#he is unseasoned and breathing

[cupophrogs]

Breaking News!! This fish monster is rad as hell!!

[witchywithwhiskey]

ari levinson + "that sounds like an excuse, I want a confession"

optional scenario: ari as the devil 😈

that secret place in the garden

pairing: father's boss!ari levinson x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, creampie, cockwarming, fingering (f receiving), outdoor sex, begging, teasing, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, light bdsm, little bit of bratting, pet names (buttercup), fluffy ending

word count: 3,200ish

a/n: ahh Aspen i struggled with this one a bit and it's not technically Ari as the devil, but i think there's some parallels you could draw if you squint 😅 hope you and everyone else enjoys!!! ♡

It was an unseasonably warm spring day—much too hot to be attending an outdoor party hosted at the mansion of your father’s boss, Ari Levinson. But, as you glanced around at the other attendees, you seemed to be the only one suffering beneath the overly bright and warm rays of the spring sun.

The terrace behind the mansion was filled with your father’s colleagues and their families, since Mr. Levinson had invited everyone to bring anyone they wanted to the party at his home in the countryside. The event was meant to celebrate a successful first quarter or something of the kind. You couldn’t quite remember since your eyes tended to glaze over whenever your father began talking about work.

Despite your father having worked for Mr. Levinson’s company for a number of years, you didn’t know very many people at the party. You’d trailed after your father for a little while, smiling dutifully when he’d boasted about your career to his colleagues. But when he began bemoaning the fact that you hadn’t found a husband yet, you’d excused yourself.

You’d wandered through the party looking for the only other person you knew, but when you didn’t find them, you’d stood at the edge of the crowd on the terrace, sipping a sweet, sparkling drink. You’d felt awkward, and your discomfort only grew when you noticed the looks you were getting. 

You’d worn a rather short sundress to the party, and you’d known when you put it on that it wasn’t quite appropriate for the gathering hosted by your father’s boss. The neckline dipped low on your chest, the fabric so thin you couldn’t wear a bra, and the bottom hem flirted around your upper thighs, showing off a nearly scandalous amount of skin. But it was such a hot day, and you’d worn the dress for someone special—someone who was supposed to be at the party but didn’t appear to be.

Frustrated by all the lecherous looks from the men who worked with your father, and the equally scathing glances from their wives and girlfriends, you slipped away from the terrace. Descending a set of stone steps into the gardens that spread out below the mansion, you breathed a sigh of relief as you escaped into the shaded lower grounds of the estate.

Strolling through the gardens, you admired the bright spring flowers and all the lush greenery that had only recently bloomed into life. Amid your wandering, you discovered a wrought iron gate set into a high stone wall and you followed your curiosity, pushing it open and discovering a secret garden beyond.

There were purple flowers and vines draping down the gray stone walls, and a rainbow of flowers circling the small garden. A stone fountain stood in the center, with water bubbling out of a fixture at the center that looked like a roaring lion. The water looked clean and clear and you bent down to trail your fingers through it, finding it was cool and refreshing. 

You were just debating whether to take off your shoes and dip your feet into the water to cool off when you heard a voice from behind you.

“I won’t tell anyone if you decide to jump in,” came a rumbling, familiar voice, “I’m sure it’d be a relief.”

Spinning around with a gasp, you found your father’s boss standing just inside the gate. Ari Levinson’s bright blue eyes were two twinkling stars even in the dazzling spring sunshine. You felt a warmth bloom within your heart, and a small smile curved your lips.

Ari looked endlessly polished, even on the hot day, and you couldn’t help but admire the older man as you took in the sky blue linen shirt and light pants he wore. When you finished your perusal of his outfit, your gaze met his. He made a show of trailing his eyes down your body and back up, giving you a wolfish grin, his eyes heating until they burned even more than the sun.

The look in your dad’s boss’s eye made you squirm, a delicious heat building between your thighs, and you turned back to the fountain, pretending to be unaffected. 

“It is an excessively hot day for an outdoor party,” you commented, keeping your tone light. Butterflies were rioting in your chest and you couldn’t stop yourself from twisting your fingers together in an effort to stop yourself from reaching for the older man. Your body felt attuned to his, and you could feel him as he prowled closer.

Ari came to a stop just behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, but not close enough to actually brush up against you. 

“Mm,” he hummed, acknowledging your words. “Whoever planned this party should’ve checked the weather.” His hand skimmed down just beside your arm, teasing you with the possibility of his touch but never quite making contact. A shiver raced down your spine, goosebumps raising all over your body even with the heat of the day.

“They should’ve,” you agreed in a whisper, forgetting what you were talking about as your mind went blank and your body trembled with need. You wanted to lean back into Ari’s chest, but you weren’t entirely certain it was such a good idea, especially with his party and all your father’s colleagues not too far away.

Thankfully, Ari made the decision for you, pressing his big palm to your stomach and easing you back against his chest. You let out a soft sigh of relief as you leaned against him. Ari was strong and steady at your back, your body relaxing into his familiar hold. 

“I looked for you,” you whispered, turning your face so you could look up at Ari over your shoulder. 

He ducked down, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “I was inside talking to some members of the board who refused to be out in the heat,” he murmured, an apology in his tone. Then he leaned back, giving you another wolfish grin. “But then I heard one of my manager’s daughters had come to the party wearing a skimpy little sundress,” he rumbled, his hands sliding down over your hips until his fingers flirted with the hem of your dress. “And somehow I knew it was you.”

You wanted to smile impishly, liking the idea that Ari had known it was you, but forced yourself to pout and flutter your lashes at your dad’s boss. “It’s such a hot day, Mr. Levinson, I only dressed appropriately for the weather,” you murmured in your sultriest tone, adding some breathiness to your voice that you knew Ari would like.

“Slutty girl,” Ari rumbled, his tone accusing but warm enough that you knew there was no anger behind it. “That sounds like an excuse, I want a confession.” His hands slid under your dress, his fingers digging into your soft thighs as he groped you and worked his way up to the place that ached for him. “You wore this dress just to tempt me in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, unable to keep up the ruse when your knees were quaking with desire. If it wasn’t for Ari’s strong arms holding you up, you were certain you would’ve collapsed to the ground at his feet. “I did—I wore it for you, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl,” he rasped his praise right into your ear. His fingers brushed against your panties and you realized all at once how wet you were. When Ari groaned, you knew he’d noticed as well. “So wet for daddy, buttercup—have I been neglecting you too much?”

“Ye-yes, daddy, need you!” Your voice was a whine as you leaned more firmly back against Ari’s chest, letting him support your weight while his fingers tugged your panties to the side. A loud gasp tumbled from your lips and your head fell back against his shoulder when his thumb brushed over your clit. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you whimpered, your whole body shuddering with pleasure. 

“So pretty, buttercup,” Ari rumbled, his beard brushing against your cheek as he ducked down to press a kiss to your jaw. “Look so beautiful in your pretty little sundress, all dolled up for daddy.” Ari’s voice was warmer than the spring sunshine and it melted you further, your hands reaching up and sinking into his soft hair to hold onto him. “My gorgeous girl—all mine,” he said, his voice going lower and deeper and making your core clench for him.

Ari’s fingers dipped between the folds of your slit, playing with your desire and stroking your clit in soft little circles that had your hips stuttering forward and desperate mewls spilling from your mouth. “Daddy,” you cried on a gasp, unable to form any other word than the term of endearment that fit Ari so well. 

“Mm, need daddy’s cock, buttercup?” he asked, and you could hear the teasing smile in his tone. “Need daddy to fill up your achy little cunt?” 

“Yes, please,” you murmured sweetly, rolling your head to the side so you could look up at Ari. His eyes sparkled in the spring sunshine and his mouth curved in a charming smile. “Please fuck me, daddy,” you said, grinning when Ari’s eyes darkened. But you didn’t let him respond, grabbing his beard and pulling him down for a messy kiss.

Ari indulged you for a moment, then pulled away, leaving you gasping. He gripped your shoulder and gently eased you forward, bending you over so your hands were planted on the flat edge of the water fountain. Ari wasted no time in tugging your panties down your legs, helping you step out of them. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you watched Ari pocket your panties and bit your lip to hide your pleased smile. He caught it anyway. 

“You won’t be needing these,” Ari teased, shooting you a wink as he stood back up and worked his pants open. 

When you felt the tip of his cock slide between your thighs, pressing against your dripping folds, you let your head fall between your arms and moaned loudly. 

“Oh god,” you groaned as Ari began pushing inside you. He was so thick, it felt like he was splitting you open, but you loved every delicious moment it. “Oh my god,” you muttered on a gasp, the tip of Ari’s cock hitting the end of you, making your cunt clench around his thick length.

“You know I love it when you worship my cock, buttercup,” Ari rumbled as he curled around your back, his lips pressing a heated kiss to your bare shoulder. “But there’s no need to be so formal—daddy will do.” As he showered your shoulder blades in kisses, you could feel his self-satisfied grin against your skin.

Huffing a laugh, you squirmed your hips, fucking yourself back on his cock. “Then, fuck me, daddy,” you whined, rolling your hips forward and back, taking his hard length into your warm, slick cunt until both of you were moaning. “Daddy, please, need you,” you cried, your voice a pathetic whimper.

Ari chuckled against your shoulder, his hands digging into the top of your dress to knead your tits. “So needy today, buttercup,” he teasingly chastised you, tugging on your nipples until you let out a hoarse moan. “No one will find us in this garden, want to take my time with you.” He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, murmuring, “Missed you.”

A desperate mewling whine squeezed free from your throat, pleasure coursing through your body and making you tremble with need. “Missed you, too, daddy,” you whimpered, your body shuddering when Ari pulled out and thrust back inside you. “But you can take your time later, I need you to fuck me!” 

With another laugh, Ari turned your face toward him and kissed you, his tongue plunging between your lips and fucking your mouth the way you wished he’d fuck your pussy. Then he was standing up, gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d feel his fingerprints for days. 

“Alright, buttercup,” he rumbled, a grin in his voice, but when you looked back at him, you could see his darkened blue eyes focused on the place where your bodies joined. “You know daddy can’t resist giving you what you want—even if you are being a bit of a brat.” He glanced at your face and shot you another wink.

He looked so handsome beneath the springtime sun—a golden god in his secret garden, preparing to take you the way your body ached to be taken. It was everything you’d wanted from the day, and you were all too eager to urge him on with a cheeky quip.

“You love it when I’m a bit of a brat,” you teased, shooting him a flirty smile over your shoulder. Your expression didn’t last, though, because Ari pulled his cock almost all the way free of your body and slammed back inside, forcing a loud moan from you. 

“I do,” Ari agreed through gritted teeth, setting a brutal pace as he pounded into you from behind. “Now be a good girl for daddy and take the cock you begged for.” His fingers dug into the creases of your hips where you were bent over, pulling your body back onto his hard length as he surged forward.

It was all you could do to moan your response, focusing on keeping your knees locked beneath you and enjoying the feeling of Ari’s big cock splitting you open. Since he hadn’t told you to be quiet, you let yourself be as loud as you wanted, sobbing and crying and moaning your pleasure while he fucked you into oblivion.

Ari worked you up until you were on the precipice of your release, and then he slid one of his hands between your plush thighs, rubbing your clit as he muttered, “Come for daddy, buttercup, lemme feel that tight cunt milk my cock, gonna fill you up.” The sharp clapping sound of Ari’s hips slapping against your ass and thighs filled your ears along with his voice and you were lost.

You came with a hoarse scream, pleasure crashing through your body and making your arms and legs tremble violently as you forced yourself to stay in position. Your body went tight as mindless moans spilled from your lips and your pussy squeezed Ari’s cock hard enough to send him over the edge of his own release. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he rasped, his hips stuttering as he rutted into you. Then he pressed deep into your cunt and groaned. You felt his cock twitch as he came inside you, his fingers digging possessively into your hips while you rode out the waves of your own pleasure.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, reveling in your releases together, Ari’s hands idly massaging your hips while you caught your breath. 

Then with a soft groan, Ari began maneuvering your still shuddering body to sit with him on the flat edge of the water fountain. Keeping your bodies connected, his softening cock buried deep in your cunt, he helped you pull your shoes off, then shed his own and rolled up his pants. He spun your bodies to dunk both your feet into the cool water.

You sighed in relief and melted back into Ari’s chest, his arms holding you tight so you wouldn’t slip off his cock. “Feels good, daddy,” you murmured, turning your head and burying your face into Ari’s beard beneath his jaw. 

“Good girl,” he said softly, brushing a kiss to your temple as he splashed water on your legs, chilling your heated skin. “Just let daddy take care of you.” 

You hummed a sleepy, pleased sound, tiredness from the hot day and your afternoon delight with Ari making you want to take a nap. But Ari’s next words had you jerking upright, feeling fully awake.

“I was thinking it might be time to tell your parents about us,” Ari said gently, his hands smoothing over your body, fixing your dress back over your chest and generally trying to keep you calm even as your heart began racing. He seemed to know you were panicking because he turned your face to his over your shoulder and gave you a serious look. “I’m tired of sneaking around, I want to show you off proudly.”

Glancing down at the skimpy little dress you’d worn for the sole purpose of torturing him, you pressed your lips together, trying to hold back your reservations. But you’d been seeing Ari long enough that he knew how to read you—better than you would’ve expected, in fact.

“We don’t have to tell anyone today,” he murmured soothingly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he gave you another serious look. “But I don’t want your father finding out about us at our wedding.”

You gasped—Ari had never mentioned marriage before and it came as a surprise, even if you’d been seeing him for almost a year. Your body clenched in delight, which meant your pussy tightened around Ari’s cock and he stirred within you. He narrowed his eyes at you in an expression that told you he wouldn’t be distracted by your body.

As much as you were able, you turned to Ari and cupped his face in your hands, your fingers sinking into his thick beard. “We’ll tell him together, next week,” you promised, leaning up and kissing Ari. “Can we have a spring wedding, daddy?” you asked sweetly when you pulled away.

Ari chuckled and squeezed you in his arms. “You know I can’t resist giving you what you want, buttercup,” he said by way of an answer, laughing harder when you squealed with happiness. He caught your lips in a messy kiss, his laughter devolving into a moan when you rocked your hips in his lap, grinding on his cock until he was thick and hard inside you again. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you stayed with Ari in that secret garden, indulging in each other’s bodies beneath the spring sunshine until it grew late and you were forced to part. 

A week later, you and Ari sat your parents down at their home over brunch and confessed to your secret relationship. Though your father was shocked, Ari explaining his intention to marry you seemed to go a long way to soothe any ruffled feathers. By the end of the meal, your parents were happy for you, and your father looked genuinely pleased to be welcoming his boss into the family.

A year later, on a warm—but not unseasonably so—spring day, you married Ari on the terrace at his country house in front of all your friends and family. The reception was held there as well, and as the afternoon turned to evening, you and your new husband slipped away from the party for a little while. You snuck down the stairs to the grounds, running hand in hand to that secret place in the garden where the two of you might be alone. 

Beneath the stars, in your secret garden, you came together, for the first time as husband and wife, and you couldn’t have been happier.

[chantersboard]

Lovely To Be Rained On With You

Summary: 3K. Reader and Joel rush to find shelter from the storm

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-outbreak, oral f!receiving, unprotected PIV, creampie

A/N: okay I have spent so much time on here reading other Joel fics and enjoying myself so I kinda wanted to give back. but first of all I need to get three things off my chest. one, it's been a long time since I've written anything. two, this is my first writing The Last of Us. three, and probably most important as I beg for kindness, it's my first time writing smut. this has been sitting in my docs for too long so Imma just press post and walk away. enjoy! AO3

The weather was changing rapidly. Not long ago it had only been partly cloudy, but now, for as far as the eye could see, the sky was one massive, threatening cloud. The leaves danced on their branches as the gusting wind flowed through them; their rustling a constant melody accompanied by the quickening beat of two pairs of boots.

Tightening the grip on your rifle, you look up at the darkening sky. The weapon could protect you from a lot, but not from this. It had been four days since you left camp and it was still another day’s walk until you returned. 

There was no outrunning this storm.

A few feet ahead of you Joel Miller marches onward, his broad frame and long legs setting a rapid pace you struggle to keep up with. The pack on your back is overfilled and heavy with recently looted goods. It causes your steps to be slow, more cautious and measured. 

You take a deep breath, “Joel…?” you begin. You’re both thinking it. Someone has to say it out loud. “It’s gonna pour in any minute.”

His graying curls dance along with the leaves in the wind. He steps over a fallen tree then turns and offers his hand to help you over. You graciously accept it, sliding your fingers over his calloused hand. The weight of the bag digs into your shoulders as you step over. Had it not been for the heavy sack you would have been closer to camp by now, but those supplies are the sole reason the two of you journeyed so far away.

“I know,” he says as you join him on the other side of the log. 

“We’re too far from camp—”

“I know,” he repeats, his brows furrowing. He scouts the distance, bright eyes scanning left and right, through the trees and beyond. A bead of sweat slowly falls down his face, the unseasonable hot May weather demanding to be acknowledged.

“There was a cabin…” he trails off, lost in thought. You look ahead, only seeing trees. “D’you remember? Was it before or after all those alliums we saw?”

You think back and try to remember this area from a few days ago but a lot had happened since: Joel injured his shoulder wrestling with a jammed door; you found and promptly devoured a can of ravioli; there were two separate attacks with solitary infected; finding the motherlode of supplies in what looked like a doomsday prepper’s basement; oh, and then there was last night. 

Still riding the high of finding all those medical supplies and ammunition (and a bottle of bourbon), the two of you spent last evening in high spirits. You shared stories and laughed and drank. Joel hummed a tune that had you swaying your hips and smiling towards the obsidian sky. For a moment things felt so easy and normal. 

At some point that night, with only a sliver of the moon in the sky, you stumbled in the darkness and fell into Joel’s arms. You had looked up at him, your hand rested on his strong chest as you breathed in the scent of him. Your body tingled where his hands pressed into your waist. The stars twinkled above him as he smiled crookedly and whispered, “y’okay, sweetheart?” and you nearly confessed. Nearly told him how you truly felt about him. Nearly revealed you knew he watched you when he thought you couldn’t see. 

Nearly kissed his gorgeous face. 

But then he dropped his hands, the magic of the moment gone, and you swallowed your feelings. You fell asleep last night wishing things were different. Wishing Joel was yours. 

A single raindrop plopping on your forehead brings you back to the present. “We saw the cabin first,” you recall. “And then the flowers.”

Joel nods, walking forward even faster than he had before. He too must have felt a raindrop. 

The two of you continue onwards, the sky teasing you with singular drops of rain as you migrant the woodsy terrain. It doesn’t take long until you see them in the distance. 

Alliums. The purple flowers, towering high on skinny stalks, sway in the wind. The bulbous plant, petals like bursting fireworks, are scattered across the field. The sight of them brings you relief. It shouldn’t be much longer until you find the cabin. 

Just as you walk past the last bunch of flowers the sky begins to open up. The rain comes softly at first. Small drops that slide off your skin and moisten your clothing. Foolishly, you believe if it continues like this you’ll be fine. But as lightning shoots across the sky and thunder shakes your body, the drops grow heavier, their frequency increasing. 

The rain continues to fall harder as you trek on. The sound of water blanketing the land drowns out everything else. Joel turns and looks behind at you, his normally bouncy hair weighted down and plastered to his face. Another clap of thunder rings as the rain soaks through you. It seeps all the layers of your clothing, through your jeans, through your socks, pooling in your boots. 

Walking is becoming more difficult as your boots sink into the mud, your clothes are soaked through and heavy and your cumbersome backpack doesn’t help. You’re about to yell ahead, tell Joel it doesn’t even matter anymore, that you’re too tired, but then you see the cabin. 

It’s a tiny little thing. The sheltered patio leads into one cozy room. To your right is a kitchenette, directly in front of you is a small living space, and further back, against the wall rests a bed. There’s a closed off area there as well, presumably a bathroom. 

Joel crosses the cabin, his hand resting on the pistol holstered to his hip, and peers into the smaller room. His posture relaxes and he gives a quick nod. The cabin is safe. 

You rest your rifle against the wall by the door and unceremoniously drop your bag. Relief spreads through your bones. You arch your back and stretch your arms upwards, pulling the muscles along your spine. You glance across the room and there it is again—Joel is watching you. His eyes travel your body and linger where your soaked top clings to your chest.

He’s lost in the sight of you. You raise your arms higher, his gaze warming your cheeks and your core, and you push your chest further out to taunt him. The wet fabric is unforgiving and you're sure he can see your hardened nipples even from across the room. 

You decide to break the silence. “You think it will last long?”

Joel snaps to attention, his eyes finding yours as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Huh? What was that?”

“The storm,” you pause to lick your lips. “Do you think it’ll last long?”

Joel sets his backpack down at the head of the bed. “Not too sure,” he looks past you out the window at the turbulent weather, “regardless, we should stay here for the night.” He opens his bag and begins to rummage through it. 

You nod as you walk over to the foot of bed. With your back facing him you sit on the edge. “In that case I’m gonna get out of these clothes.”

You wrap your fingers under the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. You toss the clothing and it lands with a loud slap on the wooden floor. After kicking off your boots and socks you lift your hips off the bed enough to push your jeans to your thighs. You struggle to get the tight and stiff wet denim off your legs. 

You lean back on your forearms and look behind at Joel. He’s suddenly very interested in his bag. You watch as he digs around, the muscles in his arms pressing against his tee. His face is glistening wet and it highlights the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw. He’s just as handsome as always. 

“Hey, Joel?” You bite your lip and wait for his attention. 

His hands still as he looks down at you. “Yes, sweetheart?”

The endearment makes your heart swell. You swing your dangling legs. “Can you help me out of these? They’re giving me trouble.”

He looks at the jeans halfway down your thighs. You’ve changed in front of Joel before but after last night, after spending so much time alone with him, things have gotten intimate.  You feel exposed half undressed in your mismatched undergarments, but it’s also exciting and your breath quickens under Joel’s glare. 

