were sure. He ushered you into the kitchen, hurting you along until his hands were tickling at your sides and you were squirming under his touch, laugh loudly as he pushed you into the little room.

You worked alongside him, trying to take in the information he was giving to you but it was hard, because the little things he was doing were distracting you. The way in which his hands moved as he chopped the vegetables or prepare the meat, the passionate easy his voice sounded as he told you all about it, his eyes sparkling a little while instructing you, and the little jokes he’d make while bumping you out of the way with his hip, or guiding you around with nudges of his elbow or shoulders.

While cooking, he opened up a little, a story that you’d never have expected to learn from him, but he told you anyway. His parents had died in a car accident when he was young, too young to really remember them, but he’s been allowed to take several boxes of things with him to his foster home as he waited for adoption, and he’d taken his mother’s recipe book as one of those items.

When he’d been adopted, a man whose family had died and he’d become a foster parent, had helped him experiment with his cooking and drawing, instead of forcing him into typical paths for men to take, making him become a football player or a lawyer like he’d expected he’d end up after leaving the system.

A younger sister, also adopted from another family called Minnow, and a dog adopted from a shelter called ‘Boy’, and suddenly, in the space of time that it had taken to make the meal, delicious smell floating around you, he’d spilled to you his history, and you’d listened quietly as he got it off his chest, figuring out somewhere along the way that you were probably one of the only people to ever know this story.

You weren’t sure if that brought you comfort or not, whether he was telling you out of trust and connection, or whether he was telling you because he knew that you’d never see one another again after today, and so he didn’t mind sharing his deepest protected truths. During the heavy discussion, the nibbling of food and the time passing you by, the high you’d once claimed was beginning to fizzle out, everything coming back to sharpness once again, and yet somehow, just by being in his presence, you still felt that same freedom.

When you were sitting back at the table, he was staring at you with excitement now, watching as you lifted a spoonful of the concoction to your lips to try it, seemingly leaving behind the heavy conversation that had taken place as he simply moved on. You took a longer than needed time to assess it, humming contemplatively just to put him through his paces, before finally giving in.

“Okay, this is really good, I’ll give you that.”

“I told you so!” He cheered loudly, arms thrown up in the air, and you laughed a little, tucking into your meal, and wiping up one of the bread rolls that he'd placed into the middle of the table for you both.

You were tempted to ask him for the recipe, knowing that one day you’d be craving it again, and yet, you weren’t sure if you could, whether it would be appropriate or whether that would be crossing a line, to ask to take away a piece of something that he shared with his late mother.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” You spoke, tearing off a mouthful of bread roll after dipping it into the soup mix, and chewing slowly as you waited for him to reply.  

“Did you mean it?” You paused your chewing, confusion making itself known on your face as you silently questioned what he meant, stirring your dinner with your spoon as you waited for him to elaborate, and he swallowed his mouthful to do so. “When you said my name sounded like a first draft of a name.”

For the umpteenth time today, embarrassment and regret was flooding through you, and you took your time to finish the food you were eating, his gaze lingering on you as he waited. When you couldn't stall any longer, you sipped at your water, before giving in. “Yes, I did.” His mouth pursed into a thin line, and you reached a hand out across the table, trying to contain your amusement. “Like, a really good first draft, though, almost there!”

“Nice save.”

Silence fell between you both once again, eating food in a comfortable quiet, and once again the direct parallel to this morning’s porridge struck through you, only twelve hours having passed and yet absolutely everything was different between you both. You couldn't put your finger on what it was about him, something that had caught your attention the first time around had now got you captive again, and there was just something adorably charming about everything he did.

Handsome but bashful, shy but cocky, always making jokes but somehow being able to jump right into something deep and meaningful too, and you’d closed yourself off for so long that it was a little scary for everything you were feeling to come rushing back all at once.

You hadn't had a crush since high school, and you weren’t sure if you liked the idea of one forming now.

“What about the other thing, did you mean that, too?” You searched your mind, reliving that argument as you tried to work out what he was referring to, and you almost dropped your spoon as it all came crashing down, remembering the harsh words that you’d spat in the eat of the moment, and yet it didn’t make them any less true. You only nodded your head, and he let out a loud groan, pouting a little. “Well, that fucking sucks.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, it’s really hard to do! Women are just better at doing that themselves, y’know? We don’t have to talk about it.”

“That doesn't help! You can’t just, like, drop a bomb on me like that; ‘hey, maybe you've never made a girl come in your entire freakin’ life’ and then say you don’t want to talk about it!” He pushed his empty dish away from himself, and your brows raised, arms crossing over atop the table, staring at him critically, and deciding you were finished with your food. “I want to talk!”

“No way! Guys can't handle constructive criticism like that! We’ll end up just like we were this morning, and then we’ll be back to square one! I like how we are now!”

“No! I promise you, I can take it. Just, help me out, here?” He reached out, pushing the dishes out of the way so that nothing was in the way, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. “You help me, I’ll help you.”

“What do you mean help me? You think you got pointers for me?”

“This isn’t a one-way street! Last night was awesome, but you could improve on a few things too. Guess you’ll never know, now, though.” He sighed, glancing off over your head, and you knew it was bait, some very obvious bait at that, and you hated to fall for it, but your own insecurities were getting the best of you, and you huffed loudly.

“Fine!” He turned back to you, a wicked smile on his lips as he realised that clearly, he had won. “I bite, you got me. Go!”

“Okay, this isn't just you, I just wanna’ make that clear to start with.” You raised a brow, leaning back in your chair, arm still crossed and listening intently. “What is with the whole lights off, thing? The fuck is that? If the lights are off, like you requested and I so gentlemanly obliged, I could be having sex with anything! I don’t want to be having sex with anything, I want to be having sex with you.” He paused, eyes darting away from you for only a second, and he wet his lips. “Or, y’know, whoever it is I’m with.”

“Lights on? Wow, and all guys feel this way?” He opened his mouth to reply, before you were letting out a loud ‘booing’ sound. “Duh! Girls hear that more than ‘hello’. That’s all you got?”

“Okay, okay, alright.” He smirked slightly, leaning forwards and resting his forearms on the table. “You, and by you, I mean women in general, do this thing where you stand up, and kinda’ turn away, and then get undressed, like, super-fast. Like you’re at the doctors or something, getting a physical!”

“I’ve never had any complaints about how fast I undress before. Most guys like naked me.”

“I love naked you.” He dropped his gaze, scanning along your body, and you threw a bread roll at him as you realised he was remembering you without your clothes on from the night before, the soft accompaniment bouncing from his head and rolling over the table. “Hey! I’m just saying! Naked you is awesome to look at, and touch, but what I mean is that you could make the getting to being naked part a little more exciting.”

“Exciting?”

“Yeah! You know, do that whole slow bra thing, take it off to the side. Drop it in that sexy way. Do that little ass thing with your panties, y’know, where you just-” He wiggled in his seat, demonstrating the little as movement that all girls did with their panties when they wanted to feel a little sexy. “All I’m saying is that guys like the undressing part too, make it more of a.. thing.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. One more thing.” He paused, this seemingly the one he was most nervous about, and you leaned forward on your elbows, watching him lean in a little too, rolling his lips before speaking. “When I was inside of you, you did this thing. You started helping yourself a little bit, it kind of made me feel like I was being benched. Second-string, forgotten.”

