#i am a plant finally in good sunlight!

[mcnecklong]

Sometimes I am so happy and content that I just don't know what to do with myself

[fredwkong]

The Voice in Your Head

Graham was excited about moving into his new apartment. It was in a nice part of town, with good transit access to his job, plus it was pretty spacious for the price. Graham could just picture himself, his plants, maybe a boyfriend, all fitting neatly into the apartment, with its nice hardwood floors and retrofit kitchen.

So, he was quite surprised, on moving day, when the neighbour across the hall grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “There’s something weird about that unit,” the guy hissed in a low voice.

“What are you talking about?” Graham frowned. This guy looked totally ordinary in every way, in his button-up shirt and neatly parted hair. There was no way he was some crazy conspiracy nut.

“The guys who live in there,” the guy continued, seeming frantic, “they change. Most of them get spooked and move out in a few weeks. I’ve never seen one last longer than two months. That’s why the rent is so low.”

“Bull.” Graham tugged himself free. “What is this, some kind of weird building hazing or something? What a way to greet a neighbour.”

As he marched away to unlock the door for the movers, Graham felt his new neighbour’s eyes on his back.

Even though he did his best to put the strange conversation out of his mind, Graham kept thinking about the guy’s words as he unpacked for the rest of the day. He had seemed way too sincere for a prank.

At one point, one of the movers gave a sudden shudder and dropped a box full of Graham’s work shirts and coat hangers. “Sorry,” he muttered, blinking away the wild look in his eyes as his coworkers stared, “there was a...smell.” Graham noticed that he was one of the first to leave the apartment to go wait in the moving van once everything was carried in.

Left alone after the movers set up the basics—bed, couch, dining table, desk, TV stand—Graham stood in the kitchen, trying to recapture his excitement for the new apartment. He couldn’t help feeling like the sunlight through the big windows of the living room looked a little watery, like it couldn’t fully enter the space. Even though it was nice and warm inside the apartment, Graham felt strangely clammy, and he couldn’t settle down.

In an attempt to use the restless energy, Graham paced to the bedroom and cut open his boxes of work clothes. He had a pretty ordinary cubicle job, so there was a certain standard of professionalism to meet, but Graham also loved business clothes. Getting dressed for work, for Graham, was like putting on a professional person, like he could pretend to be someone else for 8 hours a day. He had dozens of slim-fit button-ups for his skinny body, perfectly chosen to match his pale skin. Matching sets of slacks and blazers quickly filled the closet.

The action was soothing, and pretty soon Graham was unpacking his loafers. He’d cleaned them before putting them in the box, but he decided to give them a quick polish before putting them on the shoe rack. As he went to get a rag, Graham suddenly thought, I bet those won’t fit for long.

He stopped, halfway to the kitchen. The thought had been so out of character and strange. But, it sounded like his internal voice. It was a weird feeling.

Don’t worry about it.

Graham shook his head and resolved not to worry about it, grabbing the rag and putting his shoes away.

That night, Graham had trouble getting to sleep. It was like he couldn’t get warm, even under all the covers. He tossed and turned until, finally, he drifted off.

It was still dark when his eyes opened. Somewhere around 4 AM. Feeling strangely detached from himself, Graham swung out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

Looking into the mirror in the darkness, Graham found himself stripping out of his silk pyjamas to see his own skinny, pale body. His lips moved, and Graham heard himself mumble, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

As if puppeted by someone else, Graham’s body moved through a series of bodybuilding poses. “There’s potential, though,” he heard himself mumble into the darkness.

He lifted up his arm and stuck his nose into his armpit, frowning. “Don’t worry, dude, you’re in good hands,” Graham’s voice told him. “I’ll go slow so you don’t get spooked.” Then he chuckled to himself. “Heh, spooked.”

The morning sun had Graham blinking awake. He’d had a strange dream, talking to himself in the bathroom. But as he pushed aside the covers, Graham frowned. He was naked, even though he always slept in pyjamas.

The pyjamas were on the bathroom floor, tossed carelessly. Well, Graham thought, maybe he’d overheated…while on the toilet.