“Yeah, I can help,” he nearly whispers. He drops his bag on the floor, the stuff within no longer important, and rounds the bed. You lift your legs when he gets close and await his touch. 

He holds your ankles first. Gathering the material there, he attempts to pull, but the jeans barely move. So his hands climb up, over your calves, then behind your knees, and when they reach your thighs he pauses. He hooks onto the edge of the material, his thick fingers touching your bare skin, and pulls.

The jeans start to give way. As he tugs your body jostles, your breasts bouncing lightly in your worn bra, each jerk becoming more arousing. Once he’s peeled your pants off he discards them onto the floor along with your shirt. 

“There ya go,” he says as he comes between your legs and leans in. “Will you be needin’ anything else?”

He looks at you, his eyes intense and questioning. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, even with his cool wet shirt brushing against your bare torso. A flash of lightning briefly brightens the room. You swallow hard and wait for the resounding thunder. You won’t repeat last night. You won’t let this moment pass. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper. 

And suddenly Joel’s lips are pressed against yours. He kisses you hungrily, mashing himself against you, finally feeding the longing you’ve both felt for some time. You part your mouth and allow his tongue entry as you melt into him. You explore each other, your hands running along his chest as you’re rendered breathless under his kissing. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You pull at the fabric wanting to feel his skin against yours. 

Joel breaks from the heated kiss and straightens his body. His eyes are dark and filled with lust as he yanks his shirt off. You watch him as you scoot back on the bed and fully lay down. He kicks off his boots and undoes his belt and jeans. His body is strong from years of manual labor. There’s a line of hair on his soft belly that trails under his boxers.  

“What else do you need, sweetheart?”

You can’t tell if the roaring in your ears is the sound of the rain or of your quickly beating heart. Joel waits for your answer as he unclips the gun holster from his belt and rests it on the floor. His hardening cock springs free when he drops his pants and boxers. 

He strokes himself slowly and you watch as his cock gets harder in his grasp. You rub your thighs together, desperately seeking relief for the growing ache between your legs. You unclasp your bra and cup your breasts. Joel softly grunts when you pinch your nipples between your fingers. 

The sight of him bare and beautiful leaves you breathless. He looks so handsome with his hair slicked back and glossy from the rain. The sight of his cock, hard and ready for you, sets you on fire. He licks his lips and all you can think about is those lips on you. On your mouth, on your tits, on your cunt. You have never wanted someone so badly. 

“You, Joel,” you finally say. “I need you.”

He smiles at your answer and makes his way onto the bed. He takes his time crawling up to you, planting kisses along the way. He pauses when he meets the apex of your legs. 

His fingers curl around the band of your panties and he pulls them down and off. You open your legs, inviting him in, so desperate for his touch. 

He looks up with hungry eyes. “I want to taste you,” he says as his fingers part your pussy lips, opening you even further for him. 

Joel opens his mouth and presses his tongue against your cunt. He licks up, takes his time savoring you until he passes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation has you moaning and lifting your hips to meet his mouth. 

“Oh, Joel,” you whine as he continues sucking and licking you, alternating between the flat of his tongue and the point of his tip. One of his large fingers finds the entrance to your hole and pushes inside. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he mumbles into your folds. “One of my fingers isn’t enough, is it?”

Your hands run through his hair as he inserts another finger inside you, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them into the spot within you that has you moaning his name. 

Your pleasure grows as Joel finds his rhythm, his mouth and hand working together to bring you closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Please, Joel,” you’re begging, pleading with him. “Don’t stop! I’m so close, please don’t stop!”

So he doesn’t. His moans join your screams of pleasure until the pressure in your core finally snaps. Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm rips through you. Joel’s fingers continue to work through your high, prolonging your pleasure until your legs relax and your grip loosens from his hair. 

“Fuck,” you exhale as Joel crawls up, his strong body caging around you. He leans into you, the touch of his skin on yours and the weight of him soothing your body. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck as one of his hands squeezes your breast, his fingers playfully twisting your nipple. 

He’s planting kisses on you again, on your neck, along your jaw, then on your lips. You moan when you taste your own release on his tongue as he slips it between your lips. You spread your legs further underneath him, a fire burning in your core that only he can put out. His cock rests thick and hard between you. 

“I still need you,” you whisper, lifting your hips to grind yourself against the length of him. You need all of him, every pound and every inch. You need his touch, his lips, his moans. You need him around you. You need him in you. 

He grunts as you rub against him, your wet hole eager to be filled. 

“I need you too,” he whispers back as he reaches in between your bodies. He grabs himself and aligns the thick head of his cock at your entrance. 

You whimper as he slowly pushes himself inside you. Inch by inch your walls stretch to accommodate his shaft. Seeds of pleasure start to grow when he’s fully inserted into you. 

Joel stills inside you and looks into your eyes. His face is twisted in bliss. “Goddamn, your pussy is squeezing me so tight,” he rasps. He sharply exhales when you flex your cunt around him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. He begins to pump his hips then, making soft shallow thrusts until he’s gotten used to the feeling of you. He moans into your mouth as he picks up the pace, nearly pulling himself out of you entirely before plummeting back into your depths. 

His dick is intoxicating. Waves of pleasure wash over you each time he rams himself deep in you. He fills you completely, your wet hole stretching around the length of him. 

Joel begins stroking faster, his hips snapping into you at a blinding pace. Your fingers dig into his back when he rocks into the spot that makes you arch your back and moan his name. 

He smiles, satisfied with the pleasure his cock gives you. “Right there?” He asks as he continues to mercilessly drill into you, pounding your sweet spot over and over again. 

“Yea—oh my god, Joel—yes!”

He’s already pushing you towards your next orgasm and he can sense it. He repositions your bodies, folding you nearly in half as he brings your knees up. 

You scream out as the altered position lets him stroke deeper inside you. His cock hits your cervix, pain and pleasure meshing together, forcing you closer to the edge. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” Joel asks as your moans increase in volume. “Look at your pretty pussy juices making a mess… so fucking wet.”

You look down where the two of you are connected. You watch as he disappears inside you and then reappears again, shiny with your slick. The image makes your head spin. 

“I… oh fuck! I’m gonna… I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna cum on my cock for me? Huh?” His strokes are becoming more erratic, his own orgasm approaching. “Gonna let me feel that pussy grip my dick while you cum?”

Joel’s filthy words combined with his dick destroying your cunt sends you over. You yell out as your orgasm knocks over you. Your pussy pulsates around Joel, pushing him over the edge. You milk his cock as he cums, his dick twitching inside you as his warm seed fills your hole. 

The two of you lay there a while, Joel softening inside you as his body envelopes yours. When your body has relaxed and your breathing has slowed Joel softly presses his lips to yours. He rises and slowly pulls out. You feel your combined arousal spill out of you once he’s completely out of the warmth of your cunt. You immediately miss the fullness he gave you when he rolls over to lay beside you. 

The storm continues on outside. Fat raindrops pellet the cabin and the wind rattles the windows. Staying in was a good call, the sky was already darkening with the approaching night. 

You look over to Joel. His eyes are closed, his face is soft and relaxed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so calm before.

“Y’okay, sweetheart,” you ask, mirroring Joel’s words from last night. 

Joel chuckles as he intertwines his fingers in yours. “Yeah. I am now.”

[waywardsonsandaughters]

So I wrote a thing. Orbwin and Chorb have been living in my head rent free and this is what came of it. Please note, it's not beta read, but I hope you enjoy (it was so much fun to write).

-----

It was an unseasonably warm day when it happened.

Charles didn’t notice at first. He was a ghost. Ghosts don’t get warm. He had smiled wryly, hearing the curt, but affectionate, admonishment from Edwin even without Edwin having to verbalize it.

“Ghosts don’t need to sleep, Charles.” Edwin would sigh.

“Charles, ghosts just don’t get sick.” the words punctuated as if that would help it stick.

“Remember Charles, we can’t feel anything of the living.” the statement was always delicate, as if Edwin didn’t want to upset Charles. 

“We don’t feel hot or cold. Really, Charles.” it came as an impatient scoff, but as with anything, infused with a fondness Charles knew Edwin reserved just for him.

Charles was positive though that he could do all of the things Edwin claimed they couldn’t. 

He knew at times he could feel cold, and sick. The deep chill settling into his bones, the wheeze he could sometimes feel when he took breaths he didn’t actually need to take. Once in a while, if he turned the wrong way something would pinch in his side around his ribs, or his head would throb for a moment. There wasn’t a catalyst, and he knew he was more sensitive to temperature because of how he died.

He never slept, but it was easier for him to find relaxation in the darkness of his closed eyes than Edwin ever would. He would doze on the couch, if they took the train, anytime they took an outing. 

He especially loved parks. 

Charles would insist they find a place to sit so Edwin could watch the living and Charles could close his eyes leaning against Edwin, laying his back on the grass with his legs draped over Edwin, or his head sometimes cradled in Edwin’s lap. 

Edwin would indulge him, telling him about the people he observed, and would even read sometimes. Every so often they would clasp hands, or Charles could feel Edwin’s fingers circling an ankle, or he’d feel thin graceful fingers stroking his hair. He might not feel the living or their things, but he could feel Edwin. Dozing was so easy in those moments. 

This day, Charles had been standing by their case board, hand gripping one of their note cards moving it from open to closed. Part of him faced the window, and he could feel the sun on his skin. He remembered the feeling of it, and the matter that made him a ghost flooded into those sun-kissed spots, filled with the warmth of his memories, and relaxation settled into his limbs. 

As his shoulders dipped, tension uncurled. The relaxation shifted, the heaviness of sleep oozed through him. He’d see if he could tempt Edwin into a park day soon, satisfied in knowing he could sleep and Edwin could also take some time to decompress.

He worried for Edwin, nearly constantly, and in varying degrees, since their time in Port Townsend, and learning about the previous relatively unspoken 70 years of Edwin’s afterlife in Hell. He knew, as easily as he knew his own name, that Edwin needed a break.

As he had picked the next card, reading through the delicate handwriting outlining quick notes of the case, Crystal had come into the office, fanning herself with her hands before sweeping her hair back, trying to get as much of it as she could off her neck. She collapsed onto the couch with a grimace. It was hot. The office. The couch. Everything and anything, really.

Charles glanced at Edwin, smiling, who had been sitting behind their desk. There was a small huff, Edwin shifting his gaze from Crystal to Charles as if to say both “the living,” and “what do we do?”

Easily, Charles replied to Crystal they could look at getting fans, as air conditioning would be difficult for such an old building. However, he kept watching Edwin.

Edwin looked…uncomfortable? Flushed? Tired? Charles tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t any of those exactly, it was something else. Edwin, he found, was extremely good at hiding his emotions, except annoyance, and his discomfort. This time the vague sense of Edwin being uncomfortable was different. While Edwin and Crystal had debated the best ways to keep cool, including getting a fan, Charles kept his attention on his partner.

The conversation moved into the case, Crystal having exhausted her options and Edwin having run out of patience. As Edwin reached for the case file from a pile on the desk Charles saw the moment, the moment in between the moments. He could see the folder through Edwin’s fingers. Charles stepped forward, and there must have been something in the way he had moved that had Edwin looking up at him. 

Charles paused. He saw Edwin’s gaze unfocus, before sliding a vacant expression to the case file. In the skipped beat between Edwin catching his eye and turning to the folder, Charles could feel the anticipation ebbing and flowing within him as he stood arrested, waiting.

When the file opened, and Edwin began outlining the expectations and situation to Crystal, Charles felt a prickling sensation in his skin, he wiggled his fingers, felt his calves tighten wanting to lurch forward for what he knew was inevitable. Edwin, Charles realized, hadn’t figured it out yet.

To Charles, it felt like hours before Edwin gently closed the file, handing it to Crystal who had come to stand beside Edwin at the desk. Charles saw her arch a brow slightly and he knew she was trying to puzzle something out. 

As she passed him on the way to the door, Crystal stopped and they were side-by-side. Their arms brushed and she didn’t look at him, still facing the door, Charles facing the desk, and he felt her hand grasp at his and squeeze. Charles squeezed back, gaze trained on Edwin as he quietly, steadily, asked Crystal to give them, he and Edwin he meant, some time. 

She replied she’d follow up after her part of the case, and they both moved, Crystal to the door, flipping the recently acquired open/closed sign to “closed” and locking the door behind her, and Charles to Edwin.

In the steps to the desk, Charles saw color surface on Edwin’s face, heat blooming on his cheeks and down his neck to his ears. He saw the dazed expression slide over Edwin’s features, and the slight tremble starting in his fingers as he held another case file, the material bending as his grip tightened. The tremble moved up to Edwin’s shoulders, his chest, before it looked as if Edwin could vibrate apart.

There was a small gasp of surprise from Edwin just as Charles reached out. He had intended to pull Edwin to him, but Charles' hands met empty air and a pop of light illuminated the space where Edwin had sat.

Charles wasn’t sure what had caused the shift, it could have been any number of things, and it didn’t matter. Edwin was exhausted, psychologically spent, and currently settled into the desk chair as a small orb, a faint golden light pulsing in time with what Charles believed to be a heartbeat. Periodically, the light would tint with a pale blue hue.

He scooped Edwin up in his cupped hands, pulling the orb close to his chest. While they were vulnerable in this state they weren’t delicate, but Charles treated him as such as he wrapped his hands tightly around Edwin, padding softly to the couch, and squished himself into the cushions.

It was rare this happened to either of them. Charles hated seeing Edwin push himself to the point of change, but there was a pleasant thrumming of adoration that nearly paralyzed him as he held the pure essence, the soul, of Edwin Payne gently in his palms.

He wasn’t sure if Edwin could hear him but as he slouched back, legs extended into the office space and hugging Edwin to his heart, he whispered to him and ran a finger across the orb as if to run fingers through Edwin’s hair, and closed his eyes.

Crystal, file in hand, entered the office. The sign was still showing “closed” and the door was still locked. Since she’d last seen them she had done as much of the up front work as she could, and needed their help. She was surprised neither Edwin or Charles had mirror hopped to her apartment to check in; Edwin was rather impatient at times, and despite giving them over a day to make an appearance she was also eager to close the case.

The office was quiet. The lights were still on, the desk as she had last seen it with the files stacked neatly to one side although one of the files was askew in the center. The desk chair was pushed back, and the door with the case board was open. She turned, looking around, and was about to leave thinking they’d both gone out, exasperation tugging at her expression and shifting her shoulders when she saw a soft, unfamiliar light rebounding off the polished wood floor by the couch.

Stepping further into the room and peering over the low wall to the couch she tilted her head, mouth parting into an “O” as she saw two glowing orbs nestled on the couch each one pulsating in turn. 

They were beautiful. The glow of one, periodically tinted red, would catch up to the other. The calm increase then decrease in light would be the same in both before settling back into a varying rhythm. Then the other would follow soon after, the glow of the pair beating in time, before falling out of sync.

Without thinking, Crystal made her way to the couch and carefully, as not to disturb either of them, sat beside the glowing forms of Edwin and Charles. Her hands hesitated over them both, the protective desire to hold them making her fingers twitch. She smiled fondly, but held back, knowing how much Edwin would protest being touched or held by anyone other than Charles. 

She pulled her phone out of her bag and popped in ear buds while softly, lovingly, telling them she’d keep an eye on them. She let the sentiment curl around them, she hoped they could hear it.

Her heart beat. The orbs pulsed brightly in time.

[bratzkoo]

operation: laundry love | joshua hong

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: software developer! joshua x reader Genre: fluff, love at first sight Rating: PG-15 Word count: 9.1k~ Warnings/note: requested by a lovely anon!

summary: Joshua Hong falls in love at first sight with you at a laundromat and schemes his way into making you like him back.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Joshua Hong had always considered himself a practical man. At twenty-eight, he had a stable job as a software developer, a tidy apartment, and a cat named Algorithm. His life was as orderly as the code he wrote, each day neatly compartmentalized into routines and habits. Laundry day was no exception—every other Saturday, 2 PM sharp, he'd trudge down to Suds & Bubbles, the local laundromat, with his precisely sorted clothes.

But on this particular Saturday, as Joshua pushed open the glass door of Suds & Bubbles, his well-ordered world tilted on its axis.

The laundromat was busier than usual, probably due to the unseasonably warm weather that had everyone in town suddenly remembering their summer clothes. The air hummed with the whir of washing machines and the occasional beep of a dryer reaching the end of its cycle. The scent of detergent and fabric softener hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint mustiness of old magazines stacked on a nearby table.

Joshua's eyes swept the room, looking for an empty machine. That's when he saw her.

She was standing in front of a washing machine, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined a shirt with the intensity of a scientist studying a rare specimen. Her hair was piled haphazardly atop her head in what might generously be called a bun, secured with what appeared to be a pencil. She wore oversized sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right." 

To Joshua, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, meeting his eyes. For a moment, Joshua forgot how to breathe. Her eyes were warm, like flecked with gold, and crinkled slightly at the corners as if she was perpetually on the verge of laughter.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice snapping Joshua back to reality. "You wouldn't happen to know how to get spaghetti sauce out of a white shirt, would you? I've been staring at this stain for so long, I'm starting to see pasta shapes."

Joshua blinked, his brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. "I, uh... have you tried pre-treating it?" he managed to stammer out, mentally kicking himself for such a mundane response.

She sighed dramatically, holding up the shirt. "I've pre-treated it, post-treated it, and given it a stern talking-to. Nothing seems to work. I'm beginning to think this shirt has a vendetta against Italian cuisine."

A chuckle escaped Joshua before he could stop it. Her deadpan delivery and the absurdity of the situation broke through his initial panic, and he found himself relaxing slightly.

"Maybe it's more of a Chinese food fan," he offered, surprised by his own attempt at humor.

Her eyes lit up, and she let out a laugh that seemed to bubble up from her toes. "Oh my god, you're right! I should have been feeding it lo mein this whole time. How could I be so culturally insensitive to my own clothing?"

Joshua felt a warmth spread through his chest. He'd made her laugh. He, Joshua Hong, notorious for his dry technical explanations and inability to remember punchlines, had made this gorgeous, funny woman laugh.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," she said, extending her hand. "Y/N L/N, destroyer of shirts and apparent oppressor of Italian-American textiles."

"Joshua," he replied, taking her hand. Her skin was soft, and he had to resist the urge to hold on longer than socially acceptable. "Joshua Hong, software developer and... uh, laundry doer."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Laundry doer? Is that the technical term?"

Joshua felt heat creep up his neck. "Well, I... I mean, I'm not a professional or anything. Just a guy who, you know, does laundry. Sometimes. Well, every two weeks, actually. It's kind of a schedule thing, and—" He cut himself off, realizing he was rambling. "Sorry, I'm not usually this..." He gestured vaguely, unable to find the right word.

"Articulate?" Y/N supplied helpfully, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's one way to put it," Joshua said, managing a self-deprecating smile.

Y/N's gaze softened. "Hey, no worries. We all have our off days. Although," she added, glancing around the laundromat, "I'm not sure anyone's really on their A-game in a place like this. I mean, look at that guy over there."

Joshua followed her gaze to see a middle-aged man trying to stuff what looked like an entire month’s worth of clothes into a single washing machine.

"I think he's trying to create a black hole of socks and underwear," Y/N stage-whispered. "Should we alert NASA?"

Joshua snorted, then quickly tried to cover it with a cough. He wasn't used to finding things genuinely funny, especially not in a laundromat of all places. But something about Y/N's observations and the way she delivered them with such casual humor was infectious.

"Maybe he's conducting an experiment on the compression capabilities of cotton blend fabrics," Joshua found himself saying.

Y/N's eyes widened in mock seriousness. "Of course! How could we have missed it? Clearly, we're witnessing groundbreaking laundry science in action."

They both burst into laughter, drawing curious glances from other patrons. Joshua felt a mix of exhilaration and embarrassment. He wasn't used to being the center of attention, but with Y/N, it somehow felt... right.

"So, Joshua the Laundry Doer," Y/N said once their laughter had subsided, "since you're clearly an expert in all things wash and fold, any other tips for a hapless stain-battler like myself?"

Joshua's mind raced. This was his chance to impress her, to show off his knowledge. But as he opened his mouth to launch into a detailed explanation of stain-removal techniques, he caught sight of the playful glint in her eye. She wasn't really looking for a lecture on laundry. She was teasing him, keeping the banter going.

For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him. He wasn't good at this kind of thing. Flirting, joking around—it wasn't in his usual repertoire. But something about Y/N made him want to try.

"Well," he said, affecting a serious tone, "as a certified laundry professional—"

"Oh, you're certified now?" Y/N interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely. I have a degree in Sock Pairing from the prestigious University of Wash and Tumble Dry."

Y/N gasped dramatically. "I've heard of that place! Isn't their mascot the Fighting Lint Roller?"

Joshua felt a grin spreading across his face. He was doing it. He was actually engaging in witty banter. With a beautiful woman. In a laundromat. If his friends could see him now, they'd never believe it.

"That's the one," he confirmed. "Our battle cry is 'We'll press your buttons!'"

Y/N doubled over laughing, clutching her sides. "Oh my god, stop," she wheezed. "I can't breathe!"

Joshua felt a surge of pride. He'd done that. He'd made her laugh so hard she could barely breathe. It was a heady feeling, one he wanted to experience again and again.

As Y/N's laughter subsided, she wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, man. I haven't laughed like that in ages. You, Joshua Hong, are dangerously funny. They should put a warning label on you."

Joshua felt his cheeks heat up at the compliment. "I, uh, thanks. You're pretty funny yourself."

Y/N waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, I just state the obvious. The world's a pretty ridiculous place if you pay attention." She glanced down at the shirt in her hand, then back at Joshua. "Speaking of ridiculous, I should probably actually try to wash this thing before it becomes sentient and decides to take over my wardrobe."

"Right, of course," Joshua said, suddenly remembering why they were both there in the first place. He glanced around, spotting an empty washing machine a few feet away. "There's a free machine over there if you need one."

Y/N followed his gaze and grinned. "My hero! Saving me from the horrors of waiting for a free washer. Truly, your laundry powers know no bounds."