“Duly noted.” You mumbled, and he shrugged a little, the space between you both going void of sound but crackling with electricity. “Is it my turn now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t know who taught guys to do that alphabet thing with their tongue, but it kind of makes me feel like I’m Helen Keller being fucked by her teacher.”

“That’s not a fantasy of yours?” He faked shock, and you tried to cover up your laugh to keep the conversation as serious as you could, and he tried to still himself, nodding for you to continue.

“There was this one moment, during foreplay, where I was close to coming, and I’m pretty sure I subtly pointed it out. Do you remember what I said?”

“Uh, ‘I’m close to coming’?”

“Yes, that’s it!” He scowled falsely, unsure where you were going with this, and it was your turn to smirk a little. “Right after I said that, you totally switched up what you were doing. What was the thought process there? If you had me right there at third, home base in sight, why would you start running in a different direction?”

“Okay, got it. That’s actually helpful.”

“All my tips are helpful! Like, also, you waited for me to undress you. Which was awkward, and a little weird, don’t do that.” You were almost out of advice, pausing for a second to think. “When a girl helps out, that's a good thing! This is sex, not a competition, my ex was weird about that too, just embrace the team spirit, it makes it better for everyone.” He nodded, and you felt a little out of breath, but a weight lifted off your shoulders. “Oh! Yeah, you went too fast. I felt like I was being drilled for oil. Girls want fast, but also slow. Kinda’ felt like you were in a rush, had somewhere better to be.”

“Trust me, I didn’t.”

“Obviously.” You teased, and he grinned, taking in all the information you were giving him. “Lastly, I guess it’s just after. Like, as soon as we finished, you retreated to the other side of the bed like you’d planted a bomb down there. Stick around, hold a girl, count to ten or something. That one will get you a long way, trust me.”

“Cuddling. Noted.”

“Other than that, you were a perfectly adequate lover.” He gaped at you a little, and his whole body sagged.

“Adequate? What a way to boost a guy’s ego.”

“See, I knew this would happen, you’re-”

“Fine! I’m fine!” He reached out, placing a hand over one of yours, and squeezing comfortingly. “Seriously, now I know. I can make use of that advice next time.” He offered you a smile, and you tried to return it, nervous butterflies making you feel a little nauseous as you tried to settle yourself, no indication that he was angry or upset with you. “You said something about your ex in there, y’know. Is that why you broke up, crappy sex?”

You knew it was meant as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but your stomach dropped. “Uh, no.” You cleared your throat, hands pulling from his to clasp them in your lap as you looked away. “That would’ve been because I found him in our bed with one of my friends.”

The air went dead, silence encased you, and you heard the legs of his chair scrape on the floor as he pushed it back. Kneeling in front of you, he took your hands in his, forcing you to meet his eye. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“It’s okay. At least I know she isn't getting much.”

He chuckled, but it was dry and empty, and he reached up, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “For the record, I think he’s a dipshit. You’re an amazing girl, anybody who would cheat on you isn’t worth you.”

“Thanks, Joel.”

He stood up, pulling you with him, until you were standing up once again. “Go find another film. I’ll get us all sorted here. Anything you want, it’ll cheer you up.” You waited a moment longer, ready to do as he’d said, before a set of lips were brushing against your forehead, and your breath hitched in your throat. Pressing into the touch just a little, it was almost embarrassing how you reacted, how much you’d missed simple affections, how it felt to be excited around someone instead of just bored or dreading having to see them, the excitement of once again experiencing the thrill of something invigorating and new. “I’m honestly sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Kinda’ is.” He mumbled, fingers playing with yours lightly where your hands were still hanging connected, and the whole experience was a little different. This wasn’t a near-miss kiss while high after the intimacy of drawing one another, nor was it holding hands in the rush to get to the laundry room while hopped up on adrenaline and a little embarrassment. “He’s a moron, and he didn’t deserve you. Neither did your friend, if she’d do something like that to you.”

“They deserve each other.”

“Atta’ girl.” He teased, squeezing your hand once more, before letting you go, and as you settled down onto the couch cushions, you had to try hard just to steady your racing heart as you scroll through movies on Netflix, perched happily along the couch, but it was a little chilly, the space heater was barely holding its own against the chill of the outside.

“You got any blankets?” You didn’t even bother turning your head as you shouted the words, still exploring the film choices, and this time, you went for something a little more exciting. A ‘Mission Impossible’ movie was always a hit, right? Everybody loves Tom Cruise.

“Yes, I do.” You jumped, never having heard him moving around, and he stood before you, a fluffy looking blanket bundled in his arms, and you made grabby-hands for it with a grin. He shook his head, slumping down beside you on the ouch, and you bounced a little with the movements he made. “What, you think I read your mind? This blanket is for me, but I might just share it with you.”

“Yeah, what’s the catch?”

“You have to smile, so I know you’re really okay.” You couldn’t help it, trying to bite back the grin on your face as you flushed with shy heat, and he whooped loudly upon seeing the expression. Spreading the blanket out across you both, his fingers brushed across your skin, tucking it around your thighs and over your waist as he and sure you were covered, before his arm was stretching out along the back of the couch behind you.

“You’re too smooth for your own good.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’m incredibly awkward and not nearly as brave, usually.” You rolled your eyes, nudging your shoulder against his but not bothering to say anything, and starting up the movie.

Tucking your legs underneath yourself, you adjusted the blanket, your feet cold as you lifted them up from the cooled flooring, and directing your attention over to your phone. It had been hours since you’d check it, since you'd even felt the need to know whether anyone else had been in touch with you, and even as that realisation came to mind, you still didn’t budge to collect it.

Earlier in the day, you had been bitter and wishing to be home, where you’d inevitably only be locked up tight in your own bedroom and watching movies to pass the time away, listening to Sophie and her boyfriend move around the apartment, trapped in permanently third-wheeling until the snow melted. Now, you were happy, knowing that you’d made a new friend, and that you were at least venturing back out into the world for the first time since having your heart broken.

A hand came down, fingers playing with the edges of your hair lightly, twirling a light strand between his fingers, and as you swept your gaze over the man a foot or so away from you on the couch, his eyes were still fixed on the screen of the television. His fingers brushed against your neck occasionally, and each time, you had to suppress the urge to shiver. It was an invitation, the changing for day to night once again shifting everything between you both, unspoken words to invite you closer, easy for you to choose to take, or not to take, and nothing would be said about it at all.

Your entire body ran over with goosebumps, and your fingers picked lightly at the blanket, unsure of which move you wanted to make. On the one hand, you could definitely take that step, move a little closer and risk falling into that again, or you could stay where you were, play it safe and not risk a thing. Fold your cards and wait for the next round.

“I’ll just be a minute, okay?”