As they walked over to the empty machine, Joshua felt a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He was elated at having met Y/N, at the easy way they'd fallen into conversation. But there was also a twinge of sadness. Once she started her laundry, she'd probably go sit down, maybe read a book or play on her phone like most people did. Their interaction would be over, just a brief, bright moment in an otherwise ordinary day.

Y/N opened the washing machine and started loading her clothes, chattering away as she did so. "You know, I've always wondered why they make these things so deep. Are they expecting us to wash a family of four's entire wardrobe in one go? Or maybe it's for people who only do laundry once a year and need to fit everything they own in here."

Joshua chuckled, leaning against the adjacent machine. "Maybe it's in case you need to hide from the Laundry Police."

Y/N paused in her loading, a pair of jeans dangling from her hand as she turned to look at him. "The Laundry Police?"

"Oh, you know," Joshua said, warming to his theme, "they patrol laundromats, making sure no one's mixing their colors and whites. Very strict about fabric softener usage too."

A slow grin spread across Y/N's face. "Let me guess, their motto is 'To protect and pre-treat'?"

"Exactly!" Joshua exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. He quickly tried to rein in his excitement, reminding himself that he was supposed to be playing it cool. "I mean, uh, yeah. Something like that."

Y/N's expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly as she looked at him. For a moment, Joshua thought he saw something in her eyes—a flicker of interest, maybe? But before he could analyze it further, she turned back to her laundry.

"Well, in that case, I'd better be extra careful," she said, her tone light. "I'd hate to get arrested for improper sock sorting."

As Y/N finished loading her clothes and closed the washing machine door, Joshua realized with a start that he hadn't even begun to do his own laundry. He'd been so caught up in talking to Y/N that he'd completely forgotten why he was there in the first place.

"Oh, shoot," he muttered, glancing around for another empty machine.

"Everything okay?" Y/N asked, pausing with her hand on the detergent dispenser.

"Yeah, just... I kind of forgot to actually start my own laundry," Joshua admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

Y/N's eyes crinkled with amusement. "The laundry expert forgot to do his laundry? Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Joshua ran a hand through his hair, chuckling despite his embarrassment. "I guess I got a little distracted."

Something flickered in Y/N's eyes at that, but it was gone so quickly Joshua wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. She glanced around the laundromat, then pointed to a machine in the corner. "There's one over there if you want to get started. Unless..." She hesitated for a moment, then continued, "Unless you want to share? I've got plenty of room in here, and it'll save you some quarters."

Joshua's heart leapt at the suggestion. Sharing a machine meant they'd have a reason to stay together, to keep talking. But he didn't want to seem too eager.

"Are you sure?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Y/N rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Please, it's a washing machine, not a kidney. Besides," she added with a wink, "I could use someone to protect me if the Laundry Police show up."

And just like that, Joshua's resolve to play it cool crumbled. He grinned, already reaching for his laundry bag. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

As they loaded their clothes into the machine together, their hands occasionally brushing, Joshua felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the humid laundromat air. He snuck glances at Y/N, taking in the way she hummed softly to herself as she worked, the little furrow that appeared between her brows when she concentrated on measuring the detergent.

Y/N caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. "What? Do I have detergent on my face or something?"

"No, no," Joshua said quickly. "I was just... thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," Y/N quipped.

"I know," Joshua replied automatically, then blinked in surprise. "Wait, did you just quote 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

Y/N's face lit up. "You caught that? Most people miss it!"

"Are you kidding? It's only one of the best Disney movies ever made," Joshua said, his usual reserve forgotten in his enthusiasm.

"Agreed!" Y/N exclaimed. "Talking furniture, a library to die for, and a heroine who's more interested in books than boys? Sign me up!"

As they finished loading the machine and Y/N started the cycle, Joshua felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Here he was, doing something as mundane as laundry, and yet he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much.

Y/N turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Laundry Master, what do you usually do while waiting for your clothes to wash? Let me guess, you have a special meditation technique for achieving perfect fabric softness?"

Joshua laughed, shaking his head. "Nothing so exciting, I'm afraid. Usually, I just sit and work on my laptop or read a book."

"Ah, a man of simple pleasures," Y/N nodded sagely. "Well, how about we shake things up a bit? I've got a deck of cards in my bag. Fancy a game? I warn you though, I'm undefeated in Go Fish."

"Go Fish? Really?" Joshua asked, amused.

Y/N shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What can I say? I'm a woman of sophisticated tastes."

As Y/N rummaged in her bag for the cards, Joshua marveled at the turn his day had taken. He'd come here expecting nothing more than clean clothes and maybe a chance to catch up on some work. Instead, he'd met Y/N—funny, beautiful, ridiculous Y/N—and now he was about to play Go Fish in a laundromat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N triumphantly produced a battered deck of cards from her bag. "Aha! Prepare to be thoroughly trounced, Joshua Hong. Your laundry expertise won't save you now!"

As they settled into a game, the rhythmic tumble of the washing machine providing a soothing backdrop, Joshua couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, his orderly life could use a little chaos. And if that chaos came in the form of a beautiful woman with a penchant for terrible puns and children's card games, well... he was more than okay with that.

It was, he decided, the best laundry day ever.

-

Joshua Hong had never considered himself a schemer. In fact, he prided himself on his straightforward nature. But as he sat in his apartment the day after his fateful meeting with Y/N, he found himself plotting like a character in one of those romantic comedies his sister was always trying to get him to watch.

"Okay, Algorithm," he said to his cat, who was perched on the arm of the couch, watching him with typical feline indifference. "We need a plan."

Algorithm yawned in response.

"Thanks for the enthusiasm," Joshua muttered. He pulled out a notebook and began to scribble furiously. "Step one: Figure out Y/N's laundry schedule."

He tapped his pen against his chin, thinking. "She mentioned she usually does laundry on Saturdays, but not every week. So maybe... every other week? Or possibly every third week?"

Algorithm meowed and jumped off the couch, apparently bored with Joshua's romantic strategizing.

"You're right," Joshua sighed. "I'm overthinking this. I'll just have to stake out the laundromat every Saturday for a while. That's totally normal and not creepy at all, right?"

Silence greeted his question.

"Right," he answered himself. "Perfectly normal."

And so began Operation Laundry Love, as Joshua had dubbed it in his head (though he'd die before admitting that to anyone else).

The next Saturday, Joshua found himself at Suds & Bubbles, a bag of laundry in hand despite having done his washing just the week before. He'd had to dig into his "emergency clothes" drawer to have enough to justify a trip.

As he pushed open the door, his heart sank. No Y/N. The laundromat was occupied by the usual Saturday crowd: a harried-looking mother with three small children, an elderly man reading a newspaper, and a college student who appeared to be using the dryer as a makeshift desk for her laptop.

Joshua sighed and resigned himself to actually doing his unnecessary laundry. As he loaded his clothes into the machine, he couldn't help but smile, remembering how he and Y/N had shared a washer the week before.

"You look happy for someone doing laundry," a voice behind him said.

Joshua whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. But it wasn't Y/N. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the elderly man, who had set aside his newspaper and was now regarding Joshua with amusement.

"Oh, uh, I just... really like clean clothes?" Joshua offered weakly.

The old man chuckled. "Son, I've been coming to this laundromat for thirty years, and I've never seen anyone smile like that over a washing machine. Unless..." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "You wouldn't happen to be waiting for someone, would you?"

Joshua felt heat creep up his neck. "What? No, I'm just... doing laundry. Like normal. Because it's a normal thing to do. Normally."

"Mm-hmm," the old man nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I hope your 'normal laundry' shows up soon."

As the man shuffled back to his seat, Joshua groaned internally. Was he really that transparent?

The answer, as it turned out over the next few weeks, was a resounding yes.

Every Saturday, Joshua found himself at Suds & Bubbles, armed with increasingly creative excuses for why he suddenly needed to do laundry so frequently.

"I spilled an entire pot of spaghetti sauce on myself," he told the amused attendant one week.

"My cat decided my closet was his new litter box," he explained to the harried mother the next.

By the fourth Saturday, he'd run out of plausible excuses and was seriously considering actually spilling something on all his clothes just to justify his presence.

It was on this fourth Saturday, as Joshua was contemplating the merits of "accidentally" upending a bottle of ketchup on himself, that the bell above the door chimed. He looked up, more out of habit than hope at this point, and nearly dropped the detergent he was holding.

There, silhouetted in the doorway like some laundry-bearing angel, was Y/N.

She was wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not procrastinating, I'm doing side quests," her hair once again in its chaotic bun. To Joshua, she had never looked more beautiful.

Y/N spotted him almost immediately, her face breaking into a grin. "Well, well, well," she said, sauntering over. "If it isn't the Laundry Master himself. We've got to stop meeting like this, people will talk."

Joshua, who had been mentally rehearsing casual greetings for weeks, found himself suddenly tongue-tied. "I, uh... hi," he managed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Wow, they really should put a warning label on you. 'Caution: Excessive wit may cause spontaneous combustion.'"

That broke through Joshua's panic, and he felt a grin tugging at his lips. "Sorry, I left my witty retorts in my other pants. I'm here to wash them."

Y/N laughed, the sound cutting through the monotonous hum of the washing machines. "There he is! I was worried the Laundry Police had gotten to you and stolen your sense of humor."

"Nah, they just put it through the spin cycle. It's a little dizzy, but intact."

"Oh, good," Y/N nodded seriously. "A dizzy sense of humor is a small price to pay for clean clothes and freedom from laundry-based tyranny."

As they bantered, Joshua felt the tension leaving his shoulders. This was why he'd been coming back week after week, enduring knowing looks from the regulars and inventing increasingly ridiculous laundry emergencies. Not just because Y/N was beautiful (though she absolutely was), but because talking to her felt as natural as breathing.

"So," Y/N said as she started loading her laundry into a machine, "do you always do your laundry on Saturdays, or am I just lucky enough to catch you during your weekly sock-sorting séance?"

Joshua froze for a split second. This was it, the moment of truth. He could confess that he'd been coming here every week in the hopes of seeing her again. Or...

"Oh, you know," he said, aiming for casual and probably overshooting into 'trying way too hard to sound casual', "laundry emergencies wait for no man. Or woman. Or... person of any gender, really."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Laundry emergencies, huh? Sounds serious. What was it this time? Rogue red sock in with the whites? Denim uprising?"

"Actually," Joshua said, warming to his theme, "it was a catastrophic coffee spill. My entire wardrobe now smells like a coffee shop."

Y/N nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. The dreaded Cappucino Fiasco. I've seen it claim many a good outfit. You were wise to seek help immediately."

As they continued to load their respective machines, Joshua marveled at how easy it was to fall into rhythm with Y/N. They moved around each other seamlessly, passing detergent and fabric softener back and forth without a word, as if they'd been doing this dance for years instead of having met only a few weeks ago.

"So," Y/N said as she closed the door of her washing machine with a flourish, "what's your strategy for killing time while the laundry gods work their magic? Please tell me it's more exciting than last time. If you pull out a deck of cards again, I might have to report you to the Fun Police."

Joshua grinned. "I'll have you know that Go Fish is a game of intense strategy and skill."

"Uh-huh," Y/N nodded, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"Your Majesty," Joshua said with an exaggerated bow.

Y/N laughed, then grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the door. "Come on, Laundry Boy. There's a coffee shop next door that does a mean latte. I think we can risk leaving our clothes unattended for a few minutes. Unless you're worried the Sock Gnomes will strike?"

Joshua allowed himself to be led, his arm tingling where Y/N was touching it. "Sock Gnomes are no laughing matter," he said seriously. "They're a menace to matched pairs everywhere."

The coffee shop, as it turned out, was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that looked like it had been decorated by someone's eccentric grandmother. Mismatched chairs surrounded wobbly tables, and the walls were covered in a truly bewildering array of artwork, ranging from serene landscapes to what appeared to be a portrait of a cat dressed as Napoleon.

"Wow," Joshua said as they entered, the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping them. "This place is..."

"A glorious affront to interior design?" Y/N supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say 'unique', but yeah, that works too."

They ordered their drinks - a simple black coffee for Joshua and something that sounded more like a dessert than a beverage for Y/N - and settled at a table in the corner. The chair Joshua sat in promptly made an ominous creaking sound.

"Don't worry," Y/N said, noticing his concerned look. "If it collapses, I promise to laugh only a little before calling for help."

"Your kindness knows no bounds," Joshua deadpanned.

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed as easily as it had in the laundromat. They discovered a shared love of terrible puns, a mutual disdain for people who talk in movie theaters, and a surprising amount of overlap in their taste in music.

"No way," Y/N said, her eyes wide. "You like The Microphones too? I thought I was the only person under 40 who'd heard of them!"

Joshua nodded enthusiastically. "They're amazing! 'The Glow Pt. 2' is one of my all-time favorite albums."

"Okay, that settles it," Y/N declared. "We're officially friends now. I don't make the rules."

Joshua felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. "Friends, huh? Do I get a membership card or something?"

"Better," Y/N grinned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slightly squashed packet of gum. With great ceremony, she extracted a piece and presented it to Joshua. "I hereby bestow upon you the Gum of Friendship. Guard it well."

Joshua accepted the gum with equal solemnity. "I shall treasure it always," he vowed, then promptly unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth.

Y/N gasped in mock horror. "The sacred Gum of Friendship! You've destroyed it!"

"I'm savoring our friendship," Joshua countered. "It's minty fresh."

They dissolved into laughter, earning curious looks from the other patrons. Joshua couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this much. Being with Y/N was like being caught in the best kind of whirlwind - exhilarating, unpredictable, and utterly delightful.

As their laughter subsided, Y/N glanced at her watch and yelped. "Oh shoot, our laundry! We've been here for almost an hour!"

They hurried back to the laundromat, half-expecting to find their clothes strewn across the floor or absconded with by the mythical Sock Gnomes. But everything was just as they'd left it, their machines humming away peacefully.

"Crisis averted," Y/N sighed dramatically. "Though I have to say, part of me was looking forward to staging a daring rescue mission for our captured clothes."

Joshua grinned. "Maybe next time. I'll bring my laundry-themed superhero costume."

"Oh? And what would that look like?" Y/N asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Well, obviously a cape made of dryer sheets," Joshua began, warming to the ridiculous idea. "A utility belt stocked with stain removers for every occasion. Oh, and a mask that looks like one of those mesh laundry bags."

Y/N nodded approvingly. "Don't forget the catchphrase. Every good superhero needs a catchphrase."

"How about... 'It's time to clean up this mess!'" Joshua suggested, lowering his voice to a gravelly superhero register.

Y/N burst out laughing. "Perfect! Watch out, evil-doers. The Laundry Avenger is here to take you to the cleaners!"

As they continued to riff on increasingly absurd laundry-themed superhero ideas, Joshua marveled at how comfortable he felt. Usually, prolonged social interaction left him drained, but with Y/N, he felt energized, like he could keep talking for hours.

All too soon, their laundry was done, and they found themselves standing outside Suds & Bubbles, clean clothes in hand.

"Well," Y/N said, shifting her laundry bag to her other shoulder, "this was fun. Who knew doing laundry could be such an adventure?"

Joshua nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't want this to end. "Yeah, it was great. Maybe we could, uh..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Joshua took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Maybe we could do this again sometime? The laundry thing, I mean. And the coffee. Or, you know, just hanging out. If you want."

Y/N's face broke into a wide grin. "Joshua Hong, are you asking me on a laundry date?"

"Maybe?" Joshua said, then, gathering his courage, "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Well, in that case," Y/N said, pretending to consider it seriously, "I suppose I could pencil you in for my next laundry day. Someone's got to make sure you don't fall victim to the Sock Gnomes, after all."

Joshua felt like his heart might burst. "It's a date. A laundry date."

As they parted ways, Joshua couldn't keep the grin off his face. He'd done it. He'd successfully engineered an "accidental" meeting, and even better, he'd secured another one.

Operation Laundry Love, he decided, was a resounding success.

Little did he know, Y/N was walking away with a similar grin on her face, thinking to herself, "I wonder if he realizes I don't usually do my laundry on Saturdays?"

But that, as they say, is a story for another load of laundry.

-

The next few weeks passed in a blur of laundry detergent, coffee dates, and increasingly elaborate excuses for Joshua's constant presence at Suds & Bubbles. He had become something of a legend among the regular patrons, who watched his blossoming relationship with Y/N with the rapt attention usually reserved for soap operas.

"What's the crisis this week, son?" Mr. Jenkins, the elderly man who had first caught onto Joshua's scheme, asked one Saturday.

Joshua, who had just arrived and was scanning the laundromat for any sign of Y/N, startled at the question. "Oh, uh... paint," he said, grabbing wildly at the first excuse that came to mind. "Lots of paint. Everywhere. I'm thinking of taking up abstract expressionism."

Mr. Jenkins nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. A noble pursuit. Though I must say, your clothes look remarkably clean for someone covered in paint."

Joshua glanced down at his spotless jeans and t-shirt, realizing his mistake too late. "I... changed before coming here?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Jenkins said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the charming young lady you've been meeting here every week."

Before Joshua could stammer out a response, the bell above the door chimed. He turned, his heart doing its now-familiar leap as Y/N walked in.

She was wearing a sundress today, her hair for once free of its usual chaotic bun and falling in waves around her shoulders. Joshua felt his breath catch in his throat.

Y/N spotted him and grinned, making her way over. "Well, if it isn't my favorite laundry buddy," she said. "What's the disaster today? Attacked by a rogue sprinkler system? Fell into a vat of maple syrup?"

Joshua, still a bit dazed by her appearance, blurted out, "Paint."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Paint?"

"Uh, yeah," Joshua said, committing to the lie. "I'm taking up abstract expressionism."

Y/N's eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh really? And here I thought you were more of a performance art kind of guy. You know, the kind where you keep showing up at a laundromat week after week, pretending to have laundry emergencies."

Joshua felt his face heat up. "I... what? No, I just... I mean..."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and clear in the humming atmosphere of the laundromat. "Relax, Joshua. I'm just teasing. Though I have to admit, I am curious about this sudden interest in art. Care to elaborate while we wait for our clothes to wash?"

Still a bit flustered, Joshua nodded. As they loaded their machines (Joshua had actually brought laundry this time, having run out of clean clothes due to his frequent "emergencies"), he found himself spinning an increasingly complex tale about his newfound passion for abstract art.

"So there I was," he said, warming to his theme, "staring at this blank canvas, when suddenly I was struck by inspiration. I grabbed the nearest paint can and just... let loose."

Y/N nodded solemnly. "As one does. And the paint just happened to get all over your clothes in the process?"

"Exactly!" Joshua said, relieved that she seemed to be buying it. "You know how it is with artistic passion. Sometimes you just can't contain it."

"Mm-hmm," Y/N hummed, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. "And what, pray tell, was the subject of this masterpiece?"

Joshua, who knew about as much about art as he did about deep-sea fishing, panicked. "It was... a commentary on the existential dread of modern laundry practices?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Y/N burst out laughing. "Oh my god," she wheezed, clutching her sides. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and I love it. Please tell me you're going to display this masterpiece in a gallery. I would pay good money to see a painting about the existential dread of laundry."

Joshua, realizing he'd been caught out, couldn't help but join in her laughter. "Alright, alright," he admitted once they'd both calmed down a bit. "I may have exaggerated the paint situation a tiny bit."

"A tiny bit?" Y/N asked, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Joshua Hong, I do believe you've been telling me tall tales. I'm shocked. Shocked and appalled."

"Would it help if I said I was inspired by your artistic influence?" Joshua offered, grinning.

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, flattery will get you everywhere. But I think you owe me a coffee for this blatant deception. And maybe a painting about laundry-based existential dread."

"Deal," Joshua said, relieved that she seemed more amused than annoyed by his fib. "Though I warn you, my artistic skills are limited to stick figures and the occasional smiley face."

"Perfect," Y/N declared. "I expect nothing less than a masterpiece of stick figure angst surrounded by washing machines. You have one week to deliver, Mr. Hong."

As they made their way to what had become their usual table at the coffee shop next door, Joshua marveled at how comfortable he felt with Y/N. The nervousness that had plagued him during their first few meetings had given way to an easy camaraderie, punctuated by their shared love of terrible jokes and pop culture references.

"So," Y/N said once they were settled with their drinks (a simple latte for Joshua, and something that seemed to consist mostly of whipped cream and caramel for Y/N), "now that we've established your budding career as an abstract expressionist, what's really been going on with you this week?"

Joshua, caught off guard by the sincere question, found himself answering honestly. "Oh, you know, the usual. Work's been pretty hectic. We're launching a new software update next month, so everyone's been pulling long hours."

Y/N nodded sympathetically. "Sounds stressful. Is that why you've been coming to the laundromat so often? Blowing off steam by cleaning your clothes?"

There was something in her tone, a hint of... what? Hope? Curiosity? Joshua couldn't quite place it, but it made his heart rate pick up.

"Well, that's part of it," he admitted, deciding to take a risk. "But mostly... I've been hoping to run into you."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Oh," she said softly. Then, a smile spreading across her face, "You know, you could have just asked for my number. It would have saved you a fortune in quarters."

Joshua groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I know, I know. I just... I wasn't sure if you'd want to hang out outside of our laundry days. And then it became this whole thing, and I didn't know how to bring it up without sounding like a complete weirdo."

Y/N reached across the table, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Joshua," she said, her voice warm with affection, "you are a complete weirdo. But you're my kind of weirdo."

Joshua felt a surge of warmth in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Y/N confirmed. "Now, are you going to ask for my number like a normal person, or do I need to write it on a dryer sheet and hide it in your laundry?"

Laughing, Joshua pulled out his phone. As they exchanged numbers, he felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. No more elaborate excuses, no more anxiously waiting at the laundromat hoping Y/N would show up.

"So," he said once their numbers were safely stored in each other's phones, "now that we've entered the digital age, what do you want to do for our next non-laundry related hangout?"

Y/N's eyes lit up. "Oh, I have the perfect idea! There's this new escape room place that just opened up downtown. The theme is... wait for it... a haunted laundromat!"

Joshua blinked. "You're kidding."

"Nope!" Y/N said, grinning. "It's called 'Spin Cycle of Terror.' Apparently, you have to solve puzzles related to missing socks, detergent bottle clues, and a vengeful dryer spirit. It's supposed to be hilariously bad."

"That sounds absolutely terrible," Joshua said. Then, unable to keep the smile off his face, "When do we go?"

Y/N clapped her hands in excitement. "I knew you'd be up for it! How about next Saturday? Unless you have another painting emergency, of course."

"I think I can clear my schedule," Joshua said dryly. "Though I may need to stock up on laundry-themed good luck charms. You never know when a vengeful dryer spirit might strike."

As they continued to chat, making plans for their upcoming escape room adventure, Joshua found himself marveling at the turn his life had taken. A month ago, he would never have imagined himself looking forward to a cheesy haunted laundromat experience. But with Y/N, even the most ridiculous activities seemed like the best way to spend an evening.

The week leading up to their escape room date (and Joshua's heart did a little flip every time he thought of it as a date) passed in a flurry of text messages. Y/N, it turned out, was a prolific texter, sending Joshua everything from random song lyrics to photos of particularly interesting clouds to long, rambling messages about her day.

Joshua, who had never been much for texting, found himself eagerly checking his phone at every opportunity, just in case Y/N had sent something new.

"Dude, what's got you so smiley?" his coworker, Hoshi's, asked one day after catching Joshua grinning at his phone for the third time in an hour.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Joshua said, hastily putting his phone away. "Just... a funny meme."

Hoshi's raised an eyebrow. "A funny meme that's been making you check your phone every five minutes for the past week? Come on, spill. You've met someone, haven't you?"

Joshua felt his face heat up. "Maybe," he admitted.

Hoshi's whooped, drawing curious glances from their other coworkers. "I knew it! Our little Joshua is all grown up and in love. So, who's the lucky lady? Or gentleman? Or non-binary individual?"

"Her name is Y/N," Joshua said, unable to keep the smile off his face. "We met at the laundromat."

Hoshi's's eyebrows shot up. "The laundromat? Seriously? Man, and here I thought all those cheesy rom-coms were lying to us. Good for you, buddy. When do we get to meet her?"

The question caught Joshua off guard. He and Y/N had been in their own little bubble for the past few weeks, but the idea of introducing her to his friends and coworkers made everything feel suddenly more real.

"I... don't know," he admitted. "We're still figuring things out."

Hoshi's nodded understandingly. "No pressure, man. Just know that when you're ready, we're all dying to meet the girl who's got you checking your phone like a lovesick teenager."

As Saturday approached, Joshua found himself growing increasingly nervous. This would be their first real date outside of the laundromat and coffee shop. What if things were awkward? What if the easy rapport they'd developed over shared loads of laundry didn't translate to other settings?

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Joshua was a bundle of nerves. He changed his outfit three times before settling on a simple button-down shirt and jeans, then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get his hair to cooperate.

"It's just Y/N," he told his reflection, trying to calm his racing heart. "You've seen her elbow-deep in dirty laundry. This is no big deal."

But as he arrived at the address Y/N had sent him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was, in fact, a very big deal.

The escape room place was tucked between a trendy vegan restaurant and a vintage clothing store. A neon sign proclaimed "Spin Cycle of Terror" in lurid pink letters, complete with a cartoon ghost emerging from a washing machine.

Joshua was so busy staring at the sign, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, that he didn't notice Y/N approaching until she was right beside him.

"Pretty epic, right?" she said, making him jump.

"Y/N! Hi! You... you look great," Joshua stammered, taking in her appearance. She was wearing a dress patterned with tiny washing machines and bubbles, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with what appeared to be a clothespin.

Y/N did a little twirl. "You like? I figured if we're going to face a vengeful dryer spirit, we might as well dress the part."

Joshua laughed, feeling some of his nervousness dissipate. "It's perfect. I feel underdressed now. I should have at least worn a shirt with a sock pattern or something."

"Next time," Y/N said with a wink. "Now come on, we've got some laundry-based puzzles to solve!"

As they entered the escape room, Joshua was hit with a wave of artificial lavender scent. The room was set up to look like the world's most over-the-top laundromat, complete with washing machines that seemed to be made entirely of glitter and dryers that emitted an ominous red glow.

"Welcome to the Spin Cycle of Terror," a bored-looking employee droned, clearly having repeated this speech many times. "You have one hour to solve the mystery of the missing socks and appease the vengeful spirit of Agatha Cleanpress, the laundromat's former owner. Failure to do so will result in you being cursed to fold fitted sheets for all eternity."

"Jokes on them," Y/N whispered to Joshua. "I already can't fold fitted sheets."

Joshua snorted, earning a glare from the employee.

"Your time starts... now," the employee said, hitting a button that started a comically large timer on the wall.

What followed was an hour of the most ridiculous, pun-filled, laundry-themed puzzle-solving Joshua had ever experienced. They deciphered clues hidden in detergent bottles, played a memory game with different types of stains, and even had to perform what the instructions called a "sock puppet séance" to communicate with Agatha's spirit.

Throughout it all, Joshua found himself laughing more than he had in years. Y/N attacked each puzzle with enthusiasm, her running commentary on the increasingly absurd challenges keeping Joshua in stitches.

"Oh come on," she exclaimed at one point, elbow-deep in a bin of mismatched socks. "How is this even a puzzle? This is just my normal laundry experience!"

As the final seconds ticked down, they found themselves facing the last challenge: a riddle that would supposedly reveal the location of Agatha's missing lucky sock and put her spirit to rest.

"I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?" Y/N read aloud.

They looked at each other, momentarily stumped.

"Not alive but grows... needs air... water kills it," Joshua muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N's eyes suddenly lit up. "Fire!" she exclaimed. "It's fire!"

They looked around frantically, spotting a cardboard fireplace in the corner that they had dismissed earlier as mere set dressing.

Racing over, they found a hidden compartment containing a single, sparkly sock.

"We did it!" Y/N cheered, just as the timer buzzed.

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of canned applause, and a holographic image of a ghostly old woman appeared.

"Congratulations," the 'ghost' said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the bored employee who had greeted them. "You have solved the mystery and found my lucky sock. You are now free from the curse of eternal fitted sheet folding. Please exit through the gift shop."

As they emerged from the escape room, still high on their victory, Joshua felt a surge of affection for Y/N. Her hair had come partly loose from its bun, her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was clutching the sparkly sock they'd been allowed to keep as a souvenir.

"That," Y/N declared, "was the most ridiculously awesome thing I've ever done."

"It really was," Joshua agreed, still grinning. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You know, I never thought I'd have this much fun pretending to be cursed by a laundromat ghost."

Y/N bumped her shoulder against his playfully. "See? This is why you need me in your life. To introduce you to the wonderful world of laundry-based entertainment."

As they walked out onto the street, the cool evening air a refreshing change from the lavender-scented escape room, Joshua felt a surge of courage.

"Hey," he said, his heart racing, "do you want to grab some dinner? I mean, if you're not sick of me after an hour of sock sorting and ghost appeasing."

Y/N's face lit up. "Are you kidding? After all that excitement, I'm starving. Plus, I think we need to celebrate our victory over Agatha Cleanpress. Any ideas?"

Joshua thought for a moment, then grinned. "Actually, I know just the place. How do you feel about continuing our laundry theme?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Color me curious, Mr. Hong. Lead the way!"

Twenty minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a small, quirky restaurant called "The Soap Suds Café."

"No way," Y/N breathed, taking in the washing machine-shaped menu boards and the waitstaff dressed in what appeared to be high-fashion interpretations of laundromat uniforms. "This is amazing. How did you even know about this place?"

Joshua rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. "I, uh, may have done some research on laundry-themed attractions in the area. You know, just in case."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something else... was that fondness? "Joshua Hong, you continue to surprise me. And here I thought I was the queen of ridiculous themed experiences."

As they were led to their table - a booth made to look like the inside of a front-loading washing machine - Joshua felt a warm glow of satisfaction. He'd managed to impress Y/N, to make her smile that radiant smile that never failed to make his heart skip a beat.

The menu, as it turned out, was just as themed as the decor. Appetizers were listed under "Pre-Wash Cycle," main courses under "Heavy Duty Wash," and desserts under "Fluff and Fold."

"I can't believe this place exists," Y/N said, giggling as she perused the menu. "Oh my god, they have a cocktail called 'Fabric Softener.' I don't know whether to be impressed or terrified."

"Why not both?" Joshua suggested. "I'm leaning towards the 'Spin Cycle Spritzer' myself."

As they ordered their meals (Y/N chose the "Delicate Wash Delight," a surprisingly elegant salad, while Joshua went for the "Heavy Duty Burger"), they fell into easy conversation, recounting their favorite moments from the escape room.

"I still can't believe you managed to untangle that giant knot of sheets so quickly," Y/N said, shaking her head in admiration. "If laundry folding was an Olympic sport, you'd definitely take the gold."

Joshua felt his cheeks warm at the praise. "Well, I had a pretty great partner. Your sock puppet séance was a thing of beauty. I think you might have missed your calling as a laundry medium."

Y/N struck a dramatic pose. "What can I say? The spirits of lost socks speak to me. It's both a gift and a curse."

As their food arrived (served on plates designed to look like old-fashioned washboards), Joshua found himself marveling at how comfortable he felt. Here he was, in a ridiculous laundry-themed restaurant, with a woman he'd met only a few weeks ago, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You know," Y/N said, pausing in her attack on her salad, "I have a confession to make."

Joshua felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "Oh?"

Y/N nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I don't actually do my laundry every Saturday."

Joshua blinked, processing this information. "You... don't?"

"Nope," Y/N said, popping the 'p'. "I usually do it on Sundays. But after we met that first time, I started coming on Saturdays. You know, just in case a certain software developer with a penchant for laundry emergencies happened to show up."

Joshua felt his jaw drop. "You mean... all this time..."

Y/N grinned. "Yep. Looks like we were both playing the 'accidental' meeting game. Although I have to say, your excuses were way more creative than mine. I just pretended to have a very messy lifestyle."

For a moment, Joshua was speechless. Then, he burst out laughing. "I can't believe it," he managed between chuckles. "Here I was, thinking I was being so clever."

Y/N joined in his laughter. "Hey, you were! I was impressed by your dedication. The paint excuse was particularly inspired."

As their laughter subsided, Joshua felt a wave of affection wash over him. "You know," he said softly, "you could have just asked for my number too."

Y/N's smile turned a bit shy. "I know. But where's the fun in that? Besides, I kind of liked our laundry day meetups. They were... special."

Joshua nodded, understanding completely. There was something magical about those Saturdays, something that might have been lost if they'd rushed into regular dating too quickly.

"Well," he said, raising his 'Spin Cycle Spritzer', "here's to laundry emergencies, escape rooms, and ridiculously themed restaurants."

Y/N clinked her 'Fabric Softener' against his glass. "And to new beginnings that smell like lavender detergent."

As they continued their meal, the conversation flowed easily from topic to topic. They discovered a shared love of obscure indie bands, debated the merits of various streaming services, and somehow ended up in a heated but good-natured argument about the best way to organize a bookshelf.

"I'm telling you," Y/N insisted, gesturing with a forkful of salad, "organizing by color is the way to go. It's aesthetically pleasing and makes your bookshelf look like a rainbow!"

Joshua shook his head, grinning. "But how do you find anything? What if you can't remember what color the book cover is?"

"That's half the fun!" Y/N exclaimed. "It's like a treasure hunt every time you want to read something."

As Joshua opened his mouth to retort, he was struck by a sudden realization. He could see himself having this exact debate years from now, in a shared apartment, surrounded by a mix of his meticulously organized books and Y/N's color-coded chaos. The thought should have terrified him - Joshua had always been cautious about relationships, preferring the safety of his orderly life. But instead, he felt a warm glow of contentment.

"Earth to Joshua," Y/N's voice broke through his reverie. "You okay there? You looked like you were a million miles away."

Joshua blinked, focusing back on Y/N's concerned face. "Sorry, I just... I was thinking about how much I'm enjoying this. Being here, with you."

Y/N's expression softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Joshua confirmed. Then, gathering his courage, he reached across the table and took her hand. "I really like you, Y/N. And not just because you make laundry day the highlight of my week."

Y/N turned her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. "I really like you too, Joshua. Even if you do have terrible ideas about bookshelf organization."

They shared a laugh, the tension of the moment breaking into something warm and comfortable.

As they finished their meal and stepped out into the cool night air, Joshua felt a sense of possibility that he hadn't experienced in years. Whatever this thing was between him and Y/N, wherever it might lead, he knew one thing for certain: his life would never be the same.

"So," Y/N said as they walked, their hands still linked, "same time next week at the laundromat?"

Joshua pretended to consider this. "I don't know, I might be busy. You know, with all my abstract expressionist paintings and laundry emergencies."

Y/N nudged him playfully. "Come on, I'll even let you borrow my lucky sock."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?" Joshua said, grinning. Then, more seriously, "Although, maybe we could meet somewhere that doesn't involve washing machines next time? Not that I don't love our laundry adventures, but..."

"But it might be nice to see each other in a setting that doesn't smell like fabric softener?" Y/N finished for him.

"Exactly."

Y/N nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'd like that. Although I have to warn you, I may not be as charming without the backdrop of spin cycles and dryer sheets."

Joshua squeezed her hand gently. "Somehow, I doubt that."

As they reached the corner where they would have to part ways, Joshua felt a reluctance to let the evening end. "So, um, I'll text you? About our next non-laundry related hangout?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes twinkling. "You better. And who knows? If you play your cards right, I might even show you my color-coded bookshelf someday."

"I look forward to it," Joshua said, meaning it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life.

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye. Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Joshua leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N's cheek.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said softly as he pulled back, his heart racing.

Y/N's cheeks were flushed, but she was smiling wider than ever. "Goodnight, Joshua. Thanks for a wonderful evening."

As Joshua watched Y/N walk away, he touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of her cheek against them. He had come a long way from the man who had walked into Suds & Bubbles a few weeks ago, his life as orderly and predictable as his laundry routine.

Now, as he made his way home, Joshua felt as though his world had been turned upside down in the best possible way. His thoughts were a whirlwind of escape rooms and laundry puns, of shared laughter and intertwined fingers.

One thing was certain: Joshua Hong was falling, and falling hard. And for once in his life, he was perfectly happy to let the cycle run its course.

[chillinglyadventurous]

The Fever

Thank you so much for the request!!!

Stanford Pines x Reader

Tags: Fluff, sick

It started out with a sneeze. You didn’t think much of it. You’d been trudging through the rain with Dipper and Mabel in search of a scampfire just to prove to your boyfriend you could find one without his help. Ford had told you it wasn’t going to happen. The weather conditions weren’t right. It was about to rain and unseasonably cold for mid August.

How the kids didn’t get sick was beyond you because you felt like death. You were freezing and shaking, but hot and sweaty all at once. You couldn’t decide whether you were more comfortable in your sweatpants and one of Ford’s sweaters that you had stolen from his closet or in barely anything at all. You couldn’t tell whether the heat or the cold was worse.

Had it not been for Stan’s big mouth, Ford wouldn’t have even known you were sick. Besides the occasional sniffle, you looked okay-ish. No. You looked like hell, but makeup helped hide it. “Geez, [Y/N], quit coughin’ or you’ll get the whole house sick!”

Ford’s head had snapped in your direction, finally taking a good look at you. He’d been busy, usually only climbing into your shared bed after you had knocked yourself out cold with a shot of NyQuil syrup. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I would have dropped every-“

“I’m fine,” you insisted only to be betrayed by a slurry of hacking. You resigned under his intense gaze. “Fine, I’m sick. It’s not a big deal. I just have a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Without another word, Ford’s large hand was placed to your forehead to gauge your temperature. First his palm, then the back of his hand. He moved to your flushed cheeks, bright red visible beneath the makeup you had tried to conceal it with.

Ford gave you a disappointed look, “You have a fever of 102! You most certainly are not ‘fine’, darling.”

He pulled you out of your chair only for Stan to call out as you followed Ford to your bedroom. “Yeah, get Patient 0 out of my kitchen!”

Quickly, Ford had you in his bed, stripped of your day clothes and into one his sweaters. His flannel pajama pants were on you soon after. On his bed, he slipped three pairs of socks onto your feet and bundled you up in every blanket he could get his hands on.

“You need to sweat it out,” he ordered as he tucked the blankets around your form. You were successfully burrito-d. “Once your fever breaks, the worst is over.”

You had expected him to be a bit more wary around, very cautious of whatever germs you could give him, but he kissed your forehead before leaving you in his room. After a single minute, you were bored. You tried to stand, but he had tucked you in too tightly. The most you could do was sit up, barely able to reach the book on his bedside table.

You groaned in disgust as you read the title. Statically Accurate Knowledge. With nothing better to do, you opened it only to be further disappointed. The book in your hands, all 472 pages of it, was just a run-on equation. Nerd.

Just as you were resigned yourself to counting the floorboards, Ford reappeared with a hot cup of tea. “Drink this. It should right you in a second.” He laughed as you timidly sniffed at the liquid he had given you. Of course it wasn’t chamomile or some pleasant flavor. “It’s best if you don’t smell it.”

“What is it?” You asked, voice scratchy as you spoke.

He pet over your hair which was already damp. Your shivers had mildly subsided, but he could still see your teeth trying to chatter. “Well, it will make you tired. You’ll sleep whatever is plaguing you off.”

You were already exhausted, but you held your breath and downed the steaming liquid. Your body instantly relaxed. You felt warm, so comfortably warm. Then, drowsiness overcame you.

Ford laid you down again. Before he could leave you? You grabbed the sleeve of his sweater. His eyes were kind as they landed on you. “Stay with me?” You whispered, your eyelids so, so heavy.

“Certainly.”

With the blankets curled around you, acting as a barrier, Ford held you close. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you dozed off. You hoped you’d feel better in the morning, but, maybe, you’d play this up for a little longer once you were feeling better. You loved when he took care of you.

[shadowtriovibes]

fever (what a lovely way to burn)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, friends to lovers, character with fever/illness, mild sensual content

Summary: request: "since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly."

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–” He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.” “N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

Monday, October 5, 1891

Even a month after the start of term, it’s unseasonably warm in the Highlands. The heat from the dog days of summer persists well into the arrival of autumn, permeating the ancient stone walls of the castle and settling like a thin layer of fog across Hogwarts’ students.

Professor Sharp’s N.E.W.T.s-level Potions class meets promptly at nine o’clock every morning. Despite the early time slot, the dungeon-level classroom starts to become warm rather quickly thanks to the heat of two dozen bodies and six potion stations, each with their flickering flames preheating the students’ pewter cauldrons.

Your little trio is usually the last to arrive from breakfast. Sebastian sidles up to the doorway just as Professor Sharp is preparing to close it, gallantly offering to hold it open for you and Ominis as you take your time sauntering down the hall, arms linked together and chatting happily about the latest gossip to have surfaced in the Great Hall.

Then you settle in at the potions table squarely in the middle of the classroom, which you’d unabashedly claimed at the start of term. (Ominis can hear Professor Sharp most clearly here, and Sebastian, as always, gets to remain the center of attention.)

Finally, with Ominis’ dictation quill hovering over his parchment, Professor Sharp begins his daily discourse.

“Dittany, as you’ll recall, is one of the most useful herbs for creating a wide range of healing draughts,” he explains, showing off a tendril of the fiercely pink plant clipped from Professor Garlick’s greenhouse just that morning. “Can anyone give me an example of one?”

“Wiggenweld Potion, sir,” Amit chimes in.

“Very good, Mister Thakkar,” Sharp replies with an approving nod. “Another?”

Adelaide Oakes timidly raises her hand. “Essence of Dittany, sir?”

“Well done, Miss Oakes,” he murmurs. “Though not as effective as a properly-brewed bottle of Wiggenweld, dittany on its own can be used to craft a powerful restorative tonic – especially useful in preventing the occurrence of scars. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

Then Professor Sharp glances around the room expectantly. “One more, perhaps?”

“Moustache paste, sir?” Sebastian mumbles under his breath, and you quickly elbow him in the side.

“What was that, Mister Sallow?” Professor Sharp drawls.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek. “Er, the Antidote to Common Poisons, perhaps?”

Professor Sharp levels Sebastian with a dubious look. “I’m afraid not. While dittany is a broadly useful herb, its powers are generally limited to healing, not curing. When considering its uses, think ‘paper cut,’ not ‘influenza.’”

You raise your hand and ask, “Sir, are there any potions that do cure illnesses?”

“Yes, in fact,” Professor Sharp answers. “The Pepperup Potion will quickly resolve any common colds or cases of the flu, with the enigmatic side effect of generating steam that will pour from your ears for hours on end.”

You wince a bit. “I suppose that’s worth being over a cold in a day.”

“I should think so,” he replies with a slight grin. “So has the majority of the wizarding world since the twelfth century.”

As Professor Sharp segues into a lecture on the history of healing potions, you pull out a piece of parchment and start to take down some notes.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “What does Pepperup Potion taste like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve only had it once, and it was a decade ago.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t drink it,” Sebastian says simply. “I’m allergic to bicorn horn.”

You blink, surprised. “You’re… allergic? How did you even discover that about yourself?”

“Oh, it was gruesome,” Ominis chimes in gleefully.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Well, I had my suspicions as a child when my parents gave me Pepperup Potion and steam poured out of my ears, nose, and mouth for a full week. Simply suffering through the cold would have been better.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“Well… in our third year, Anne and I made some Polyjuice Potion,” Sebastian admits, glancing around furtively. “We wanted to see if we could attend our classes all day as each other without anyone noticing the difference.”

“And Polyjuice Potion has bicorn horn,” you surmise.

Ominis looks delighted. “They were both in the Hospital Wing for three days, stuck as half-formed versions of each other.”

You gasp in disbelief. “That sounds awful!”