You stood up, his hand falling away from yourself and the blanket laying down on the couch, and he nodded his head, a barely present smile on his face as he nodded his head, and you slipped away, giving yourself just a moment to think as you disappeared to the bathroom. Closing the door behind yourself, you leaned back against it, letting out a deep breath and trying to clear your mind, weighing the pros and cons of where this night might go.

Shaking yourself down a little, you felt the tension flee from your body, and you placed your hands onto the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror hanging over it. You were always playing it safe, always had, and maybe that’s why your ex had adventured and found excitement somewhere else, needing the thrill of it, because you never took risks.

If you hadn't taken a risk last night, you wouldn't be here now, and after all, you’d had a great day. Maybe it would blow up and backfire, maybe when the snow melted you’d never see him again, maybe it wouldn't work out, but you’d never know if you didn’t at least try.

“Oh, woman up. For once in your life.” You muttered, running the water and splashing a little of the cool liquid over your face, refreshing yourself with just how icy cold it was, a little hiss leaving you. Shaking your hands off and patting your face dry, you ran a hand through your hair, deciding you were ready. Uncapping the toothpaste, you took a small chunk from it on your finger, placing the blob onto your tongue and licking it around your mouth for freshness, doing the best you could to clean your teeth a little, before using your hands as a cup and rinsing with some water.

At least you felt a little fresher and more alluring now. A good confidence booster, because fuck it, you were all in.

Stepping back out into the main room, you undid the zipper on the hoodie of his that you’d borrowed, letting it hang open along the front, the thin satin of your camisole on display, the material falling away from one shoulder as it hung baggy on your body now that it was open. Upon your return, he turned to look at you, lips parting a little as his eyes flickered along your body, gaze lingering on the exposed skin of your shoulder, your arms, the midriff shown between the edge of your top and the hem of your leggings, before his jaw was snapping shut, and he met your eyes again, only for a split second, before looking back to the movie.

Lifting the edge of the blanket, you sat a little closer to him than you had been before, your arm brushing against his side as you got comfy, and you heard him let out a slightly shaky breath, fingers tapping against the back of the couch, behind where your head had once been, now further down the couch as you sat close enough to smell the lingering aftershave on his skin.

Five long minutes passed, and you almost thought you’d overstepped, that he didn’t want this as much as you thought he would, that the connection was one-sided, but then his hand slipped down, fingers brushing over the bare skin of your shoulder on the side where the jacket had dipped down, nails scraping slightly, before the rest of his arm followed. Slipping it around your shoulders, his hand hung over you, playing lightly with the spaghetti strap of your top, running along the silky material, under it, playing with it in slow and absentminded patterns, and you contained yourself from celebrating out loud, or doing something that wouldn't be considered as ‘playing it cool’.

You paused, giving it just enough time, the feeling of roughened fingertips rubbing along your skin, and after a moment, you realised it was being inched a little further over. As the strap fell away, falling over your arm again, his movements paused, everything going still for just a second, before his fingertips were pressing to bare skin again. Twisting towards him a little more, you pressed up to his side, lifting a leg until the lower half of your legs were tangled together as they sat ahead of you, propped up on the coffee table.

He hummed a little under his breath, your head adjusting to rest on his shoulder, and he dared to reach his fingers a little lower than just along your shoulder, brushing as far as the undersides of your collarbones, and you cuddled in a little closer to him still.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you said.” His words were gruff, voice low and gravelling as he kept his tone to just above a whisper, and you rolled your lips together for a second, trying to settle on your words.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, y’know, all the improvements I could make. I’ve been thinking about it.” You only hummed, fingers smoothing over his stomach and across towards his side until you were holding onto him, and the muscles underneath tensed and rippled under the soft cotton tee he was wearing. “But, I’d never really know if I was getting it right until I put it into practice.”

“Well, that does make sense.”

“Yeah, and I mean, I’d need someone who could tell me, give me real talk.” He was continuing on with the rouse, the playful energy between you both sparkling, and the movie was long-forgotten, simply becoming background noise.

“Makes sense. Someone to guide you as you go.”

“Exactly.” He mumbled, turning himself enough to drag the tip of his nose over your cheek, and you tipped your head back a little, making it easier for him as his lips brushed your cheek. “Know anyone up for the task?”

“I think I might know someone.” You whispered, hand coming up to lace into his hair, and he rumbled happily at the scrape of your nails over his scalp.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You promised, and he grinned, shifting enough to let his mouth slant across yours, a kiss that was more than overdue. Lifting a hand to sit on his jaw, he pressed into you a little further, one hand still behind the couch, while the other was sliding down to find your waist, the blanket falling away and the movie becoming nothing but background noise as his lips worked softly with your own.

You’d expected hot and sloppy, but he was taking it slower this time, sweet and passionate, not nearly as desperate as you’d been anticipating, and your heart was racing in your chest with the tenderness in which he kissed you. Once the blanket was kicked from your legs, his hand dipped a little lower, smoothing around your lower back, and pulling you in towards him until you could drape a leg over his thighs. Settling into his lap, both of hands were sitting low on your hips, teeth grazing along your lower lip as the what between you both seemed to double, and you pressed a little closer into him.

“Put your hands, just-” You took a hold of his wrists, lowering his hands a little, your forehead pressed to his as you pushed them around until he could hold fistfuls of your ass through your leggings, squeezing tightly, and you keened into his touch. Rocking your hips down into his own, you gasped, his grunt at the feeling being silenced as your lips closed back over his, and he hummed happily when your tongue dragged slowly against his.

For each rock you made down into him, his hips were jumping, small thrust upwards to meet you, and it became more frantic with every little movement. He was growing underneath you, the material of his sweats doing little to hide the hardening cock that seemed to twitch and jump each time you dragged your core along his length, even through the layers of material, and you could feel yourself growing wetter and weather, uncomfortably so the longer your went, but the pressure was perfect, an orgasm already beginning to grow within you.

When the burn for oxygen became too much, he pulled back, lips worked along your jaw slowly, soft sucks that weren’t hard enough to leave bruises but sent sparks of electricity and excitement flooding through you each time, nips at your skin as he worked his way down your neck, until he was biting teasingly at the shoulder with the strap of your top still hanging over your arm, bare skin exposed to him. “You know, not a criticism, just a compliment, but you really got kissing down to an art.”

He chuckled against your skin, a little breathless, but still enough to make you tremble at the feeling, before he was making his way back up to you, nose dragging over your skin until his mouth could brush against yours. “Is that so?”

“Totally.” You mumbled, your hand slipping into his hair to hold onto a fistful as his mouth crashed back into your own, and he put those skills to good use. He all but knocked the oxygen from your lungs with the intensity of it, leaving your head spinning and lungs burning but you were unable to pull away, the addictive way that his mouth worked with your own, so sensual and intimate that you were flaring up with heat, and you finally knew what it felt like when people said there were fireworks in a kiss, because you felt as though the fourth of July was exploding around you.

“Bedroom?”

“Absolutely.” You mumbled, having to tear yourself away from his kisses, diving back in a few times, before finally, you managed to pull yourself away. You took his hands in your own, pulling him up with you as the two of you moved, and his hands found your hips, guiding you in your backwards walking steps as he followed behind you; foreheads pressed together, occasionally pressing sweet kisses to one another, giggles shared into the air between you until you came to a stop in the doorway.

Turning around, you paused, more of a laugh erupting from you.

“First criticism, messy sheets is a turn off.” He sounded confused for a second, mouth leaving where he had been kissing along your neck, his head coming up to take a look, and he huffed a little.

“Right, yeah, forgot about that. Let me just-” He moved away, on side of the bed to straighten the blankets out, pushing the pillows back up to the top end of the bed, and you helped out, smoothing over them until the job was done haphazardly, but at least it least it was no longer messy, and he stood on the opposite side from you, hands on his hips for a second. “Better?”

“Much.” He nodded his head, licking over his lips, and taking the lower one prisoner as his gaze swept over you, His hair was a little messy, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, and you were certain that you looked exactly the same, the tension between the two of you sizzling. You couldn't handle it, the two of you meeting halfway as you knelt on the bed, his body colliding with yours and lips meeting in frenzied kisses as you connected again.

He reached a hand behind his head, tugging his shirt up and away from his body, a delicious display of flexing muscles and veiny forearms as he discarded of it, shaking the hair that flopped down into his face free.

“That was hot.”

“All I did was take off my shirt?” He whispered, pulling back when you tried to kiss him so that he could raise his brows in silent questioning.

“We like that. When you do that whole ‘taking your shirt off with one hand behind your head’ thing. Plus, you just looked good while doing it.” He looked down at himself, before back up to you, hands cupping your face to bring you in closer to him, and he pressed a series of pecks to your lips, until you were laughing lightly and pushing him back with hands spread over his chest.

He followed you as you stood, and you undid the rest of the zip on the hoodie, letting it fall open, and down your arms slowly, and he watched it go, until the material was crumpled in a pile around your feet. Placing your hands on his chest, you pushed him backwards, until his knees were buckling against the mattress and he was sitting down, staring up at you with wide eyes and parted lips, waiting for your next move. With a finger under his chin, you tipped his face upwards, enough to be able to peck his lips, before you were stepping away from him.

Turning away, you heard him shuffling, the ruffling of material and the slight creaking of the bed, before it was silent, and you took a steadying breath. Crossing your arms over your middle, you tugged the satin top up slowly, brushing your own fingers over your skin, and you heard him groan behind you as it hit the floor, hair falling back down your back upon being freed from the material. Hooking your fingers into the edge of your leggings, you peeled them down your legs, bending at the waist, and removing them from your feet, slowly, before turning back to face him, clad only in your panties.

His eyes were half-lidded, and jaw hanging slack, only clad in his boxers now, but he was palming himself through the material as he sat propped up in the pillows, and you rounded to his side of the bed, one of his hands reaching out for you, and you took it, a gentle hold as his fingers weaved with yours.

“How was that?”

“So fucking hot.” He mumbled, the hand that he had been using to rub at his hard cock through his boxers came free, a wet patch left across the front of the pale checkered fabric, precum soaking into them and your thighs clenched at the idea of having that effect on him. Running the tip of one finger under the waistband of your panties, he tugged you a little closer to him still, before snapping the elastic against your skin. “What about these?”

“Figured you might want to do that.”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth, before meeting his gaze again, only a split second slip, but he was smirking, clearly having seen it. Before you could even process what he was doing, his arms had wrapped around your middle, twisting you around and lifting you to lay in the bed beside where he had been, your head in the pillows and his arms holding him up on either side of you, and you panted a little, the yelp that had left you making you breathless.

“Holy shit.”

“Couldn’t help it. You say dirty things and it makes me feel a little wild.” His legs were caging you in, moving lower and lower as he kissed his way over your collarbones, lips and tongue leaving wet trails between your breasts as he lowered himself further and further.

“Wild is good. I like wild.”

“Hm, I hope so.” He whispered the words, tongue grazing along the sensitive skin above your panties, before he was tapping at your hips with his fingers, and you were lifting them for him to shimmy your panties down. Once you were bare before him, you grew a little shy once again, legs snapping shut, and he chuckled, a hand landing on each knee, and he pressed kisses along the tops of your thighs. “Please don’t be shy, gorgeous. You’re so damn beautiful, you have nothing to be shy about.”

Squeezing his hands at your knees, you twitched a little, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to peer down at him, and he grinned, pressing a kiss to your stomach, before leaning up and pressing an equally quick but sweet kiss to your lips.

“Open up your pretty legs for me, yeah?”

You couldn't hold back, the way he was talking to you and touching you, loving caresses that soothed your nerves, and he groaned under his breath as your slick core was revealed to him. Legs bending at the knees, you planted your feet flat on the bedding, and he was able to settle on his stomach between them, hot breath fanning over your core.

His arms wrapped around your thighs, fingertips digging into them roughly, and he rubbed a hand up and down them slowly, the twitching in your gut coming to a still as he still managed to find time and sentience to ease your nerves as he pressed his mouth in sweet kisses along the insides of your thighs, biting a little at the top and chuckling as he felt you jerk in surprised shock. Lacing a hand into his hair just as his mouth moved to close over your core, you tugged lightly, his eyes flickering up to find yours. “What’s wrong, gorgeous? Did I mess something up?”

“No, no, you’re perfect.” Your words were panted out, and you were trembling while holding yourself up, but you shook your mind clear, trying to focus enough to break through the haze. “Just wanted to say thank you. You’re being such a sweetheart, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this confident before, so before my mind completely clears, I wanted to say that.”

He paused, a look flicking over his features to expose that he clearly didn’t expect that, and there was a much more adoring smile on his face as he processed your words. “It’s my pleasure, you’re worth it, and you deserve a guy to treat you like the special and incredible woman that you are.”

You choked a little on your breath, unsure of how to reply, so you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, before pushing his back down a little. “Okay, enough heart-to-heart crap. You can continue now.”

“As you wish, princess.”

He dragged his tongue once along your core slowly, and you took a sharp inhale of breath, the feeling of a hot and wet mouth working over you was something that you’d sorely missed, and while Joel had gone down on you yesterday too, this would be so much better and you already knew it. Instead of rushed and nervous, it was erotic and confident, sure in your movements, and sure that he could be the best you’d ever had, you could tell just from the way this night was going so far, that these memories would be burned in your mind for the rest of your life.

Rubbing a thumb over your clit, he chuckled at the way your thighs trembled slightly, before he was pulling away, diving in to replace his finger with his mouth. Lips sucking at the little bud, your fingers tightened in his hair, back arching at the feeling, and he licked over the bud, before repeating the process. Again, and again, and then, he was replacing his movements. Tongue flicking out, rapid kitten licks over the bud, and you squealed a little, thighs clamping around his head as you did, and you whined a little.

“Wait, Joel!” He paused after a moment, your entire body still tingling with the feeling of his mouth, but your legs loosened as he pulled them open, brows raising at you, and slick was already glistening on his chin. “Good, but can be better. Start slow, don’t go right in, tease me a little. Speed up when I’m closer, okay?”