“It was the one and only time in their lives they were truly identical!” Ominis crows. “‘Sebastianne,’ we called them.”

You can’t help but giggle at Ominis’ delight while Sebastian sulks.

“In any case,” Sebastian grumbles, “I can’t take Pepperup Potion anymore, but luckily I never get sick.”

“Really?” you ask skeptically. “Everyone gets a common cold once in a while.”

“Not me,” he says proudly. “I haven’t been sick since I was a child. At the very least, if I have been sick, it must have been so mild that I wasn’t slowed down in the slightest – no need for Pepperup, thanks.”

“I’d be careful, Sebastian,” Ominis demurs. “Wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?”

With a lazy shrug, Sebastian turns to his potions station and begins to roughly chop some dittany leaves for a new healing potion Sharp intends to teach that afternoon. He glances up surreptitiously while you tie your hair back with one of those green ribbons you like to keep around your wrist for when the Potions classroom becomes especially humid with cauldron steam.

Though it’s unwise to lose focus while holding a knife, Sebastian has become quite skilled at multitasking while tending to his lovesick heart with stolen glances and half-formed daydreams.

He becomes so distracted staring at the column of your neck that when he suddenly feels a bit dizzy, he merely attributes it to the thick, heavy air in the room.

—

Tuesday, October 6, 1891

“You look dreadful,” you tell Sebastian cheerfully as you take a seat at breakfast.

Across from you, Sebastian looks a sight. His generally unruly hair is sticking up in every direction, and his face, which until this morning had still been sun-kissed and freckled from his time carrying out summer chores in Feldcroft, is ghostly pale.

“Cheers,” he grumbles, his head in his hands as he stares down at a plate full of untouched tattie scones.

You know for a fact they’re his favorite. In fact, you’ve stolen countless scones from the Great Hall on weekends when he treats himself to a bit of a lie-in just to make sure there are some left for when he finally emerges, hair rumpled and cheeks creased with pillow lines.

“Late night?” you ask him as you pour yourself some juice.

“The opposite, actually,” Ominis explains. “Sebastian was asleep before I even finished my Runes assignment last night, and I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” you comment, frowning. “You’re usually up half the night reading. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sebastian shrugs weakly. “I’m fine, I just… It’s dreadfully warm in the castle, and my head is aching.”

Without thinking, you reach across the table and press the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You’re quite hot,” you mumble.

“Wh-what?” Sebastian stammers, his eyes going wide. “What did you do that for?”

“You have a fever,” you explain to him. “Old Muggle trick. And your eyes are quite glassy. I think you might be coming down with something.”

Ominis unsubtly slides further down the bench.

“I’m not sick,” Sebastian protests. “It’s just the heat, it’s making me tired.”

You eye him warily, and as if to prove that he’s not ill, Sebastian lifts one of his hoarded scones to his mouth and takes a bite.

“See?” he asks with his mouth full. “M’fine.”

You grimace. “Lovely.”

Sebastian determinedly joins you and Ominis for Potions and manages to remain upright until the very end of class. He sways just a bit as he gathers up his belongings, and you offer him your shoulder while you make your way toward the stairs to Divination.

He balks when he sees the twisting spiral steps.

“On second thought,” he mumbles, “I think I’ll skive off today and get some rest.”

“Will you be alright?” you ask him concernedly. “I can come with you…”

“No, it’s fine,” he insists. “I’ll just lie down for a bit and then I’ll be grand, I promise. Save a seat for me at dinner, will you?”

Later that evening you linger in the Great Hall until the last of dinner melts through the tables down to the kitchens below, but Sebastian never shows up.

—

Wednesday, October 7, 1891

“You do not want to go in there,” Ominis tells you warningly. “Trust me, he’s a mess.”

You scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sebastian still hasn’t emerged from his dormitory in nearly eighteen hours, and you’re starting to worry for him. Ominis had brought him back some food from dinner the night before, but according to him, it had gone untouched.

When he’d failed to show his face at breakfast, you knew you had to step in.

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this,” Ominis tries. “Sebastian is hardly a gentleman, but some things are sacred.”

“He’s our best friend,” you remind Ominis. “I really don’t care if he’s not entirely put together.”

Ominis opens his mouth as if to say more, and then seemingly changes his mind.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Professor Sharp you’re tending to Sebastian, and I’ll ask Amit if you can borrow his notes.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ominis,” you breathe, quickly pulling him in for a hug. “What would we do without you?”

“Rot in Azkaban, most likely,” he grumbles, which… is fair.

Once Ominis leaves for class, you gently knock on the seventh-year boys’ dormitory door. “Sebastian? Can I come in?”

Through the door, you hear him whine, “Go ‘way.”

“Sebastian,” you call out patiently. “Ominis told me you’re sick, and you haven’t gotten out of bed in too long. I’m coming in.”

He protests weakly from his bed as you open the door and slip inside, carefully pressing it closed behind you. As you’d expected, his other roommates have all gone for the day. Only Sebastian remains – or at least, you think it’s Sebastian.

All you can see sticking out from underneath the pile of pilfered blankets on his bed is a mess of curly, brown hair.

“Oh, dear,” you sigh.

“Jus’ leave me alone,” he mumbles from beneath the covers. “...I think I’m sick.”

“Finally facing the music, are you?” you tease him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” he groans. “I’ve never been this ill before.”

“Should I take you to see Nurse Blainey?” you ask him. “I know you can’t have Pepperup Potion, but perhaps she has something else that would help.”

“No,” he sighs. “Ominis already sent for her, she said I’m a dafty and I’ll be fine in a coupl’a days.”

You bite back a laugh at Sebastian’s deteriorating accent; for how posh he usually sounds, apparently that rougher Feldcroft vernacular tends to slip out when he’s feeling poorly.

“Poor lamb,” you croon. “Can I do anything for you? Have you eaten?”

“M’not hungry,” he sulks. “Ominis made me drink some water before he left.”

You hum softly as you start to slowly pull his piles of blankets down low enough that you can see his face. Quickly you realize that Ominis had been exaggerating – Sebastian doesn’t look entirely a mess.

His eyes are a bit wet and glassy, you observe, and his nose is bright red from persistent rubbing with a handkerchief abandoned on his bedside table. He looks a little swollen beneath his jaw, but otherwise, he looks like he’d merely stayed awake all night, and you’ve seen a sleepless Sebastian countless times throughout your friendship.

There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw that you’ve never noticed before; it’s the same rich brown color as his wild, unkempt hair.

(Honestly, how dare he still look handsome even when he’s ill.)

“Hello, you,” you tease him in a voice just above a whisper. “Was beginning to wonder if you were even there under all those blankets.”

“I’m cold,” he complains.

“That’s the fever talking,” you tell him. “You should probably–”

But before you can tell him that he’d be better off with less covers, the blankets shift lower and you realize he’s not wearing a pajama shirt.

(Your disobedient mind immediately raises the question of whether he’s wearing anything at all, and subsequently, if you could get away with having a look. Immediately you scold that particular thought away.)

“Er, you should… don’t overheat yourself,” you finish lamely.

He’s flushed down to his chest, fever-pale skin burning red where the blankets had been piled on top of him. You discover that he’s got a thin smattering of hair here, too; he’s grown into the body of a man much sooner than many of your classmates, you imagine.

Sebastian watches as you swallow, your own eyes raking down his body.

“You’re missing class,” he observes. “You never miss class.”

“It’ll be alright, just this once,” you say softly.

For a moment you aren’t sure if you’re talking about missing class or being in Sebastian’s bed.

Then Sebastian suddenly starts to cough and hastily reaches for his handkerchief. He sounds utterly pathetic as he coughs and groans in discomfort, rolling onto his side and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“My chest hurts,” he whimpers. “I’ve been coughing all night.”

You reach across him and gently stroke the backs of your fingers down the middle of his chest. His skin is noticeably hot to the touch and damp with sweat.

“I can put some Muggle herbs in a warm compress for your chest,” you offer. “I know they’re not as effective as a potion would be, but it always helped me feel better when I was a child.”

“Alright, I suppose that’d be nice,” he mumbles.

But when you move to stand, he quickly snags your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “Er… where would you go? For how long?”

“Well, I’ll have to go see if Nurse Blainey has any, and if not I can go look at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” you explain. “It might take a bit of time, I’m afraid.”

“Then, just… stay,” he whines. “Keep me company? That’s better than some plain old herbs.”

You shift onto the bed, curling up on your side behind Sebastian. It’s a tight fit, and you’re dangerously close to falling off the edge, but you’re able to leave enough space between your bodies that you can make the argument that it’s friendly, and it’s fine.

“Can I rub your back?” you ask him softly. “It might help with the soreness.”

You have no idea if it will help his aching body, but you’re eager to try it nonetheless.

“Go on,” Sebastian rasps. “I… I might fall asleep.”

“You should,” you croon. “Your body’s telling you that you need to rest.”

“S’pathetic,” he grumbles. “I never get sick.”

“You had a good run,” you tease him. “But the common cold comes for us all eventually.”

He falls silent after that, his leanly muscled arms curled around a pillow while you stroke your hand up and down the length of his back. He’s so warm, and you’re a bit anxious about letting him ride out a fever as long as he has, but soon he drifts off to sleep.

You learn two things while he rests: he snores when he’s on his back, and he frowns whenever you take your hands off of him.

—

Thursday, October 8, 1891

Ominis had managed to talk you into returning to your own dormitory for the night, promising to look after Sebastian while you got some rest. When you return the following morning, you find him in even worse condition.

His sheets are bunched down to his hips, and he’s still bare from the waist up. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the bags underneath his eyes have worsened – despite how much rest he’s getting, he seems more fatigued than ever.

“What happened?!” you ask Ominis.

“He’s had a fever all night,” Ominis says grimly, looking just as worn out as Sebastian. “He hasn’t eaten a thing, and I’ve barely been able to get him to drink some water.”

“Oh, Seb,” you sigh, taking his clammy hand and resting it in your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. “You poor thing.”

“I think I’m dying,” he rasps. “This is it, right?”

“Hush now, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” you gently scold him, pressing your hand to his forehead. “You’re quite warm, but I’m not worried about your imminent demise.”

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–”

He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.”

“N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

“You’ll feel better,” you promise him. “And I swear I won’t, er… look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You argue back and forth until Sebastian, utterly depleted of his typical stubbornness, loses energy and gives in. Ominis promises to stop by J. Pippin’s to see if the shopkeeper has any draughts suitable for Sebastian’s allergies before leaving to go to class, and you help Sebastian get out of bed with his arm around your shoulders and your own around his waist.

(He’s got pants on, thank Merlin, but you have to help him into a pair of pajamas to make the walk to the Slytherin baths.)

Sebastian balks when you enter the boys’ baths, but you both quickly learn there are no enchantments in place to keep you from joining him. You offer him an arm to lean on while he takes off his pajamas and coughs – this time pointedly – for you to turn around while he sinks into the lukewarm bath you’d drawn.

“This does feel nice,” he finally says once he’s settled in the opaque, murlap-scented water.

“Good,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice how your voice has gone up a bit higher than usual. “I’ll be back in a few moments with some fresh pajamas for you.”

“I’ll try not to drown while you’re gone,” he drawls, and even though he still sounds exhausted, you smile to yourself knowing that the bath is already helping him feel more like his usual self.

Hogwarts’ house elves were exceptionally fast in tidying up the boys’ dormitory while the two of you were out, so when you finally lead a clean, dry Sebastian back to his room, you’re thrilled to find freshly laundered sheets and a new pair of pillows waiting for him.

“Gods, I love magic,” he groans as he collapses into bed.

You stay all afternoon and into the evening. Ominis returns shortly before dinner with a brew from Parry Pippin himself, similar to the Pepperup Potion but with cinnamon instead of powdered bicorn horn.

(Sebastian seems to emit thin tendrils of steam straight from the top of his head after he drinks it, but he perks up all the same.)

Feenky herself brings a tray of soup and some leftover scones from breakfast once Sebastian regains his appetite. While he eats, he tells you about how he used to sit with Anne during the summers when she was particularly ill from her curse.

“At the time, I wondered if my being there was more of a help or a hindrance,” he says ruefully. “She was… hard to read, then. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed by me or appreciated me staying.”

You pause before shyly asking, “Am I helping? By being here?”

“Of course,” he says without thinking.

“Then I’m sure you were helping Anne, even when she was annoyed,” you tell him reassuringly. “That’s all we ever want to do really, isn’t it? Help the ones we love?”

Sebastian glances up at his tray with an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes are still glassy and he’s a bit peaky, but the cinnamon-laced, not-quite-Pepperup Potion has restored some of the usual warmth in his gaze.

“Right,” he echoes. “Help the ones we love.”

You end up staying the night in the boys’ dormitory. Only Ominis knows you’re there, as he draws the curtains around the both of you before the boys’ other roommates return from the common room. Given that Sebastian seems to be feeling better already, it’s not strictly necessary.

But it feels nice all the same.

—

Friday, October 9, 1891

Sebastian’s fever finally broke during the night.

When you wake up he’s wrapped around you from behind, one of his legs jammed between yours with his arm curled possessively around your waist.

You’re sweltering, but he’s cool to the touch.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Judging by the way sunlight pours over the top of Sebastian’s bed curtains, it’s well past when you’d usually wake up during the school week. You can’t hear any other snoring boys around you, either.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “Wake up.”

He groans tiredly into your hair as his arm tightens around your waist. “No.”

“N-no?!” you sputter. “It’s morning! We… we should, er.”

You trail off when you realize you aren’t quite sure what you should be doing. Evidently you’ve missed breakfast, and you’ve likely missed the start of Potions for the third day in a row. Professor Sharp will have no choice but to give you a detention; just as well, you suppose, as you can use the time to make up what you’ve missed.

But now that the damage is done…

“How are you feeling?” you ask him softly, your eyes still fixed on the green curtains in front of your face.

“Loads better,” he says, only this time his lips are pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You gasp as he rolls more of his weight toward you, pressing you more firmly into the mattress.

“Sebastian…” you sigh.

“I had a dream about you last night,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper beneath your ear. “I’ve heard Pepperup Potion can give one strange dreams.”

“St-strange?” you whisper back. “Why was it a strange dream?”

“I suppose it wasn’t really ‘strange,’” he acquiesces. “But it was nice. Really nice.”

“Tell me about it?” you ask breathlessly.

“Perhaps I’ll show you instead,” he asks, and when you nod, he slides his hand down to your hip and turns you onto your back.

Then quite suddenly he’s leaning over you, one knee still between your thighs. He rests on his elbows so his face is just centimeters from yours, and it’s the first time you’ve gotten a good look at him since the boys put out last night’s fire.

Sebastian looks so much better. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are clear and bright, and the sickly sheen of sweat he’d worn for days is entirely gone. (His hair is still a bird’s nest, but that’s to be expected.)

“We were like this,” he tells you.

“Were we just talking?” you ask him, but you’re met with only silence.

After a beat, he asks you, “Why have you been so kind to me this week?”

“You’re my best friend,” you tell him softly. “I – I wanted to help you feel better.”

“Is that all I am?” he asks. “Am I simply your friend?”

You bite your lip hesitantly and his gaze dips down to your mouth, his brown eyes nearly black in the soft morning light.

“Do you want to kiss me, Sebastian?” you ask.

Rather than answering, he surprises you by leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he lifts one of his hands to gently tip your face toward his, cradling your jaw while he deepens the kiss into one that’s hardly sweet at all.

It feels like it’s perhaps the first time in days that Sebastian has felt hunger.

You gasp his name into his mouth and then he’s the one biting your lip, just a quick graze of his teeth before he soothes your ensuing whine with another slow kiss. He shifts his weight onto his hip to rest on the mattress beside you, using that leg between yours to coax you into lying next to him. He rewards your body’s assent with a filthy kiss – the kind you’ve only read about in those Muggle romance novels you hide under your pillow, the kind where the hero kisses the girl with his tongue in her mouth and his hand in her blouse.

“Seb,” you moan.

“I didn’t know,” he confesses against your lips.

“Didn’t know what?” you whine.

“I didn’t know you loved me until last night,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours.

You’re so distracted by how red and swollen his lips look that you nearly miss him saying, “You stayed with me all week, you held me, practically healed me, and I still didn’t know.”

“Of course I love you,” you tell him.

“You love Ominis, you love Poppy,” he counters. “This – us – is different. Right?”

And the truth is, you would have done anything you’d done for Sebastian for any one of your friends. You would have helped Poppy into a warm bath and back into bed, and you would have sat at Ominis’ bedside all day and torn up pieces of scone to float on the surface of his soup.

But you would not have let them press you into their bedsheets and trace their lips along your neck, and right now Sebastian is eagerly doing both.

“Yes,” you whimper, both in answer to his question and as a plea for more.

“I love you, too,” he sighs against your jaw. “I have for ages, and I didn’t want you to see me all pathetic and poorly, but you still love me anyway.”

“I’ve loved you through worse,” you quietly remind him.

He nips at your throat for that remark; you’ve both agreed to speak of your fifth year as little as possible. Truly, the only reason you’d ever bring it up now is to remind Sebastian that you’ve long since made your choice – him, over duty and the law and perhaps even reason.

“Stay with me,” he pleads. “We have all morning, we have the dormitory to ourselves. Let me take care of you now.”

He pulls your thigh across his own and tangles his fingers in your sleep-mussed hair, holding you against his warm, bare chest.

“That’s tempting,” you breathe. “B-but perhaps we should check with Nurse Blainey, to see if you’re ready to return to–”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he grinds his hips against yours. There’s no mistaking that he’s aroused, and that alone convinces you that he must be feeling well – you’re positive that he would’ve been too weak for this type of debauchery yesterday morning even if you’d gotten fully nude before him and begged.

“Trust me, I feel excellent,” he moans into your mouth. “Love, please.”

You don’t come up for air for a long while after that. By the time Ominis stops by during lunchtime to check on Sebastian, he nearly trips over your skirt, hastily tossed near the doorway.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he deadpans.

“That potion of yours worked like a charm, Ominis,” Sebastian drawls. “Cinnamon, who would have thought?”

“I don’t suppose I mentioned that Muggles find cinnamon to be an organic aphrodisiac?” Ominis says innocently. “At least, that’s what Mister Pippin said. He told me you might have some rather amorous dreams while you recover.”

“No, I think you forgot to mention that,” Sebastian replies just as innocently.

Ominis simply hums and says, “Well, now that you’ve been made aware, I’ll be off to Herbology. I’d recommend locking the door if our dear friend is going to be keeping you company this afternoon, Sebastian.”

You’re too embarrassed to say a word, but Sebastian cheerfully thanks him as he pulls the door shut and reaches for his wand on his bedside table to magically lock it behind him.

“We’ve become menaces,” you whine as he rolls on top of you once more.

Sebastian grins wickedly down at you. “Not yet we haven’t, but thank Merlin we’ve got all afternoon.”

[oceantornadoo]

silence is how simon riley falls in love with you.

you’re a talker most of the time, cracking jokes and making small quips. talking about the mission ahead or giving orders to young recruits. you talk on the phone with your family back home, your low murmurs traveling under your door and through your walls. but silence is how he falls in love.

when the base gets its first snow all season, a cold december day, he watches your face grin towards the sky in the pure silence that comes when snow blankets everything. you stick out your tongue with glee, and he falls in love for the first time.

it’s a lonely january night, and you insisted on playing “fire crackling” youtube videos in the common room. something about it feeling like home, some insistent need within you that you play off as a joke. you fall asleep to the sounds of logs crackling and simon’s breathing, your cheek making contact with his shoulder. he takes in the silence, and falls in love again.

fast forward to valentine’s day, and somehow gaz and soap decorated the hallway while everyone was asleep. they slid valentines from secret admirers under doors, purely to stir up things around base. simon watches you step out of your room and bend down to read the valentine, all tired eyes and ruffled pajamas. he takes in the growing blush on your face and the silent pursing of your lips, as if you’re trying to hide a smile. he catches his own name in soap’s handwriting on the card, and now he knows he’s fallen hard.

it’s a sunny march day when he finally tells you. unseasonably warm, even for where you’re stationed. you convinced him to go on a morning run outside, taking in the birds chirping and the sounds of creatures stirring. you watch the sun rise together in silence, sitting at the top of a nearby hill. he takes your hand in his to get your attention, silent shock written on your face. slowly, so slowly it kills him and brings him back to life in a single breath, he raises it to his gloved mouth. he gives you all the time in the world to stop it, begging you to put him out of his misery. instead, you watch him give your palm a gloved kiss, feeling his warm breath in the roots of your body. you reply with a hesitant peck to his gloved lips, still not sure if you read his silence right. but you did - you always do. and that’s why simon riley loves you.

—

if any of the military logistics were incorrect pls ignore thank u! this writer has no clue how anything works, she’s just in love with ghost😗

[toxicanonymity]

Thank you for all those fics babygirl, especially the Joel ones <3 would you ever consider writing Vampire! Joel x female reader where you're in his basement chained to the wall and he does disgusting things to you to a certain extent.. Thank you honey💗

the special one.

VAMPIRE JOEL MASTERLIST

3.5k, vampire!Joel Miller x f!reader / masterlist WARNINGS: I8+ big girthy age gap (Joel 400+ / Reader 20s-50s), dark fluff, Alcohol, drugging, kidnapping, chain/restraints, blood sucking, period cunnilingus (dubcon via captivity), jacking off, reader can menstruate. Toxic softdark.

You met him late one night when you were leaving a café. Your friends left first and went the opposite direction.  It was a dimly lit coffee house and bar.  All night, Joel was sitting in a round leather chair near the window wearing thick-framed glasses and an unseasonably cozy, dark brown cardigan with a standing collar.  He was reading a book and drinking a dark beer in a tall, narrow glass.  You had your eye on him and couldn’t help but admire the way his biceps looked so huge in his cardigan, and the sexy silver patches on the sides of his beard, and his perfect nose, complimented by his glasses.  He caught you looking a few times, but he never made it awkward. 