“I thought girls hated being teased?”

“We can love it, if you do it right. You’ll know when to speed up, okay? Start slow, add a finger, then another, speed up when I’m getting close.” He nodded his head, a lopsided smile on his face, and he was taking your advice. He started slow, a long and torturous drag of his tongue over your core, and then again, before his tongue circled your entrance for a moment, barely dipping inside long enough to matter, but then he lapped at your core again. Lips sealing around your clit, he sucked harshly, your back arching up from the bed, your free hand finding purchase tangling in the bedding, and you moaned, loudly. “Fuck, yes, Joel. Just like that.”

He groaned into your body, the feeling reverberating along your skin, and one hand moved from your thigh, slipping along and disappearing from your skin until the tip of one nimble digit was circling your entrance, rubbing lightly across your weeping hole. Filthy sounds were already filling the room, and your mind was going completely blank, the only thing you could process right now was the movements of his mouth against you, tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you crazy as you bucked up into him, holding his face against your core as he slurped and sucked at every drop you had to release.

Slipping that finger into you, he had clearly taken our tip on teasing, because he only sunk it within you to the first knuckle, barely present at all, and yet your walls were clamping around him greedily, desperately trying to draw him deeper in as you felt him twist it a little, circling the finger and beginning to stretch you out, crooking it at the knuckle and tugging a little in your entrance as he began to pump it. A cry of his name left you as he bit down on your swollen clit lightly, the bud throbbing in response, and your entire body jumped at the sensation, loving the way he was taking control with it now.

Each time his finger dipped back into you, he sank a little further, his finger and tongue working in harmony, the same pace with their movements, and your entire body was layered in a thin sheen of shining sweat as he took you apart piece by piece. His hips were grinding down into the covers as he worked, the rustling of the covers giving it away, and he was grunting and growling against your every so often, his eyes closed as he enjoyed his motions just as much as you did, and you forced your hand free from him hair as you realised just how tight your fist had gotten. Just when you thought you might be getting used to this feeling, that you might be able to clear the fog in your mind enough to think straight, he sensed it, upping his ministrations.

“Fuck, Joel!” The coil in your stomach wound up ten times tighter in a matter of seconds as that dull tingling at your entrance made itself known, a second finger taking you by surprise as it plunged inside of you, and your back arched up so high your hips followed, borderline screaming as he picked up his pace. “I-I’m going to-”

“Come? Do it, come on, gorgeous. Give me all you got.” Faster movements, the tandem between his fingers and his mouth going to shit, as he continued to work his fingers in and out of you slowly, but his tongue was picking up his pace again. Switching between sucking and licking, you could barely process what was happening each time, and tears lined your eyes as you felt fire beginning to consume you.

Heat flooded your body, bliss filling every cell in your body and coursing through you until it was all-consuming, and you unravelled against him in a fit of squirming screams, his hands holding you to his mouth as he rode you through the pleasure, two fingers stretching you wide and scissoring you open each time, never giving up on his movements until you couldn't take it anymore.

You pushed him away, panting and gasping for breath, and his eyes were blown with lust as he pulled away, cheeks and chin shining with your arousal, your hand falling over your chest, feeling the erratic beating of your heart under your palm as your eyes closed, trying to contain the way you were feeling. Your throat was already scratchy, growing rough from the calls and cries of his name that you’d released.

“Good?”

“Is that even a question?” You teased, and he collapsed down into the bed beside you, wiping the back of his hand over his jaw, before you leaned in to kiss him, taking his lips with your own, and he let out a needy sound into your mouth as you did. He was rubbing at his jaw, pressing his lips lazily with your own as you kissed him, and he pressed you back down into the bed, leaning over you and letting his body press into yours.

One hand moved to his boxers, pushing them down, kicking them away until they were removed from his body. Leaning over you, a dripping cock brushed along your thigh, your leg raising up a little to rub against him, and he grunted into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip in warning, as he rooted through the nightstand to find a condom. Upon retrieving the package, he sat back on his heels, tearing it with his teeth and throwing the wrapper to the ground, a problem to be dealt with later, and he rolled the rubber along his length.

Long and flushed red, his cock was standing tall and proud, and you rubbed your thighs together a little, watching as he pumped himself slowly, eyes dragging over your body. You could see the cogs working in his mind, before he backed away from you entirely. Moving to the switch on the wall, he turned down the lights, leaving them on a little, but lowering them to a more comfortable level.

“Compromise?”

“I can work with that.” You offered, holding your hands out to him, and the bed bounced a little as he came to laying over the top of you. One leg was pressed between yours, and you shuffled, pressing yourself down against the muscle of his thigh, and a deep sound bubbled up from within him as you rode yourself against his thigh, kissing along his neck, and his head tipped back.

“For the record, I like hickies.”

You paused, a beat passing, before your mouth was sealing over the patch where his neck joined his shoulders, and he groaned loudly as you sucked at the skin harshly. Tipping his head back, his arms trembled a little dipping down until your chests were pressed together, and with every rolled of your core against his leg, your chest dragged over his, the friction making your nipples grown perky, and you whimpered into his neck, lapping at the spot you were abusing.

When you were finished, you pressed a sweet kiss over it, purple already beginning to blossom beneath the splotchy red on his pale skin, and he let out a shaky breath. Brushing your thumb over it, you smirked at the mark you’d made, before finally looking back up to him. Reaching a hand between your bodies, you took his cock in your hand, pumping slowly and watching as his jaw dropped slightly, before you were shifting your legs to accommodate his body and lining his length up at your core.

He rocked forwards, sinking into you slowly, and just like that, everything went fuzzy around you once again. It was like he was your only focus, everything was falling away until it was only him that remained, and your hands found his cheeks, pulling him down to kiss you. You were drowning in his touch, his hips nestled against your own as he gave you a moment to adjust to his size with you, that same twinge of an ache you’d felt this morning coming back in full force, but overpowered by the racing lust that was taking over.

When you felt ready, you clenched around him, curling your hips and feeling his cock shift within you, a gasp falling from you as the head of his cock brushed over your g-spot, and he took that chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Hot and wet, everything felt like it was in overdrive as you lit up, and his hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head as he began to shift, hips drawing out of you, before sinking back in, and he took his time, moving slowly and waiting for you to tell him when he could speed up.

Lifting a leg up and onto his hip, he sank even deeper within you, your walls fluttering around him as you let out joint sounds of pure ecstasy, and his movements stuttered for only a moment at the feeling. One hand came down, fingertips digging into the muscle of your thighs so tightly that you’d be speckled with little polka dot bruises come morning, a sinful thought that made you head spin. You felt carefree, for the first time in your life, there was no doubts or anxiety, just the way it felt to be touched and cared for by him, the way his gaze swept so delicately over your face, or the way his lips puckered a little, curling up at the sides in a smile when your mouth pressed to his.

Hooking your hands under his arms, you encouraged him on, nails digging into his skin and dragging tracks into the flesh, his back arching up to push into your touch, and his pace began to pick up. He took his time, building the pace, and you’d never felt like this before. A high you’d never experienced was beginning to set in, your hips moving in time to match his thrusts.

He was panting into your mouth, hot and erotic as your foreheads remained pressed together, his lashes tickling against your cheeks, and every soft moan of your name that he let out made you want to scream out with pure bliss, because the way his voice cracked around your name made everything within you crumble. He made you weak, he made you completely fall apart, and you weren’t sure how or why, yet you found yourself loving it.

It was raw and exposed, your heart and soul open to him, and instead of crushing it like you’d grown to expect from everyone around you, he was taking care of it. You pushed up into him, pleasure surging through you, broken stutters of his name as he fucked into you, hard and fast, driving deep, and the tip of his cock was pressing to your g-spot each time, pinpoint accuracy as you weren't sure if he even knew that he was making stars flash behind your eyes.

“Joel, don’t stop! I’m so close!”

You moved, licking over two fingers, and making to slip them between your bodies to find your clit, to spur your orgasm on as best you could, but as you moved, he lifted a hand, snatching yours in his own and pinning it to the bed, and a loud moan rippled through you from the dominance he asserted. He seemed almost surprised, for only as second, before his brows were raising. “You liked that, huh? Shoulda’ told me.”

“That’s not general advice, you wanted general advice.”

He shook his head, leaning back down to brush the tip of his nose over your own. “Maybe I’d prefer it if you tailored the advice to yourself specifically. Tell me how to drive you wild.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, I like it when you take control of me a little bit.” He nodded his head, seeming to catch on, and he sat back leaving you laying in the bed as the angle changed. Two fingers prodded at your lips, and he raised his brows, waiting for you to draw them into your mouth, wetting the digits thoroughly for him. When he deemed them sufficiently slick, he pulled them back, trailing them down along your body, before pressing down roughly onto the neglected bud between your thighs, crying out for attention to push you over the edge.

As you tumbled into that bliss, he continued going, until your body was jerking and quivering underneath him, and you were crying out his name, clenching so hard around his cock that his head fell back as he gripped at your thigh with his other hand, kneeling between your parted legs and tucked snugly between your spasming walls. “Jeez, you’re so fucking tight.”

He collapsed down over you, sweaty and warm, covering your body with his entirety as he tried to catch his breath, and your eyes were still rolled back in your head, coming back to focus as you slipped back down to earth from the heaven he'd taken you to. “That was incredible.”

“You bet your cute little ass it was.”

You chuckled, feeling him shuffle, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Locking your knees on either side of his hips, you flipped him over, his eyes wide as he found himself on his back, your hand finding his cock as you sank back down, shivering at the feeling as the aftermath of your last orgasm was still racing through you, and he let out a long and deep sound that vaguely resembled your name, hands finding your waist and pulling you the rest of the way down as he fucked up into you.

“You don’t have to, really-”

“You know, you’re pretty much the first guy I’ve ever been with who didn’t come first, and who genuinely cared about my pleasure.” Your nails scratched over his chest a little, making him shudder at your touch, before you were leaning down, hair drawing around you both, and he stared up at you in awe. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

He nodded, a hand tangling toughly in your hair, and he pulled you backwards, sitting up with you in his lap so that your legs could wrap around his waist more fully, your arms looping his neck, holding you as close as he possibly could. You whined at the feeling of your stinging scalp, loving the way he was manhandling you now, and he knew it too, his lips descending to your throat as he used his other hand to guide the movements of your hips.

“Tell me what to do, I don’t go on top a lot. Tell me what’s good, that’s what you’re supposed to do.” You were pleading with him, desperate to know how you could make him feel as good as you’d made him.

“What you’re doing right now is good.” He mumbled, but as you rolled your hips back down into his with what little space there was, his lips moving over your body until he could lean you back, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking one perky bud into his mouth. You cried out his name, his fist tangled into your hair to hold you still, and you tried to form thoughts, your first attempts at speaking coming out as broken stutters.

“Please, Joel..”

“Please what, gorgeous? Tell me what you need.” He cooed the words out, and you let out a desperate sound, your hips slamming down into his, and your hands found his chest, pushing him back into the bed, hearing the rush of breath he let out.

“Tell me what you want.”

He stared at you, blinking those beautiful brown eyes for a second, before giving in. “Honestly, I just want you to ride me like a pornstar. Go fucking wild, it’s so fucking sexy. When your tits bounce, and you slam yourself onto my cock, hair messy and a little sweaty, that's what I want.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly and bracing yourself on his chest, before you moved more solidly onto your knees, beginning to bounce against him. His jaw dropped, watching the movements of your chest, watching as you leaned back to show off the bouncing of your breasts before him as you built your confidence, and after getting past your anxieties, you were faced with the raging build of confidence that came with being on top.

He was staring at you like you’d put the lights in the sky, and you were, for once, glad that there were lights on to see him and for him to see you, to watch every movement you were making, because pure thrill was written on his face, adoration and lust as he stared, before you were taking one of his hands. Dragging it over your body, you sealed his fingers around one of your tits, pushing into his hands when he took control, fingers tweaking with your nipples, and he raised the other to do that same.

You were close, and you could tell he was too, the breathless way that he was beginning to chant your name on repeat, the way you were sure that the feeling of his cock tapping against every spot within you was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life, and the look on his face as he finally neared that peak.

“You look so fucking good. Taking what you want, riding me, absolutely perfect up there.”

“Only because that's how you want to see me, right now.” You whispered, and he shook his head, his hands finding your hips, waiting for you to lift yourself up, and as you did, he slammed you back down onto him, meeting you as he fucked up into you, and your body fell forwards in shock, barely catching yourself before your forehead hit his own, breath shared between you once again. His feet adjusted on the bed, bending at the knee to sit flat and he set a brutal pace, driving the both of you towards your final peak and he drilled into you.

Your eyes crossed, vision spotting, and a scream of his name was torn from you with force as you crashed into yet another earth-shattering orgasm at his touch, the sound of his cries of complete joy seeming muffled as he chased after you over the cliff, falling into orgasmic bliss. He rode the pair of you out, strained and weakening movements as your bodies trembled together, until finally, he stopped, completely sent off all energy, and you collapsed against his chest.

His heart was thudding against his chest under your cheek, your nails scratching lightly at the patch of dark hairs between lightly defined pecs, and he wrapped his arms around you. Rolling you to the side, he was reluctant to leave the bed, letting out a loud sound of distaste ta having to do so, but didn’t travel far, simply far enough to undo the rubber on his cock and tie it up, wrapping it in some tissues and dropping the crumpled heap into the bin.

When he came back over, he lay down beside you on his back, one hand under his head and the other stretched out towards you. As you lay on your stomach, shuffling closer to him, you lifted yourself onto your elbows, peering down at him with a small smile. “So, that was, like, the best sex ever. Right?”

You grinned, head ducking to hide the bashful expression you wore, but you were laughing nonetheless. “Ever.”