As you started heading toward the exit, he stood up, closed his book, and walked out the door.  He held it open for you.   “Hey,” he said softly.  He held his book under his arm with its spine facing you: Powers of Darkness.  He shyly dropped his head and looked up at you from under his brow, gazing over his glasses.  It gave you a good view of his beautiful mess of hair - mostly dark, with a flourish of salt and pepper.  He turned his head toward the street as he introduced himself.   “I’m Joel.”   

Joel offered to walk you to your car, and you accepted since it was so dark and you had your eye on him.  He wasn’t as shy once you started walking side by side.  His voice was deep but soft and soothing.  Smooth.  He flirted with you, asking what you were drinking, complimenting your choice of colorful puma sneakers with your black dress.  He said there was something about your energy.  He was disarming and didn’t come off as creepy.  As you walked through an alley together, you were admiring his hair, entranced by the beautiful glints of silver in the moonlight, when a huge rat scurried in front of you and into a drain.  You jumped and squealed.  

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” he chuckled and calmed you down with his hands on your shoulders. 

He kept gently rubbing your bare shoulders after you calmed down.  He gazed at you through his glasses with a glint of affection and your breath hitched.  He leaned in for a kiss that melted your mouth.   When he broke away after a few seconds, his eyes were dark with lust.  He backed you into the brick wall - not aggressively, but certainly not meekly.  Quietly confident.  He pressed his lips and hips into yours and a bulge in his black, soft-brushed khakis hardened against your dress, making you weak in the knees. No tongue, but he sucked your saliva into him and his lips felt like heaven.  

He pulled back and looked down and away.  “Sorry,” he muttered.  

“Don’t be,” you said.  “That was nice.”  He made eye contact with you, and you felt a rush of warmth.  

“Good,” he mumbled, but he didn’t take it further at that point. 

—-

When you got to your car, he kissed you again, then hugged you, and you felt his arousal against you, even harder, making you throb.  “You smell special,” he said, his voice deep and soft above your ear.  Then he dragged his lips down and kissed your neck lightly three times before he opened his mouth, his wet inner lips hitting your skin, making goosebumps prickle at the back of your neck.  He moaned into your skin as he sucked and you felt like you could have taken him against your car in that moment.  

He stopped and mumbled into your neck, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Your tone was sultry. “Really, don’t be.” His breath stayed on your neck, warm and humid. 

“Only gonna take a little.”

“What?”

His massive hand covered your mouth, and before you could try to scream, his teeth penetrated your neck.  It was deep and sudden, seizing your body with a paralyzing chill as you shrieked, whimpered, and gasped for air under his hand.  He pulled his head back after a few seconds and your blood trickled out one side of his mouth.  His eyes were dark.  He tilted his head at you, his collar brushing his jaw as he tongued the front of a sharp little fang to get the last of your blood.  You thought you were dreaming.  

He shyly dropped his head again. “Sorry, sweetheart.” 

You were speechless. 

“It was only a little,” he reassured you.  “You should be fine.”  There was a hint of shame in his face as his eyes faded back to normal behind his glasses.  “God, you sure are beautiful,” he gushed through half-lidded eyes. 

You were more flattered than you should have been. 

He leaned in for another kiss but you flinched and he stopped. “Yeah,” he shrank back.  “Sorry.”  

He walked backwards for a few steps, shoving his hands into his sweater. Then he turned around and disappeared into the night, the long cardigan trailing behind him.  You felt a little lightheaded and stayed leaning against your car, silently in shock, until you felt okay to drive. The lightheadedness faded quickly. 

The next couple of weeks were normal, but you thought about it every day.  If it weren’t for the puncture wounds and bruising on your neck, you would have thought you were going crazy.  Maybe you were - when you thought about the experience, you felt more aroused than afraid.  

—-

When you initially woke up captive a few weeks later, the last thing you remembered was Joel emerging in the same alley as you walked to your car alone after leaving the same cafe.  Your breath hitched at the silhouette of his standing collar and messy hair.  You froze as his big arms wrapped around you from the side.  He manhandled you into submission as he put a damp rag over your mouth.  

“Shhhh,” he said.  “Not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart.” 

When you woke up, your neck was sore and you were in the corner of a dark, half-unfinished basement, lying on a cold, coated concrete floor.  You were chained by your ankle with a brutally cold, metal cuff that rubbed on your skin every time you moved.  The chain was too heavy.  You were so weak from blood loss that even getting up to go to the toilet was a struggle. Despite the toilet being in range of the chain, it could take you thirty minutes to crawl over to it, taking multiple breaks to rest.  

The first time Joel came down to give you a meal, he saw you crawling toward the restroom. “Oh god,” he whispered with a genuine hint of horror in his voice.  “C’mere, I got ya.”  He helped you into the bathroom.  It didn’t have a door.  He helped you onto the toilet then stood in the door frame and looked away.  When you were finished, he helped you back to where you were lying against the wall.  He stood there with his feet spread and looked at you for a few seconds, one arm crossed in front of him with his other hand stroking one side of his beard.  His brows knitted with concern, and his eyes were watery.  

He left you your meal and came back an hour later with an old mattress covered by a fitted sheet with a faded pattern of Scandinavian tulips.  

“Thank you,” you told him, sincerely grateful for the relative comfort.  You were too frozen and afraid to ask for anything else yet. 

As soon as he left, you peeled back the fitted sheet to get inside and sleep.  It was cozy like a hug for a second before it popped off the mattress, but the loose sheet was still better than nothing.  

—-

You didn’t cause any trouble.  Joel brought you iron-rich meals to help replenish your blood.  In his eyes, it was an unfortunate situation for both of you, the fact that he needed you.  He couldn’t help it that there was something special about your blood.  It gave him a rush he’d never had before while feeding, and he lasted longer on yours than anyone else’s.  He felt much better, too. You should have felt good about what you were doing - helping him survive with less blood.  That meant hurting fewer people. 

—-

You examined where the chain met the concrete.  It didn’t look very old.  On the other hand, there was an area of crumbled concrete on the floor, as though someone had tried to dig out of jail with a spoon at some point.  You picked off small chunks of rock and used them to count the days you were down there. 

On the sixth day, you were sitting on the mattress against the wall with the sheet over your legs when Joel came down.  “Your days are here,” he said.  You were confused at first.  He took off his shoes and joined you on the mattress, folding his knees behind him and leaning on one hand, facing you from the side.  He was very close, less than a foot away. He slowly tugged the sheet off your legs and the chain caught his eye.  He whispered, “sorry,”  and got on his knees to get the key out of his pocket. “I’m  here,” he said reassuringly to himself as he unlocked it then pocketed the key again. 

He moved the chain out of the way and got closer to you again.  He sat back on his knees.  He took a deep breath, looking you over, then began to say, “If I take it from here. . .”  He put his hand on your lower abdomen. “I can go a little longer.  . . Before we have to, uh.” He reached up and caressed your neck, before dropping his hand back to your lower abdomen.  “If you’re okay with it,” he whispered, and caressed you there over your dress, making you tingle between the legs.  

“I don’t have it yet, my period."

“It’s there,” he nodded earnestly.  “It’s opening, getting ready to pour itself.” It was the strangest way of talking about the cervix.  He waited for you to accept what he was saying.  He looked at you with puppy dog eyes.  “Can I have it?” 

You studied his face.  He looked pale and the color of his lips was faded. Even his muscles looked somewhat deflated.  You felt bad for him.  

“How do I give it to you when it’s not coming out yet?”

His cheeks flushed with some color as his eyes fell between your legs where you were holding your dress down for modesty.    

“Oh,” you whispered. 

“I can make it feel good,” he promised.  

“Oh, uh, oh, okay.”

—-

He sat up and took off his cardigan. You couldn’t be sure if it was the same one as before, but it had the same style of standing collar.  It was dark brown with tiny flecks of lighter thread, possibly in different pastel colors if your eyes didn’t deceive you.  The basement was dim, and the most light it got was during sunset when the rays hit the tiny windows just right. It was almost a glare.   There was no clock and sunset could be any minute, but until then, it was dark. 

Joel folded his glasses and put them on top of the sweater. He was wearing a tight, tan, short-sleeve, soft-wash t-shirt.  His pecs stretched the front of it. He moved you into position, flat on your back.  “Try to relax, sweetheart.”   

Your knees were up and he was between your legs. He reached under your dress and gently pulled down your panties.  His eyes were black and shiny and he breathed heavier. He gently pushed your dress all the way up and out of the way.  His biceps flexed as he hooked his hands under your knees and over your thighs.  He took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes.  

He kissed each of your inner thighs, then just above your clit.  You flinched in pleasure rather than fear, but he mumbled, “sorry.”   He looked up at you, and his silver beard glistened in the bright light of the setting sun through the high, horizontal window in the back corner. “Are you okay?” he asked.

He pivoted you on the mattress to get out of the light.  You got up on your elbows and nodded, “yeah.”  You hated to think it, but you were more than okay.  When his lips touched your skin, it started to feel like a real win-win.  

“I’m just gonna,” he whispered, then brought his hands to between your legs.  He spread your outer lips and saw how wet you were.  “Oh,” he whispered.  His tone became sexy.  “You are okay.”  He looked up at you darkly, with the hint of a smirk on one side.  “Ok, good,” he murmured to your dripping cunt.  

He licked a flat, wide stripe up your entire seam then suckled on your clit, looking up at you.  He took his mouth away to say “lay back, relax.”  So you did.  He got you warmed up, licking, sucking, and flicking his tongue. You moaned softly. 

“Gorgeous down here, too,” he said before digging in again. “God, you taste special.”

He plunged his tongue into your entrance, careful to avoid nicking you with his fangs.  They were curved into his mouth, which helped them not catch.  His massive hands dug into your thighs as he thrust his tongue into you. “Mmm,” he moaned.  He licked every crevasse of your folds and suckled at your clit again, then nudged your clit with his nose as he again penetrated you with his tongue.  He tongued into you, then deliberately nosed your clit, tickling you with his smooth, soft facial hair. You felt the suction of his nostrils against you - a strange feeling, but not at all bad.  

He pulled away and caught his breath.  “It’s so close,” he said.  “Almost taste it.”  He dipped his head again and planted a kiss on your clit.  “Think you can come? It might help.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just like that, more tongue.” 

“Perfect,” he whispered between your legs.  

He licked and sucked at you, then fucked you with his tongue.  You moaned as you got closer and closer.  He reached a hand up to your breast and you sighed.  He thrust his tongue into you harder, and your hips lifted into his mouth. “Mmmm, yeah,” he murmured while taking a breath.  He thumbed your clit as he sharpened his tongue and plunged it back into you. 

“Ohh,” you sighed, “gonna come.”  

He kept doing what he was doing, then he planted his mouth on your entrance and steadied your hips with his hands as your spine arched and you saw stars.  Your hips lifted into his mouth, and he held your thighs where they met your hips, keeping his mouth firmly planted around your seam at an angle, sealing it as much as possible.  As you rode your waves of pleasure, he put his tongue inside you and you clenched around it.  He thrust it into you, then withdrew his tongue and sucked harder than you could have imagined as your climax persisted. He sucked and licked and sucked, and finally he groaned, “mmmm,” into your cunt.  

He became more ravenous and you could tell he was getting what he was after.  He alternated sucking and lapping and when he came up for air, you saw it on his lips. Color was already returning to his face.  

“Taste so special, baby,” he sighed, then dug back in.  His nose nudged your clit as he sucked and moaned into you, and another climax was already building.  You sighed “ohh, Joel.”  

“Yeah,” he panted, and put his thumb back on your clit. “Come for me, baby.”  He thrust his tongue into you rhythmically, scraping out any blood he could reach, then surfacing to breathe.  “Fuck,” he panted into you inner thigh. “Taste so good.”  He was ravenous.  He sucked and used his tongue in a way you never dreamed.  Soon, you heard your moan echo off the walls as you started coming into his mouth again and he sucked full force. You finished coming, and he kept sucking. Tears sprang into your eyes with the overstimulation.

He plunged his tongue into you and swirled it around, raking for residual blood.  You began to cramp and reached for your abdomen “Oww,” you whimpered.  

His brow furrowed as he looked up at you with the silver in his beard and mustache tinged red.  “Oh no,” he said and massaged you through a few more cramps, then they died down. 

You sat up on your elbows and watched as he licked you clean of all the stray blood. He twisted his hips off the mattress and it was impossible to ignore the protrusion in his pants.  When he finished cleaning you with his mouth, he sat up on his knees and thanked you. He discreetly palmed his arousal. When your eyes followed his hand, he kept it there, the heel of his palm digging into his engorged package. His face flushed.  “This doesn’t always hap-.”  He cut himself off, shaking his head at the rudeness of referring to his other experiences.   “I mean, you’re really special.  You feel really good.”  He palmed himself again.  “‘Excuse me for a minute.” 

—-

Joel unbuttoned and unzipped his pants on his way to the restroom. You heard him spit in his hand.  He breathed heavily and moaned as he fucked his fist and spit every once in a while.  His sounds of pleasure made your core buzz for more.  “Ohh,” he moaned as his fist slid along his shaft.  “Fuck,” he panted.  Your nipples hardened again and you reached for a breast.  You squeezed your thighs together.  You wondered if he’d fuck you, but tried to suppress the thought.  You felt moisture between your legs. 

He spit again.  “Oh, fuck,” he panted as his breath became ragged.  You dipped a finger into yourself and looked at it - no blood, just arousal.  He sucked you clean and you wondered if your period was over before it began.  “Ohh, god,” he sighed, and the sound of skin sped up.  He breathed louder, then groaned as he came.  When he was finished, he sighed, “Ohhh,” in relief.  Then the water turned on for a minute.  

—-

When he emerged from the restroom, his facial hair was mostly clean.  He paused in the door frame.  “Sorry about that,” he said and looked down and away. “I can already feel it, sweetheart.”  You could see it, too.  

veins had returned to his hands and his muscles looked pumped compared to before. He looked alive, vibrant, even sexier than before.  

He put his glasses on, and got back between your legs then sat back on his heels.  He cupped your cheek, and looked deep into your eyes.  “Never felt like this before,”  he lamented.  “Never in all these years.” Your heart raced at the realization that he could be hundreds of years old. No wonder he was good. 

He looked regretful. “Hate it for ya, sweetheart.  But it’s our destiny.” 

“What is?” 

“You’re my One.”

“What,” you whispered to yourself.  

“We’re a pair,” he whispered and looked at you affectionately.  “You complete me.”  

You were disturbed by his delusions, and even more disturbed by the way your heart swelled at his words.  

He remained between your legs and put his hands down on the mattress on either side of your torso, scooting toward you.  He tried to kiss you, but you sucked your lips into your mouth then turned your head. 

He sat back and looked wounded.

You were incredulous.  “My purpose is to complete you?”

“And mine is to take care of you,”  he said and caressed your thigh. 

You were crushed at this world view.  A small, self-sabotaging part of you had to wonder if he was capable of change.  You scolded yourself for expecting more from a man who attacked you in an alley, kidnapped you, and was holding you prisoner in his basement. You allowed a moment of silence to pass, during which he curled up and laid his head on your lower tummy.  He looked up at you lovingly. That's what he wants? To take care of you?

“You’re not doing a good job,” you whispered and watched his face fall.  

He looked like he could cry.  You suppressed your satisfaction. He got up on his knees and looked around.  “Yeah,”  he admitted.  “Gimme a minute.”  

He stood up and put on his cardigan. He jogged upstairs, sweater flowing behind him, and came back with a warm washcloth, a blanket, some Advil, and water.  That felt like a decent start - the bar was truly in hell.

“Wanna take good care of ya,” he said as he cleaned his saliva from between your legs. He looked up with desperate eyes and said,  “Teach me.”

—-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! there is more vampire Joel. His masterlist is linked at the top of the fic.

If you like vampires: I have  vampire!Michael Myers one-shot here: Michael’s Castle.  Also, @atinylittlepain already had a great vampire!Joel drabble here: little pinch and has a vampire!cowboy AU now!

FYI: You can follow @toxicfics to turn on notifications, @toxicrecs for my fic recs.

-

[the-moon-files]

I was actually thinking about this a lot but like as an add on to your humans are hylian space orcs thing. I am in ✨need✨ of reader trying potions. Like;

"This potion will restore your stamina and boost your strength"

"Buddy that's just coffee"

"Qué?"

Even worse if when the reader tries it it's just like the most not strong coffee they've ever drank. Makes the guys wonder wtf makes humans need so much energy through out the day.

this is such a cute idea, i love how diet diffs/energy diffs in humans are space orcs aus, so genius to apply to hylians

the stamnia boost potion tastes just like instant coffee with powdered creamer (the kind at like car dealerships/shitty offices where its not even a little liquid creamer)

and u spit that shit out like wtf is this bs

and Four, poor guy who gave you some after talking a break from walking, is like "oh my goddess r u allergic?? can still breath???"

meanwhile ur like. "yeah this just tastes like shit-"

four: "oh well yeah, all potions do really-"

you: "-ty coffee. this is nowhere near strong enough to get me back on my feet ffs"

four: " 👁️👄👁️"

you: "u got anything stronger? :/ "

four: " w h a t ? "

cue u researching how to make stamnia potions, across the hyrules, and making them 10x stronger so theyre like an actual coffee shop kind of coffee, and the Links are literally lowkey scared

Time forbids you (and the rest of the guys) from letting anyone else try ur "improved" elixir (s)

bc yes, u didnt stop at stamnia

u moved on to healing potions, (u can now regrow limbs and heal broken bones, the hylians can only take like a 1/16th of a sip like once a week, whereas u chug the whole thing, and can do so multiple times a day if needed)

u also moved onto cooking, bc rlly how different is cooking from alchemy?

and goron spice tasted like goddamn dorito chips, so u used essence of literal lava to help make it more spicy,

ur not allowed to introduce this new spice to the gorons, Wild forbid, bc he was adventurous enough (and snuck behind Time and ur backs) to try some spice

(he literally touched the tip of his pinky finger to it, wiped it off, except for 1 like flake of spice too)

and it lowkey nearly killed him 💀

like had to use that 1/16th of ur extra strong healing potion and everything

u felt so bad, but he did do this to himself,

and Wild knew the gorons dont back down from a challenge, esp since it was originally their recipe, so he (and you) didnt wanna kill them on accident

the sleeping potion u found is just like taking a single melatonin gummy, so u ofc make that thing knock even you out after 2 sips,

needless to say, no one is trying that one, not only bc it knocked Rulie unconcious for 12 hours straight (u got him to try it after he exhausted all his magic healing, and so no nightmares)

but bc it knocked u out cold for 9. that was the scarier part to them lmao, was how affected is their human by this?

i like to think thats how they judge unknown foods and liquids too,

like "do you think this tastes unseasoned? ok should be perfect for me then" - every Link

"oh this didnt make u feel sleepy at all/barely tired? great, id love to knock out cold w/no nightmares tonight" - Sky, probably

"this tastes like that thing you call, instant cough? ko-fee? Cool, give me some i need to run up this mountain" - Wild, for the 3rd time this month probably

"this barely healed ur papercut? sweet, give me some my wrists are killing me" - poor Legend, he uses ur extra strength healing potion as a way to treat his arthritis regularly once a month, but the more chill potions for any leftover aches and pains, esp after long fights being hard on his arms

Chain is simultaneously still lowkey terrified u need that much extra oomf, esp when u run out of stronger stuff and have to down like 5 health potions to heal a cut that needed stitches,

and also worried u need that much and also Wild/Wars/Rulie tend to work overtime to make sure they have extra potions for you

and theyre also kind of impressed, bc hey, youre unlikely to get magically poisoned/potion poisoned like them

☆

sorry i couldnt think of as much as i hoped, i think its bc i rlly just need to play/watch more loz games besides botw/totk

i like know the vague plot of ss/oot/mm/tp/ww/hw and og loz games, but havent gotten into details/lets play or anything yet

i hope this was at least a half decent idea to think about/expand on urs, have a great rest of ur week, and thanks so much for the ask!! <33

Peace out,

🌙

[hotshotsxyz]

hi abbie! from the prompt list: buddie, ” i miss you. i miss you so much it hurts." please?

(buddie) (656 words) i have, once again, taken this in what is almost certainly a different direction than intended

“Hey, Shan,” Eddie says softly.

The air is crisp and cold, unseasonably so for early November, but the sun shines bright against a cloudless blue sky. It’s a perfect day to spend outside, and a perfect day to have a conversation he should’ve had years ago.

Eddie brushes a few errant leaves from Shannon’s headstone then sits in the grass beside it.

“It’s been a while since I came here without Christopher. He—he’s so much like you, Shannon, you have no idea. But I…”

Eddie scrubs a hand down his face and sighs.

“I need to talk to you about something else. Tell you some things that I wish I’d figured out a little sooner. Things I wish I could’ve told you face to face.”

Eddie closes his eyes and tips his face toward the sun.

“I still don’t really know how to say any of it out loud, but I’m going to try,” he says.

A soft breeze blows through the cemetery, ghosting across Eddie’s face like a gentle caress. The corners of his lips tick into a small smile.

“I miss you,” he admits. “I miss you so much it hurts. But I… I think you were right.”

This is so much harder than he thought it would be, but every word comes a little easier than the last.

“We were kids when we met. The same age Christopher is now, can you believe that? And we were still kids when we had him. I don’t think either of us really got that at the time.”

Eddie pulls his knees to his chest and rests his folded arms on them.

“Neither of us had the chance to figure out who we would’ve been on our own. These last few months have been the first time I’ve ever even lived alone, you know? And I—I’ve finally realized that I’m not the person I’ve been trying to force myself to be.”

There’s a thread coming loose along one of the seams of Eddie’s jeans. He picks at it until another stitch pops free.

“I’ve been holding onto your ghost almost as long as I knew you, Shan. I think it’s about time I set both of us free.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath.

“I kept you on a pedestal, because if you were the one great love of my life then I wasn’t—”

His eyes begin to sting.

“I loved you so much, but not the way I thought I was supposed to. You were my best friend. Think that might be a thing for me,” he laughs wetly.