“I wish all girls were as cool as you. Like, sex would just be so much better if everyone just had that kind of communication, because, holy shit, that was mindblowing.” His hand came up beside his head, making an exploding noise as his fingers made the motion, as though his head really had exploded, and you grinned, feeling his fingers brush over your skin as he lowered it back down.

Quiet fell between you both, but it was comfortable, nice and easy-going, and you weren’t sure how to break the silence now, but neither was he, though it didn’t matter. When the temperatures that had risen in your body during your sinful act began to come back down, you found yourself cold once again, tucking yourself under the blankets and curling in a little closer to him, fingers brushing through his hair to distract yourself as he lay, staring up at you.

“Y’know, you said something, during it all..”

“You told me to give you advice! Don’t get pissy about it now.” Your joke was taken in good spirits, a loud laugh leaving him, and the burning gaze he’d mixed you with was broken for a few moments as his eyes closed to revel in his amusement, but when the laughter died down, he was looking at you again, with just as much intensity.

“Not that. You said you only thought you only looked good because I wanted you to look good.” His hand found your cheek, forcing you to find his gaze as he spoke. “That wasn’t true. You’re so fucking beautiful, and just because one dumbass broke your heart, doesn���t mean you shouldn’t think of yourself as not being worthy. It only leads to more heartbreak. Don’t let his stupid actions take away from your value.”

“You know, you’re real wise on all this stuff.” His thumb brushed over your lips, and you puckered your lips to press a kiss to the pad of the finger. “Who broke your heart, Joel?”

“What makes you think I’ve had my heart broken?”

“Takes one to know one.” You whispered, and he let out a little sigh, gaze trailing off to stare at the ceiling.

“Her name was Aimee. We were together in high-school. We got into different colleges, and I was so sure we could make a long-distance thing work.” You cringed a little, keeping it internal, already guessing where this was going, but letting him talk. “We did phone calls and video chats, and I went to see her so often, every chance I could, in first year. But then second year came, and everything got busy, and I didn’t get to see her as often as I would’ve liked. I was waiting for the summer break to go and see her. When I got there, things were different, she told me it had changed, that she’d fallen for someone else and just didn’t know how to tell me. She figured we’d just fizzle out, that we had been fading. We broke up officially, but, it didn’t hurt her as much as it hurt me.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel.”

“That’s alright.” He murmured, fingers tracing up and down your arm, and you settled into a comfortable quiet once again.

You were hesitant to admit it to yourself, but you were growing rather fond of the man, your hookup having become so much more. The snow, the cold weather, two broken hearts and a stupid hook up site, and suddenly, you’d found someone who had managed to change your life in a lot of little ways, all in just twenty-four hours.

You turned, finding the man already watching you, lips curled up in a sweet smile and eyes lazily drooped, simply watching you as the thoughts and feelings raced through your mind, and yet, under his gaze, they all seemed to go silent. The worries, the constant surge of ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ all faded away, and you reached out a finger, tapping at the tip of his nose.

His expression somehow managed to morph into something even sweeter, practically giving you a toothache as his nose scrunched up adorably, before he was folding both hands under his head, moving to tangle his legs with yours, and simply sighing a little.

Golden and low lighting made his features seemed a little sharper, shadows on his face highlighting his jaw, cheekbones standing prominent and hair darker, and you knew just how soft it was, strands pushed back out of his face by you. The dark mark on his neck was making itself known now, and you were sure your own body would soon be littered in them, and you would check them all out with pride in the morning.

You turned to look at him again, drawing yourself back out of the spiral in your mind you’d once again fallen victim to, and meeting his gaze with a heatless huff. “What are you staring at?”

“Just.. you.” His brows pulled together a little, eyes sweeping across your face again in a way that made you feel raw and on the edge of your emotions. He lifted a hand, pushing your hair away behind your ears, before settling a hand over your jaw, and stroking his thumb across your skin slowly and soothingly.

“Yeah, well, don’t.” You whispered, voice cracking, and your gaze left his, but his touch never fell away, even when you tried to duck your head. “Don’t look at me like that, not unless you plan to act on it.”

“Oh, I would love to act on it. When this snow melts, I’d like to act on it properly.”

“Like.. a date?” You questioned, eyes flicking up to his for only a moment, and he was beaming what you did, toothy smile showing off his joy for only you to see.

“Exactly like a date, if you’ll have me?”

“Depends.” You murmured, shuffling in closer to him for warmth. “Can I share the bed with you tonight, or are you kicking me back out to the couch?”

He wrapped you up in his arms, pulling you down into his chest as the pair of you laughed, cocooning yourselves in the blankets with a series of rolls and twists, until you pressed up tightly together and locked in such a way. “There, now you’re not going anywhere.” He dipped down, pressing a kiss to your lips, one that you were eager to reciprocate. “Me and the bed are all yours, gorgeous.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled

[adorethedistance]

9 P.M. - Alive!Luke Patterson x Reader Modern Day!AU

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide, painful breakup, and angst.

Words: 1991

Summary: Luke breaking up with you made your world stop turning, and when it finally starts moving again after four long months, Luke is back in typical agitator fashion.

A/N: Not requested, and I wrote this in about two hours so bear that in mind. I’ve been toying with an angst idea for a little bit now, and because all of my requests rn are fluff, I decided why not give Luke a little love since it’s been a minute since my last Luke fic. This isn’t proofread so proceed with caution.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” Dana’s voice cuts clear over the mindless chatter in the busy diner. She tucks a stack of menus under her arm to brush a loose strand of sandy blonde hair out of her face.

“I’m here to talk to Y/n. She isn’t returning my calls and she only has her phone on silent when she’s working.”

A solid four months ago, Luke Patterson had broken Y/n Y/l/n’s heart into a couple billion pieces in this very diner. After Luke requested to meet up as soon as possible, Y/n told him she’d be clocking out for the night around 9 PM, and true to his previous request Luke had arrived at 9 on the dot. He considered taking her to his car for more privacy but in fear of forgetting his long, crafted speech, he opted for a secluded booth in the very back corner of her diner.

He still remembers the evening, clear as day. They sat down across from one another on the red vinyl seats with nervous tension exponentially rising between them. He remembers the way she ruffled her loose hair after having it pulled back for an 8-hour shift. He remembers the way she rested her right ankle on her left knee to massage away the calf pain from 8 hours of waiting tables. And he remembers the way her warm smile disappeared after he uttered the words “I think we should break up.”

Y/n was so shocked she couldn’t respond. Everything seemed to be going well between them. They had said their first ‘I love you’s and she had even opened up to the possibility of giving him her virginity. And here he was, a mere week later, claiming that he had fallen out of love with her over the span of a month.

Tears clouded her vision. She was quick to wipe them away before they fell, something Luke noticed that she only did when she was crying out of anger. With her normal sadness or even stress she just lets her emotions run their course. But the anger swelling inside of her at that moment, she so desperately wanted to hide. As a result, she brushed them away. She bit her tongue. She saved face, not wanting to let Luke know just how much he had hurt her.

Luke expected a full-on interrogation. He knew Y/n’s mind was one of insatiable curiosity and she had to have at least a million questions. However, if she did, she didn’t show it. The only question she asked, “Is this really what you want?” Her voice was steady, but Luke knew how badly she wanted to tear him apart, to ravage him right then and there. But after losing such a huge part of herself, Luke, she held onto her dignity so tight it nearly crumbled into dust and blew out of her clenched fingers. Without asking for any more information, she slipped out of the booth and hurried to her car as fast as her walk could take her.

At the time, Luke felt guilty for making her cry. Now he feels guilty for ever having let her believe she wasn’t good enough for him. The only problem is she wouldn’t give him the chance. And her best friend, Dana, didn’t seem like she would give him one either.

“Well, she’s not here. Have you ever considered she’s not returning your calls when she’s off of work, too?”

“Dana, I need to talk to her-”

“What could you possibly have left to say, Luke? Whatever you said to her that night broke her, it absolutely destroyed her. She hasn’t been the same since.” Luke had no trouble believing that was true, which is why it hurt so bad to hear, granted it didn’t hurt as bad as how Y/n felt that night.

“What? No- I-I really need to talk to her.”

“You really don’t.”

“I have to get her back, Dana!” A tornado of shock and anger consumes Dana to the point where all she can do is let out a bitter laugh. The look in Luke’s eyes indicates how hurt he is by her laughter, and Dana’s desire for vengeance has never been so strong. So, she continues to tell the truth. The ferocious, unabridged, hurtful truth,

“You don’t deserve a second chance. You don’t even deserve an attempt at a second chance. Knowing her, Y/n would never tell you this, but I will: you fucked up so bad, you made her almost make the biggest mistake of her life.”

“What?” Luke almost hesitates to ask, knowing he won’t like the answer.

“That night, she came to my place and cried so hard for three hours before she could even get a coherent word out. She stayed with me for three days and, had my shift not ended early that Tuesday, she wouldn’t be alive today.” The dumbstruck look on Luke’s face is only more motivation for Dana to twist the knife, “She almost didn’t survive losing you, Luke. And god forbid she gives you a second chance because she won’t survive losing you again.”

The diner is just crowded enough that no one is paying the two of them any mind as they faceoff by the hostess stand. Dana spent four long months consoling her best friend back to life, and she was not about to let Luke destroy all the hard work Y/n had put into healing.

“I can make this right.”

“How could you possibly make this right?”

“I know more now than I did before. I’ve changed!”

“So has she.” Dana’s biting words render Luke speechless. Once she realizes her work here is done, she continues setting up tables as they’re disinfected.

__________________________

Luke’s conversation with Dana in the diner left him shellshocked, but it also lit a fire under his ass that he needed to move forward. Rather than discouraging him, Dana’s words gave him a greater incentive to win her back: proof that he was willing to do what he said he would. At least, that’s what Luke told himself. Rather than stepping into the future with greater clarity, Luke went into the world with confidence so large and blinding, his actions may sabotage his true intentions.

That’s how he found himself so determined to win Y/n back. And that’s how he found himself face to face with the front door of her home. It’s 9 PM, just early enough to where she’d be home for the day, just early enough to where she wouldn’t be asleep, and hauntingly just the exact time he had broken her heart all those months ago. Before giving his conviction a chance to back out, he was raising a steady hand to ring the doorbell of her residence.

Y/n opened the door without much thought, expecting a food delivery; she was drastically off-put by Luke’s presence at her doorstep this late.

“Oh.” Was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“Hi. Can we talk?”

There it was. The phrase that was a paradoxical toss-up regarding her emotional state. Half of her has been waiting for this day for so long, dreaming of the boyfriend she once knew to come genuinely heartbroken and remorseful to win her back. The other half was terrified of this impending day as she realized she wasn’t nearly as emotionally strong enough to handle the situation as she thought. 

‘Oh’ was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please just give me five minutes and if you never want to hear from me for the rest of your life, I’ll never bother you again,” he rushes out, knowing his time is finite. For what short period of time he thought it over, Luke always imagined pouring his heart out on her front doorstep. That’s why her silent sidestep and opening of the door caught him so off guard. He hadn’t anticipated her to actually give him a decent chance. Why would she? He broke up with her in the very diner she works in full time and crushed her heart so completely, the only things left behind had to be contempt and resentment.

Luke crossed the threshold of her small, cramped LA home with his heart on his sleeve. Reluctantly closing the door behind him, Y/n walks to her living room and sits on the couch amidst a mess of popcorn, her favorite chocolates, used tissues, and a bottle of Advil. The night Luke broke up with Y/n was four months ago and she’s still spending her Friday nights alone crying on her couch with a rom-com on the tv. A sharp pang of guilt cuts through Luke’s chest like a machete and his previous confidence completely dissipates into sadness. Though, he can’t tell if it’s actually remorse or just general pity.

“What did you want to talk about?” Y/n asks as if she doesn’t know what conversation they’re about to have. Luke takes a deep breath to prepare himself as best as he can before explaining what’s been on his mind.

“I am so sorry, Y/n.” His hopes for any sort of reaction are crushed once her blank stare doesn’t waver. In spite of everything that’s happened thus far, this is the moment Luke realizes this would be a lot more difficult than he anticipated. “That night, you asked if taking a break from… us was what I really wanted.”

“I remember.”

“I said yes and you left right after that. I know you’ve blocked my socials, but you haven’t blocked my calls, you just don’t answer. I’m sure you’ve got to be interested in why, you’re a very curious person.”

Luke wasn’t wrong there, Y/n had been wondering why. She had been wondering why since the words left his mouth that night, but she repressed that curiosity. She repressed it because she knew that whatever the answer was, it didn’t make any difference. Luke wasn’t hers to have anymore and that was what really mattered.

“I did it because I thought I was falling out of love with you.”

“You thought?”

“I wasn’t actually falling out of love with you.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you break it off?”

“I thought I was falling out of love with you but really my attraction was just changing. Instead of just spontaneous and passionate and exciting, I began to see our relationship as comforting and secure as well as those other things. I thought my comfortability was falling out of love, but really, I was falling in love. I was no longer just super infatuated with you, I was in love with you. Genuine love.”

“Luke…” Y/n trails off. She has no real idea of what it is she’s thinking so she opts to let Luke continue until she can figure it out.

“I love you, Y/n. And I broke things off because, before you, I didn’t understand love. Hell, with you I didn’t understand it was love, but now I do! I love you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“So, what does this all mean?” Luke draws in a nervous breath, identical to the one he used to soothe his nerves as he stepped into the all-too-familiar house.

“I know I don’t deserve it because of what I put you through… but all I’m asking is for a chance to prove that I really do love you.” The looking shimmering across Y/n’s eyes tells Luke how her thoughts are running wild. She’s experiencing a new train of thought at a mile a minute and it terrifies both of them.

“You hurt me, Luke. And I want to hate you so much for everything that you put me through, but I don’t, and I hate myself for that. But, I’m sorry. I can’t give you a second chance.”

***

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