“I wish you could’ve met him for real. I think you’d’ve gotten along. And I… I wish we’d gotten the chance to be friends again. You probably would’ve told me to get my head out of my ass way sooner.”

A tear slips down his cheek, followed quickly by another.

“I’m gay,” Eddie says.

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. Something that feels like the weight of the entire world lifts from his chest.

“So you were definitely right about the divorce,” he jokes, and then the joke turns into a laugh, and the laugh turns into a sob.

A gust of wind blows, knocking a few leaves loose from the nearby tree. One of them drifts slowly and softly through the air until it lands gently on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Shan,” Eddie whispers.

He sits with her a while longer, long enough for his tears to dry and his thoughts to quiet.

“I’m going to try,” Eddie says when he stands. “I’m going to try to be happy. I promise.”

He lingers a few moments longer, then heads back to the cemetery’s entrance.

Just beyond the gate, sitting exactly where Eddie left him, is Buck. He looks up from his book as soon as Eddie crosses the threshold.

“Ready?” Buck asks softly.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I think I am.”

[yasmindifference]

8 (my birthday is the 8!)

The night is unseasonably warm, barely even cool enough for long sleeves. As such, the suit jacket Jason drapes around Tim's shoulders five minutes into their walk nearly makes him roll his eyes.

He channels his reaction into a girlish giggle instead, then has to swallow a more sincere laugh when he sees how the high-pitched sound nearly cracks Jason's mask.

"You're soooo chivalrous," Tim says, unable to resist pushing that little bit further. His Valley girl impersonation puts a twitch in Jason's eye every time. "Like, swoon."

Jason wraps an arm around Tim's waist--probably solely to disguise the sharp pinch he delivers to Tim's side--and smiles down at him.

"You deserve it, baby," he says, in the same smarmy tone he's been using all night.

It makes Tim want to punch him, a reaction he's sure Jason's eliciting on purpose--after all, he's been doing the same thing with his own Valley girl impersonation.

...It's possible he and Jason aren't taking this mission as seriously as they should be.

Oh well.

In retaliation for the pinch, Tim fakes a stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and drives his elbow into Jason's gut, earning a faint oof he wants to smile over.

Instead, he puts his hands to his face in exaggerated dismay.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy," he says mournfully. "It's so embarrassing..."

Jason brushes his hair (or rather, his wig) out of his face and twists his ear painfully in the process; Tim applies his stiletto heel to the toe of Jason's left shoe.

"You're not clumsy, baby, it's just those shoes," Jason says, voice a little tight--with pain or annoyance? Tim can't tell. "You want me to go get the car?"

"No, no," Tim says, "it's such a nice night--just look at those stars!"

He tips his head back and gazes dreamily at the sky which, being in Gotham, shows not a single star.

"They're so beautiful," he says happily.

"Not as beautiful as you," Jason says, with such smarmy passion that Tim barely remembers to hide the laugh he can't help behind a cough.

"Oh, pookie bear," he says--

--and finally, Jason breaks.

He lets go of Tim's waist to brace his hands against his knees as he cackles, choking out "fucking hell" and "pookie" as he struggles to catch his breath.

Tim just smiles and enjoys the victory.

"Okay," Jason says once he catches his breath, "holy shit, you win. How the fuck did you say that with a straight face?"

"Practice," Tim says dryly. "You play the tough guy too often. You should branch out more, broaden your range. Then you won't be so easy to shake."

Jason gives him a flat look and, straightening to his full height, spreads his arms in a silent invitation to look at him. Admittedly, Jason's height and bulk do make him less than ideal for the kinds of covers Tim prefers.

Tim was bullshitting anyway--Jason might default to tough guy, but he's entirely capable of more versatile covers. And he really wasn't that easy to shake; Tim was kind of expecting to break him when he showed up in a dress, stilettos, and wig without warning. Instead, he lasted all through dinner and a ways into their walk.

"Okay, you lasted a lot longer than I expected," he admits.

Jason smirks. "Admit it, I almost got you at dinner."

It's true that Tim came extremely close to breaking when Jason spoke over and ordered for him at the restaurant. Tim actually didn't get to say a single word to their waitress--not even thank you.

"You almost got a plate dumped in your lap," he corrects. Now that they've given up the covers, he shrugs out of Jason's jacket and hands it back. "I could see Ashley thinking about it every time you cut me off."

"Yeah, that was a close one," Jason agrees. "I doubled my usual tip in thanks for her restraint."

Tim nods in approval. "But yeah, admittedly I was not expecting you to go the--"

"Hello?" Dick's voice breaks in, thick with annoyance and a little too loud over the comms. "Did you guys forget that you have a job to do? This does not sound like an undercover conversation!"

Tim and Jason trade eyerolls.

"Good catch, Dickiebird," Jason says. "We are not in fact undercover."

"Excuse me?"

"Dick," Tim says with extreme patience, "Damian is a trained vigilante. He absolutely does not need us as backup on his first date."

Dick gasps in offense. "We agreed--"

"No, we agreed," Jason corrects.

"Yeah, we agreed your mother-henning was out of control," Tim says. "We tipped off Damian last night so he could change his reservation."

"And got Babs to find something to distract you with so you couldn't come follow him yourself," Jason adds.

Dick splutters.

"Take a deep breath," Tim suggests.

"Chill the fuck out," is Jason's less gentle contribution. "Anyway, we're done for the night. You should call it, too--maybe work on remembering the kid is sixteen and not six."

"Harsh but fair," Tim agrees thoughtfully. "Night, Dick!"

Dick is still spluttering when Tim pulls out his comm.

"How much do I owe you for dinner?" he asks Jason.

Jason shrugs and slings his jacket over one shoulder. "Buy me ice cream, we'll call it even."

"Deal," Tim says.

Because he, unlike Damian, is no longer a teenager, he doesn't ask if going for ice cream constitutes a real date.

He can't stop himself from wondering, though.

Happy early birthday, anon!!! In celebration, this got very long lmao. Prompt #8 was two characters on a nighttime stroll! I hope you enjoyed! ♡♡

[daycourtofficial]

The uncertainty of Spring

Pairing: Eris x OC | WC: 1.7k | Warnings: Eris is a bit bitchy

Summary: a son of Autumn makes a deal with the daughter of Spring in hopes for a watchful eye over Lucien

Author’s note: happy Eris week @erisweekofficial 🥳🥳 this is for the ‘bargains’ prompt of day one. Wanted to try something a bit different and use an OC for the first time.

The stars shown above Iris, the air unseasonably warm around her. She held the piece of wood in her hand as she scraped her knife against the bark, letting the shavings fall at her feet.

Iris’s eyes scanned the area every few minutes, searching the darkness for signs of life, returning to her whittling when her eyes came up empty.

“Is that not blasphemy? A child of spring hurting a precious plant?”

Iris couldn’t control the scowl she sent in the direction of the voice, the sound grating on her nerves. She searched the woods for signs of him, not seeing him anywhere in the moonlight.

“What do you want, Eris? If you linger too long surely Tamlin will catch your scent on the wind and come to dispose of you like he did with Asher.”

He waved a hand as if the thought of his brother’s death was nothing more than the wrong shade of fabric, the action the only way she could make out where he was. “Any fate my brothers find themselves beholden to is none of my concern.”

She arched a brow, her movements against the wood halting. “And does that attitude extend to baby Lucien?”

Eris looked at her, a darkness to his gaze she had never seen before. He straightened his jacket, the brown coloring much less ornate than the greens and reds she was accustomed to seeing him in, but the neutral color suited him quite well.

He truly resembled an oak tree in the middle of losing its leaves.

Iris smiled, “so this is about Lucien.”

He breathed deeply, a slow exhale from his nose. “And if it were?”

“I would consider listening.”

He stepped closer to her, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body from several feet away. His eyes raked over her, taking in her appearance. ‘The seed of Spring’ they had called her, long blonde waves trailing down to her hips, flowers entwined with small intermittent brands. A long, pale green dress reached to mid-calf, allowing brown boats slightly caked in mud to be seen.

Her green eyes glowed unnaturally in the moonlight, resembling the way morning dew clings to grass and gives it a glassy appearance.

“I can’t linger here long. I do not have time to repeat myself.”

Iris nodded, Eris’s cryptic way of speaking leaving her uneasy.

She had known Eris for a long time, running into him mostly at High Lord meetings, or whenever the families of their respective courts would visit each other. Centuries of knowing him in the peripheral and she hardly knew anything about him. No one had a read on him or knew anything about him.

The juiciest piece of information was his failed engagement to Morrigan, Night Court nobility who slept with a lesser fae during her engagement, either in a bid to end it or because she couldn’t help herself, no one knew.

Rumor was neither her father nor Beron responded well to her actions. Rumors swirled of the failed engagement’s end - Morrigan was shipped to the continent until the war when she would be useful, Eris stabbed her out of jealousy,

Most rumors held some version of truth to them, but any and all gossip around the Vanserras felt too exaggerated to be real. Iris’s favorite rumor was that the manor they resided in had a secret tunnel system connecting to the far reaches of Autumn, so Beron could pop up anywhere in the Court with no one knowing.

The rumors were either grandiose ideas (that Eris was a shapeshifter and frequently shifted to run around the land with his hounds) or unsurprising tidbits about a family of seven sons (a Vanserra sleeping around, each of them supposedly incredible lovers).

Then again, rumors only grow.

“I need a bargain.”

That she was not expecting.

“My mother needs assurance that Lucien will be taken care of here.”

Iris stalked around him, her skirts moving in the darkness, the green chiffon swishing with each step.

“And how is your grieving mother? Three sons in one day, that’s half the family.”

“You’d be wise to bite your tongue, flowers are easily crumpled, as Rhysand knows first hand.”

Iris put her hands up in mock surrender, wondering just how much Eris truly cared for his fallen brothers.

Wondered if his feelings mimicked the ones inside her chest about the demise of her own brothers.

“Pray tell, Eris, why would I tether my soul to yours?”

Surely Eris had lost his wits to visit her about this.

“I know you wish to leave Spring.”

She halted, breath catching in her throat, eyes assessing him as he continued. “I know you have been sniffing about the Autumn borders for some time. I know you spend considerable time in my court. No one in Spring able to catch your eye?”

She scoffed, the male before her unseeing of the real truth to her visits.

“I don’t think safe passage in Autumn is good enough. If I’m going to be sticking my neck out for little Lu, I need something to sweeten the deal.”

His gaze felt burning as his attention focused on her, the longest time she had spent conversing with him prior to this was filled with insults and barbed snipes. This conversation had almost an air of vulnerability to it, something she didn’t know Eris could be.

“When I am High Lord, I will ensure you will live a comfortable life in Autumn, if you wish to leave the neverending life of Spring.”

Iris looked at him, an amusing grin on her face.

“And when do you plan on being High Lord? What if the magic skips you?”

He didn’t bother answering either of her questions, they already both knew the answer to the second one: it wouldn’t. His gaze was penetrating as he looked at her, his features sharp in what little light they had.

She stretched out her fingers, looking at her nails to get away from his gaze. “I want something else.”

“I’m not in the interest of ruining other males for you. I won’t be warming your bed as part of the deal.”

Iris gritted her teeth at the smugness in his tone.

“I want a secret from you. Not now, but whenever I call on you. I want you to tell me a delicious secret that no one else knows.”

“You always were nothing more than a bored gossip.”

Her smile was lupine, “and your family has always been a most interesting topic. Seven sons all interested more in getting their dicks wet than being competent rulers. There must be an overabundance of bastards in Autumn.”

The smell of blood was in the air, a slight tang as her words hit their mark. His demeanor doesn’t falter, though.

“I will agree, if this bargain remains between the two of us.”

He stretched his arm out, long fingers adorned with rings presented to her.

She had an out.

She could say no.

But having Eris Vanserra indebted to her was worth the risk.

She slid her hand into his, taking in the freckles dotting the outside of his hand, the gold ring on his middle finger with a bright orange gemstone set in it.

“Fine, I will see that your precious Lucien is attended to. However I cannot protect him from any trouble he goes out searching for on his own.”

“And I will take over Autumn, making it a better court for you to live in, should you wish.”

Her brow rose before he added, “and a secret for you to collect, however anything I tell you is not to be spoken of to another soul.”

Their hands glowed slightly, and she could feel the magic spreading up her arms and through her body. It felt like a wave in the ocean - strong but quick, gone before she could do anything. The ground in between both of them shook just before a young tree sprouted from the ground, the two of them stepping back and away from it. Pink petals exploded from the tree, bursting over the pair, several getting caught in her hair as they fell to the ground.

Eris looked at the plant, dusting the petals from his jacket. “Flowers, for spring. How original.”

He held up a petal, watching it catch in the moonlight. The action drew her attention to his hands, deep brown gloves adorning his fingers.

She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him wear gloves before, keeping his hands bare even at the most formal of gatherings.

“Does Autumn have any traditions around bonds?”

He shot her a look of exasperation before answering. “You get a burn mark. Its size is relative to the severity of the bargain.” He continued twisting the petal between his fingers, bored of the conversation already.

At his words, she began rotating her arms, searching for any new scarring. “Should I be concerned?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked questions beforehand?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, not wanting to admit that he had a valid point with that.

“No matter. It will ache on occasion if you go too long without thinking of it.”

The Autumn Court truly was a whole new style of warfare. Iris looked at him, uncertain of what kind of creature could survive in such conditions for so long, wondering how long looking into the darkness it took to have the darkness etch itself into your bones.

“What should I tell Tamlin about this scar? Surely he’ll see it?”

Iris looked back, a sharp pain now shooting from her right wrist. She looked down, watching as a burn mark etched itself into her skin.

Eris shrugged, gazing at the tree between the two of them before he turned, long legs carrying him into the trees. The wind blew around him, as if they too tried to get answers from him. “It is no matter to me what the beast thinks. Perhaps you could convince him the monsters of the night dared to be near his darling sister.”

She looked at the burn mark on her skin, the texture catching the light. The scar was roughly the size of a gold mark, and she wondered if this was meant to be a small bargain. As she rotated her wrist, the scar seemed to disappear in the light. Iris looked back up to where Eris had last stood to find him gone, her wrist aching in remembrance.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

[adverbally]

It’s Been Comin’ for Some Time

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day one prompt “rain” | wc: 1,699 | rated: T | cw: mild internalized homophobia | tags: caught in the rain, sharing clothes, hot cocoa, emotionally fraught confessions, first kiss, getting together | title from “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” by Creedence Clearwater Revival

———

“Come on in,” Steve practically shouts over his shoulder, fighting to be heard over the torrential rain bouncing off his umbrella. He fumbles to juggle his grocery bags while digging his keys out of his pocket, but he gets the door open and gestures for Eddie to follow him.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, just out of the storm but not fully inside Steve’s house. He’s soaking wet, having been stuck in the rain after his van broke down, and he’s terrified that the rainwater streaming off him will ruin the fancy doormat or the hardwood floor of the foyer. “Um,” he clears his throat as Steve sits down his bags and heads upstairs, “where should I–?”

“You’re fine right there. I’ll just grab you a towel and some dry clothes!” Steve calls, already at the top of the stairs.

Eddie throws up his arms and lets them clap against his sodden jeans when they fall. “Great,” he grumbles, “I’ll just stand here in my puddle and hope I don’t do any permanent damage, I guess.”

He shuts the door behind him and begins the disgusting process of stripping away his wet things– stepping out of his sneakers with a squelch, bunching up his socks inside them so they don’t get lost, shimmying out of the denim that clings to his legs, and peeling away the layers of his flannel and t-shirt. He tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s mostly naked in Steve Harrington’s entryway. Not even in a sexy way, just a drowned rat way.

Now that the shock of the rain has worn away and he’s lost any insulation his clothes might have provided, Eddie notices how cold he is. Autumn began with unseasonably warm temperatures, but the storm front that brought rain to the area also cooled things off. Wrapping his arms around himself does almost nothing for his body heat, but at least Eddie feels marginally less exposed now.

“Hey, catch!”

Eddie barely has time to look up at the second-floor balcony before a fluffy bath towel smacks him in the face. “Next time, just leave me to die on the side of the road,” he groans.

“You’re lucky that I decided to brave the elements for supplies,” Steve jokes as he tramps down the stairs. He’s got a faded hoodie and a pair of sweatpants in his arms, with a neatly folded pair of underwear sitting atop the pile. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have come to your rescue.”

“What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait for the storm to stop? Run out of hairspray?” Eddie asks. The towel sits over his head and shoulders like a cape, and he uses it to scrub vigorously at his arms before wringing water out of his hair.

Steve glares at him, unimpressed but unable to put his hands on his hips while he’s holding the stack of clothes he grabbed for Eddie. “Ha ha, very funny,” he deadpans. Then he explains, as if it’s obvious, “I needed milk. It’s cocoa weather.”

Eddie peeks at him from under the edge of the towel. Steve’s eyes are soft and serious as they linger on Eddie’s body, roaming over bare skin and dark hair and jagged scars. When his gaze meets Eddie’s, Steve quickly turns away, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Sorry, I–” Once his eyes catch on the side table beside them, he can’t put the clothes down on its shiny surface fast enough. “I’m just gonna leave these here for you and, um.” He awkwardly leans down to pick up the rain-streaked paper bag full of his groceries. “Put these away, I guess.”

Eddie barely has a chance to process Steve’s words before he’s disappearing around the corner. “Okay then,” he says to himself, alone in the echoing foyer. He quickly trades his dripping boxers for the dry ones at the top of the pile, then pulls on the outer layers.

Eddie ducks his nose into the collar of the hoodie and breathes in. It mostly smells like laundry detergent and cotton, but he thinks he can detect a hint of Steve’s cologne, spicy and earthy. The scent does more to warm him than the thickness of the fabric. Something about the idea of not just wearing Steve’s clothes but also having his scent seeping into Eddie’s skin, marking him in a more private way. Hopefully Steve will assume Eddie’s cheeks are red from the cold rather than lovesick thoughts.

When he feels a little more collected and less drunk on eau de Steve, Eddie wanders into the Harringtons’ kitchen. From the doorway, he can see that Steve is already heating milk on the stovetop, stirring mindlessly as he stares into the pot like he’s managed to hypnotize himself. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve looking so vulnerable, not even shirtless and barefoot and bleeding in the Upside Down. What is it about Steve, in his own home, in his fuzzy socks and damp-hemmed jeans and a cozy burgundy sweater, that seems so small and unsure? It makes Eddie want to hug him and never let go.

“Hey.” Eddie tries to speak quietly so he doesn’t scare Steve, but he startles and drops the wooden spoon anyway. Something like guilt settles in Eddie’s chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, it’s okay, I just didn’t hear you come in.” Steve fumbles for a canister of powdered cocoa mix, not measuring it as he dumps some into the mugs sitting on the counter. Not once does he even glance at Eddie. “Were the clothes okay?”

Eddie sighs and comes to lean against the countertop next to Steve. “The clothes are fine, but I… I don’t know, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You probably didn’t mean for me to strip right there in the foyer.”

His new angle gives him a great view of Steve blushing again. Now that Eddie is looking, he notices how pink his ears get.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve assures him, carefully pouring the warm milk over the cocoa mix, carefully not looking at Eddie even as his eyes dart across the cabinets and tile backsplash behind him.

Eddie snorts. “It kinda feels like I did.”

“You didn’t.” Steve punctuates his assertion by yanking open the silverware drawer with a clatter, grabbing a teaspoon and using it to stir their drinks. The clink of metal against porcelain is loud, even with the rain still pounding against the windows.

“Okay, if you’re trying to convince me that you’re not mad at me, you’re gonna have to do better than that,” Eddie drawls, fiddling with one of the drawstrings dangling from the neck of his borrowed hoodie, “because that’s the most aggressive cocoa-making technique I’ve ever seen.”

With a huff, Steve steps away from the counter and whirls to face Eddie. “You’re the one who should be uncomfortable and mad at me!”

“You’re right, how dare you not leave me to get washed away on the side of the road!” He gasps dramatically. “And then you had the nerve to give me dry clothes and make me cocoa!”

It catches him totally off guard when Steve shouts, “I was looking at you!”

They both freeze. The storm outside rages on, but the Harringtons’ kitchen is still and quiet, save for Steve’s shaky breathing. His eyes are wide and wet and pleading, like he’s desperate for Eddie to understand. Eddie definitely does not understand.

“What’s so bad about that?” he asks gently. “I look at you all the time.”

Steve’s face screws up and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Eddie takes a cautious step forward, then another when Steve doesn’t pull away. “I promise I’m being serious right now. I really, truly, honestly don’t know what the problem is.”

“I like you,” Steve confesses, voice breaking as he swipes at the tears in his eyes. “A lot.”

“I like you, too.” Eddie’s confusion almost certainly shows on his face. He hasn’t even been particularly subtle about his crush on Steve – always trying to sit next to him and make him laugh, soaking up the affection that Steve shares so easily, spending more time with him one-on-one so he can selfishly keep Steve to himself.

Steve shakes his head. “I like you,” he tries again. It’s almost a whisper, strained and emphatic but too hard to say out loud.

Eddie could laugh out loud if he wasn’t afraid of hurting Steve’s feelings. He just smiles instead, feeling a little manic as he connects the dots. “I just spent probably two solid minutes sniffing this hoodie. And then I stood in the doorway and watched you making cocoa like a creep, and I thought about how much I wanted to hug you. Because I thought I made things awkward or I insulted you or something.”

“You…” Steve’s brow furrows as he tries to process Eddie’s words.

Eddie reaches out and grabs Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I like you, Steve,” he says as deliberately as he can. He looks into Steve’s eyes, sees the realization dawning there between each blink, and takes another step closer so they’re toe-to-toe. “Like-like, even. Might even be beyond a crush at this point.”

“Yeah?”

Steve looks so hopeful, so afraid to hope, that Eddie decides to put him out of his misery. Slowly, he leans in, head tilted and gaze locked on Steve’s lips so his intent is clear. He watches Steve’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, then Eddie closes his eyes and feels Steve move to meet him in the middle.

It’s a chaste kiss, off-center and chapped, and their noses bump a little before they adjust their angle, and they have to break apart when neither of them can suppress their smile any longer. It’s the best kiss Eddie’s ever had.

“Do you believe me now?” Eddie asks. He loops an arm around Steve’s waist just because he can, just so he can hear Steve’s giddy laugh.

“I dunno,” Steve waffles, fighting to keep his voice serious, “you might need to do it again. Just to be sure.”

God, he loves the rain.

[merrybloomwrites]

Niall Horan - You're My Muse

Summary: A job opportunity leads to a lifetime of happiness with Niall Horan.

Word Count: 1K

AN: I love Niall with Amelia so much that writing Niall x reader was a little awkward at first. Good reminder to myself that I'm writing characters based off of real people and it's all fiction haha

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

When your manager told you that an opportunity had come up for you to record a song with Niall Horan, you just stared at her blankly for a minute.

“He’s recording music?” was your first question. You were a huge One Direction fan and had been devastated when the band went on hiatus. You'd been keeping up with any news regarding the boys and their solo careers. By that point, you had only heard Zayn’s music, and it had just been announced a couple months prior that Harry had signed a recording contract. 

But Niall? If there had been anything published about him, you’d know about it. He was your favorite band member after all. 

“It’s not public knowledge yet, but yes, he’s working on his first solo album,” Stacey replied.

Rather than start squealing in excitement, you’d taken a deep breath at the news. You quickly accepted the job, needing no further details. 

A week later you met Niall Horan for the first time. It was a surreal experience, and you remember maybe half of it, having blacked out for the other half. What you do remember is singing together, a beautiful song he’d written called “Seeing Blind”. You were shocked how much you were related to the lyrics. Weirder still was how much Niall was connected to it as well while singing with you.

You figured that he must have written it with someone else in mind and was thinking of her while singing.

Which is why you were utterly shocked when you received a call from him a couple weeks later asking if you’d go on a date with him. 

A silly and chaotic first date in Nashville led to a second, which led to a third. Now six years, a million dates, and two shared houses on two continents later, you and Niall have created a wonderful life together. 

While you do collaborate on songs occasionally, you’re still two independent artists. Part of your basement was made into an at home studio, with one section being completely soundproof. So while you can see each other through the window, you can’t hear each other if you’re on opposite sides of the glass. 

Niall spends most of his time inside the soundproof part. He likes to use all the instruments inside, recording parts as they come to him and playing around with the mixing equipment to hear different sounds. 

He also likes to watch you through the window as he brainstorms. He’s constantly endeared by your writing process, which includes various notebooks strewn across the floor and you repeatedly picking up your guitar, playing for a second, and placing it down again before writing a few words and notes on the page. 

One beautiful spring Saturday, you do a girls outing with your friends. After a day including brunch, a spa trip, and some time shopping, you arrive home. Niall greets you at the door. He takes your bags as he kisses you on the cheek and asks how your day was. 

You tell him all about it as he leads you out back to your patio. The sight catches you off guard. The table is set, and decorated. Garlands of flowers are draped around the railing, and decorative lights are set up to bathe the patio in a warm glow. 

“Did you do all this?” you ask, amazed how wonderful it looks. 

“I did, yea. May have gotten some tips from Harry but it was mostly my vision,” he says with a laugh.

“Well you did an amazing job. This looks perfect,” you say and he glows from the compliment. 

“I’ve made dinner as well. Not chicken, I promise,” he says and you both laugh, remembering the unseasoned chicken incident of 2017. 

He pulls out a chair and adds, “Have a seat, and some wine. I’ll go grab dinner.”

You take a sip of the wine he’d chosen and take another closer look at the decorations. A moment later he’s walking back out, a steaming tray in his hands.

“Is that Shepherd’s Pie?” you ask excitedly. It was the first thing he’d cooked for you years ago, and remains your favorite dish to this day. 

“It sure is,” he replies, setting it down on the table. He spoons some onto each of your plates and you cheers with your wine glasses as you wait for it to cool a bit.

You enjoy dinner together and after Niall clears away the plates, refusing your help, he walks back out with his guitar. 

“So uh, I’ve finished a new song that I’ve been working on and I wanted to share it with you,” he says, more timid than you’ve ever seen him. “It’s called ‘You Can Start a Cult’. It’s inspired by you.”

You’re intrigued by the title, and then he begins to play the most heart warming song you’ve ever heard. You’re not often moved to tears, but you're overwhelmed by emotion at this beautiful song he’d written about you. 

When he finishes playing he puts down the guitar, pulls a box from his pocket, and kneels in front of you. Your heart starts to race and you realize what’s happening a second before he starts to speak. 

“Y/N, these past years with you have been so wonderful. You are my best friend, and my favorite collaborator. You are my muse. You are the love of my life. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. Y/N, will you marry me?”

You take a deep breath before replying, “Yes, Niall, I will marry you.” 

The biggest smile appears on his face and he quickly moves in to hug you. You remain like that, holding each other for a few minutes, sharing small kisses and expressing your love for one another.

Months later, Niall’s tour begins. You join him for some shows, but others you can’t attend due to your own work. He has a rotating setlist, but “You Could Start a Cult” is played every night without fail. And every time he sings it, whether you’re in the audience, or thousands of miles away, it’s like he’s singing just to you.

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AN: Thank you for reading! I have a multi-chapter Niall x reader ABO fic planned for the fall!

[emswritingsstuff]

Blood Root (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

summary: bonding with daryl over your cooking

note: another @caseylicious request!! this quite a while in the making and i hope you enjoy, even if it did take forever!! also highkey recommend MF DOOMs special herbs albums because i listened to them on loop while writing this

WC: 3.7k

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Since the start of the camp at the Quarry, you had the job of cooking and making food to go around. You volunteered to do it and loved it, not to mention it made things feel somewhat normal. But, with supplies running low and resources scarce, it got hard to make things for everyone. 

It seemed meat was always in stock; thanks to the Dixons’ hunting and the Harrisons’ fishing, you never really had to worry about losing that. But spices and herbs were difficult to come by, with only a few of you knowing how to identify herbs. Not to mention, spices aren’t a priority when it comes to necessity runs. It was disheartening you had to admit. All you wanted to do was make appetizing food, or at least something better than cooked, unseasoned rabbit. 

Doing research on herbs and plants before the fall through books and such, you knew how to pick out edible plants, including fungus like mushrooms too. With that came the knowledge of harvesting and cooking, which was your favorite part no doubt. But going out into the woods was a difficult task, not because of the potential danger but because you were always needed elsewhere on camp. 

Finding herbs was tough in general, a lot of them blending in with the other plants in the woods. Luckily, mushrooms came easy with how they stuck out like sore thumbs against the green grass and dark trees. The trick was knowing what was edible and what was toxic. Everyone was always skeptical about the mushrooms, not wanting to run the risk of getting sick. Thankfully, Shane could vouch for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bitter that no one took your word for it. But you couldn’t dwell. 

And now you’re here, stressing about the low stock of your cooking supplies and ingredients. A lot of the group was out on a run, meaning you had to pick up the slack when you weren’t cooking. Ultimately meaning you couldn’t go out and look for ingredients yourself, which upset you even more. Sitting with the thoughts racing in your head, making attempts to think of a way to get the things you needed. 

An idea soon struck, and it was honestly a shot in the dark. But it could never hurt to at least ask. 

Daryl Dixon was an expert in those woods, and thankfully the mushrooms you needed were located there. The shaggy mane mushrooms ironically sprout on game land trails, and the oyster mushrooms on fallen trees. It was almost perfect, but the hard part was getting Daryl on board. 

The Dixon’s were loners, and it was respected for the most part. They both had tempers, Daryl being more explosive than Merle. Merle had his moments too, but he was more condescending and somehow irrational than his brother. It was common for everyone to avoid them so as to not piss them off and risk an explosion. And maybe you were risking getting a bad reaction from the younger Dixon, but you couldn’t care at that moment. Desperate to restock the makeshift inventory you had, you would try anything. 

Scanning over the camp to find Daryl, you managed to spot him talking to Shane about the hunt he was about to go on. Bingo. 

When the conversation ended between them, you bolted over to Daryl. Projecting a loud “Hey,” in which he didn’t hesitate to turn around and look at you. Catching up with him, you stopped and caught your breath before cutting to the chase. “I wanted to ask if you could grab some mushrooms while on your hunt? If you see them of course.” Handing him a piece of paper, it had attempted drawings the mushrooms you needed as well as small important details to pick them out. Getting nervous, you attempted to explain yourself, “I would go out myself but with a bunch of people out, Shane has me running around this place like crazy.” What you said was followed by a nervous laugh, watching Daryl as he gave an intense side-eye to Shane. 

Taking the paper from your hands, he looked over it and nodded, “I’ll see wha’ I can get.” Nodding back you handed him a small container, “In case you find them.” Taking the container he offered you a respectful nod before walking off and disappearing the blur of the woods. 

The days dragged on while he was gone, getting antsy to see if he found anything out there. So many bland meals have come and gone, feeling helpless and upset with yourself you couldn’t do better for the group. Amongst all the thoughts, part of you had to wonder if Daryl had even done what you asked in the first place. What if he just said he would get you off his back? What if he actually didn’t find anything? All you could do was wait and dwell on those intrusive “what if” thoughts. 

Right as you started to get lost in your brain, the archer emerged from the woods, a bunch of squirrels roped around his body. Trying to focus on cleaning from that night's dinner, all you did was hope he would make his round toward you. And luckily he did, as soon as you looked back to spot him, he was coming toward you with his bag. 

Glancing at him, you muttered a fast greeting before he placed his bag on the ground and reached into it. “Found the shrooms, got some herbs too. Remember ya talkin’ to Carol about ‘em.” Daryl handed you the container full of the mushrooms and well as a dry rag that held the herbs. Your mouth was agape, in shock he did this for you. Blinking rapidly, you mustered out a speedy “thank you.” Maybe you didn’t show it, but you were ecstatic. 

Dinner the following day was much better than you anticipated. It made you feel like yourself again, the food wasn’t five star quality but you did it. You made it, and the compliments from the group added to your radiant joy. There was one thing that damped your spirits though.

And that was Daryl not coming to dinner. Him and Merle never ate with the rest of the group, usually just grabbing food and leaving, tonight was different. He didn’t come over at all. With Merle being out with the run group, he was all alone. Peeking over at him, Daryl just sat at his spot working on something you couldn’t really see. Unsure if he ate something, you made the choice to prepare a small portion of what you made for the group for him. 

Considering he was nice enough to go out and help find the ingredients, he deserved to try some. And you were going to make it happen. Approaching his space, you stood there for a minute, unsure if you should disturb him or not. It didn’t take Daryl long to notice your presence, stopping what he was doing to look up at you. No words were spoken, just simply handing him the bowl. And he ended up taking it, investigating what exactly was in there. 

Taking in a breath, you finally spoke, “You didn’t come to dinner, didn’t know if you ate or not.” Crossing your arms, you watched as Daryl nodded along and took a quick bite. “Good, it's good.” Daryl's words surprised you, even if they were muffled by the food in his mouth. “Oh, thanks.” Pausing for a minute, you continued to sneak glances while he ate. “Want more?” And by the time you asked, he was a few more bites in, perking up at the question. “Got more?” Nodding, you grabbed the bowl from him and took it to grab him more food. 

As you walked away you smiled fondly to yourself, absolutely thrilled you made the most stubborn person in the group at least a little bit happy. He may not have had a ‘happy’ expression, but you could feel the energy off of him. 

And from that point on, the relationship you had with Daryl bloomed into something more. A sort of friendship, but you weren’t entirely sure if he would’ve agreed with that. 

Nonetheless, since that day at the Quarry, you had grown accustomed to talking to Daryl about random recipes you had made in the past. Or showed him beat-up cookbooks you’d found. Just going on and on about what you could do if you had the ingredients. 

And like clockwork, Daryl magically found an ingredient or two that you talked about on a run. It would always make your day, knowing he was thinking of you and about what you talked about while out there. And without a doubt the dinners were always better. 

Hence, the dinner routine started. Daryl always got to try what you made first, your way of showing gratitude to him. He’d always take what you handed him, sometimes begrudgingly. To him, it felt like you were sort of “babying” him. Also known as, feeding him decent food. 

He tried to act all stubborn and tough, but all the walls came down the minute he tried what you made. More times than not, he would be right over as soon as the group started eating. 

After arriving at the prison, soon came the new opportunities with an almost gated off “community” you all had created. The change was good. Even if it was stressful to get used to at first. As the days went on, the more and more improvements you had made. And the more people that joined. One of the improvements was livestock and gardens. With the help of Hershel and Rick, maintaining both of them was easy and rewarding. 

Meals got better too, suddenly having so much more food and ingredients at your disposal to mess around with. And with that, came Daryl too. 

The so-called dinner routine that had been created between the two of you blossomed to something more than you letting him try the food. Once everybody’s routines got solidified, so did the time for meals. With that came Daryl always somehow being around and getting first plate was given out. 

It was adorable, you had to admit that. Daryl would never outright say it was because he enjoyed your cooking. But all of the signs were there, not to mention he’d try and play it cool every time he stuck around while you cooked. The nonchalant act he was putting out didn’t work on you at all. Not even for a single second. 

“You can just say you like my cooking, you don’t have to race for first plate everyday to show it.” Shooting him a cocky look, he just scoffed in response. “Not tha’. Jus’ got nothin’ better to do,” as you worked you sneaked fast glances at him, a smirk just on your face. 

“Really? Everyday, you have nothing better to do?” Daryl just gave you a “Please shut up” look, which caused you to eventually drop the subject. But an indescribable joy filled your heart every time you saw him waiting, even if he was so stubborn about it.

As the weeks went past, the relationship you had with Daryl grew. It sprouted into something so much more than what you would have ever thought. Amidst all the times he’s helped find ingredients or hang around you while you worked, a new feeling ignited in your chest.  You liked him, and it was a feeling you really couldn’t deny any longer. 

So, you did something about it. A feeling within you told you he felt the same, but the man was so hard to read that you were unsure. And With all the confidence you could muster, you asked him out before dinner one day. A ping of nervousness was there, thinking you misread the signs he was giving. Thankfully thought, you were right. The relationship the both of you had basically remained the same, but with more touches and kissing now. It made you happy, and it made him happy.  

Somehow within all the moments of disappointment and sorrow, you finally had something amazing. Something you never thought you would be able to have.

But like all good things come, they also go. For once you wished everyone would stay the same, thankful for the change you had. but now the prison was gone, and now you all were on the road. After being separated and being held at Terminus, everyone had changed. In one way or another. 

To you, Daryl’s was the most notable, especially after Beth. He was always stubborn, but it wasn’t like him to be so closed off and quiet. The going off by himself worried you as well, but he never wanted you to go with him. Not wanting you to see him in such a way. 

Just as everything seemed to get worse, a man named Aaron came along. Speaking of a community called “Alexandria”. It sounded too good to be true and no one believed it was true. 

No amount of pictures or “brochures” could convince the group otherwise. But Aaron was a man of his word it seemed, ultimately taking you to Alexandria to show you the real thing. 

It was a dream, you swore you had to be imagining the whole thing. Sure you had running water in the prison, and you had other “normal” things. But electricity and hot water was something you never thought could be possible again. And here it was. 

After the interviews, all of you were accepted. Getting jobs or “earning your keep” as they say. Even getting offered a home, which Aaron was kind enough to show you to.

Finally stepping into the new home, it felt even more unreal. Looking around you weren’t sure how to exactly feel about it. Aaron bashfully followed you in, Daryl sicking outside with his crossbow. Aaron slowly inched his way to be up beside you. Looking at him you gestured toward the kitchen. “You weren’t shitting us right? All of this works?” as you spoke you pointed at the oven and stove. Aaron laughed as he crossed his arms, “Take a look for yourself.”  Raising an eyebrow, you did what he said. And to your surprise, it did work. 

“Holy shit?” Aaron laughed at your amazed tone, causing you to laugh with him. “This whole place is for you and Daryl, if he ever comes inside that is,” peeking at Daryl outside you could barely see the top of his head as he sat on the deck. Shaking your head, you muttered a quick thank you before following Aaron outside. 

“There's a welcome party at Deanna’s tonight, all of you are invited. If you want to go,” looking at Daryl, you could see in his face that it was a hard ‘no’ from him. “Think we’ll just stay in, adjust to everything you know,” Aaron nodded in agreement. “I understand, but Daryl,” his head shot up as Aaron addressed him directly. “Stop over at my house at some point, have something to ask and show you,” you could see Daryl’s blank stare as Aaron spoke to him. And as if on cue, Aaron quickly made his leave, waving a goodbye before walking off to his home. 

Walking over to Daryl, you made your place right beside him. Sitting there in silence, you rested your head on his shoulder causing him to wrap an arm around you and pause working. Bringing your hand up, you captured his hand in yours. 

“I know this isn’t what you want, but I think this could be good,” you whispered quietly, causing Daryl to let out a breath. “Judith needs a roof, so does everyone else,” he couldn’t even look at you, almost ashamed. “What about you?” shaking his head, he finally looked at you. “Don’ know,” wrapping your arms around him, you let him bury his face in your neck. Letting your hand play with his hair, you began to speak again. “You should go in the house, get cleaned up. I’ll run to the pantry and I’ll make us dinner,” he grunted quietly but obliged. Placing a kiss on your head and letting himself into the home. Waiting a few minutes, you eventually got up and made your way to the pantry. 

Walking through the streets of Alexandria, it felt peaceful, like nothing can hurt you anymore. It felt silly to think such things, but maybe this place was the safe shelter you’d always strived to have. This was your fresh start. 

Once grabbing everything you needed for your dinner, without any delay you made your way back to the house. Ready to relax after days on the road. 

Entering the home the sound of running water filled your ears, signaling Daryl was in there. Smiling fondly to yourself you walked to the kitchen, ready to start dinner. Just deciding to make plain spaghetti, it was easy and something you haven’t had since the fall. Plus it was romantic in a way, or at least it was considered that in your opinion. 

Cooking up the sauce and meat, you let them simmer together while you start the noodles. Putting on the pot and letting the water boil, and while waiting you lifted yourself up on the counter and sat there. 

Sitting there for a few minutes, Daryl emerged from the hall. His hair was still wet, but he was cleaner and had a fresh set of clothes on. A gleeful smile painted your face as he walked toward you, standing still beside you. 

“Whatcha makin’” his gruff voice broke the silence, him shyly looking up at you. “Just some spaghetti, change of pace from stew and jerky,” you laughed as you spoke, even getting a chuckle out of him. Reaching your hand over to his hair, you ran your fingers through it. “How are you feeling?” 

You could see Daryl biting the inside of his cheek before responding, “Fine, don’ worry 'bout me.” Not wanting to start a bigger conversation he didn’t want to have, you dropped it. Much to your own dismay though.  

As if saved by the bell, the water had started boiling. Hopping off the counter, you placed the pasta in the pot and letting it cook. Daryl remained in his place, watching you work. 

After about a few minutes, you fished out a noodle and rinsed it off so it was cold. Putting it in your hand, he looked at you confused. “Wanna try it? See if it's done?” still holding the noodle, he went to grab it and swiftly ate it. He looked unsure and all you could do was giggle at his demeanor, “Never taste tested a noodle?” Shaking his head with a “no” your face subtly dropped, but you didn't let it ruin the moment. 

“You know, if you throw it at the wall and it sticks. Means it’s done,” getting out another noodle and washing it off, he took it from your hands. Raising his eyebrow looking at you, he threw it at the nearest wall. 

“They’re done,” he pointed at the noodle stuck on the wall. Giggling softly, you made quick work of straining the noodles and mixing them with the sauce. You took the pan with the spaghetti and set it on the table, towel under it so as to not burn the table. Daryl took it upon himself to set the table with plates and silverware, before you could even think about it. 

Both of you sat down at the table across from each other, sitting there for a moment you gestured for Daryl to take his portion first. “Shouldn’t ya? Ya made it,” pointing at him, you quickly shut him up. “That’s exactly why you get the first plate. Now, eat,” Daryl put his hands up in a surrendering motion before making his plate. As soon as he was done you got yours, prompting you to both start enjoying your dinner. 

It was silent, almost a little too silent for you. Daryl’s expression was one that signaled to you that he was thinking about something. Staring at your plate, you waited for Daryl to finish eating before you asked anything. It definitely looked like something was wrong or at least bothering him. And you were tired of waiting. 

By the time he was finished eating, he had noticed you staring. His hand waving in front of your head caused you to look at him, a questioning look on his face. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to speak.

“Daryl, tell me what's on your mind,” instantly freezing, he looked down at the cloth napkin on his legs. Obviously debating with himself on what he should say. “Jus’, thinkin’ about us,” setting down your fork, you took your hand in his. “What about us?” 

Daryl cleared his throat, stalling, still looking down. “No one’s ever done anythin’ like this for me before. Don’ know wha’ I did to deserve it,” his voice was quiet. Looking at him softly, your thumb rubbed his hand, drawing soft shapes into it. Staying quiet, he continued to speak. Just opening up to you at that moment. 

“When mom died, Merle took over cookin’. It was never like this, it’s why I liked ya so much back then.” Looking at his face, the tears in his eyes were obvious. The memories from his childhood were painful, it was a known fact between the both of you. It was rare for him to be so open like this. But it meant he felt safe. 

Bringing up the hand you weren’t holding, he wiped off his face. Sniffling in the process, he apologized for how he was acting, almost ashamed. Reassuring him it was fine, you stood up and hugged him from behind. Planting a soft kiss on his head, and after staying like that for a minute, the both of you separated. 

As you walked away you rubbed his back, picking up the dirty dishes in the process. He was quick to follow you, wanting to help with the cleanup. You almost protested, wanting to tell him you could do it, but he was already washing the dishes. As you watched him, the thought of the change in him creeped into your mind. You knew you might never fully know what was going on with him, and that was his choice, but today was a step forward. And you were thankful for that.