Anyway, he’d been too tired to take a shower last night, but he definitely needed one before work today. Graham stepped into the shower and turned the tap, but was disappointed to hear a gurgling somewhere in the pipes. Only a few drops came out.

One more day won’t hurt.

“One more day won’t hurt,” Graham said, vocalising what his inner voice had said. He would email the building manager and get the shower fixed today. In the meantime, he applied a few extra layers of deodorant and fixed his hair as best as he could.

Still, Graham was self-conscious all day. He dreaded any coworker getting close enough to smell him or notice that his skin was a little greasy. By lunch break, he had rehearsed in his head a whole speech about walking to work to explain why he was so gross. It was a relief when the clock hit 5 PM and no one commented.

The repair man was standing outside Graham’s apartment when he got home, and he let them in. Apparently, there was nothing obviously wrong with the shower. It even ran on the repair man’s first try at turning the tap. Still, the man recommended that Graham put aside some tap water in case it kept acting up. At least he could take a sponge bath.

No problem, it’s not an urgent fix.

“No problem, it’s not an urgent fix.” Graham wasn’t sure why he’d said that. It was like someone else had spoken through his lips. It was kind of urgent to have regular showers. But he shook hands with the repair man and smiled as he saw him out. If the shower was just randomly acting up, he’d learn to adapt to it.

The guy across the hall looked out his door while Graham stood there, thinking through the strange thought he’d had. “You okay?” he asked. “Nothing…weird happening in there?”

Nothing to worry about.

“Nothing to worry about.” Graham smiled at his neighbour. Yeah, he was feeling pretty relaxed. With his move done, he really did have nothing to worry about. He was just jittery about his new place. “Graham, by the way.”

“Leo,” said the neighbour, still looking rather nervous. “You sure? Usually, guys go screaming down the hall their first night, yelling about feet and nightmares, like they're being haunted.”

Not this time.

“Not this time.” Maybe Leo really was some kind of conspiracy theorist. Graham still had more unpacking to do. “Nice to meet you.” He closed the door.

First things first, though, Graham wanted to finally get his first shower in his new place. He went and turned the tap.

Nothing.

Graham took a deep breath to calm himself down and went to fill a pot with water from the kitchen sink.

Hahahahaha. Laughter filled his mind. Graham froze in the middle of the kitchen. No matter what, his mental voice laughing at him couldn’t be a good sign, right?

The only thing to do with a problem is laugh.

That logic seemed sound. It wasn’t the way Graham usually dealt with problems, though. He was the kind of guy who tended to panic at the slightest opportunity.

He must be maturing.

Chuckling a bit to himself, Graham went to get his basin of water for a sponge bath.

The sponge baths really weren’t so bad, and by the time the shower started working randomly a few days later, Graham couldn’t find any of his soap or shampoo. He had a vague memory of dreaming that he’d thrown them out, but that was ridiculous. Every time he thought about getting more bathing supplies, he’d have the thought that it was just a lot of effort. He was doing fine with water alone, why complicate it?

One night a week or so after his move, Graham found himself staring at his ceiling late in the night. He must be dreaming again. He felt his lips move. “I think I’m gonna try moving in for real, just a bit. Don’t mind me.”

Suddenly, Graham’s feet went ice cold, and a strange, wet, slippery sensation slid into his feet. They felt…tight, like they were overfull somehow.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be a tight fit. Don’t worry, I’ll work you in slowly,” said Graham’s mouth.

Still with that strange, distant sensation, as if he wasn’t in control of his body, Graham sat up in bed and swung his feet to the floor. He watched as his toes wriggled and something shifted under the skin. They did look a little bloated. Over several minutes, Graham watched like a passenger while his feet flexed back and forth, looking a little larger with each twist of the arch and ankle. Dark hair began to sprout on his growing toes.

At last, they seemed to stabilise, and Graham’s body lifted his right foot up. A faint, but distinctive, aroma rose from the massive sole. “Mmm, smells like being alive,” said Graham’s mouth with a smirk.

The next morning, Graham laid in bed for a long time. He’d never been a foot guy, so this dream was especially strange. He realised, thinking back on it, that his cock had, in fact, been hard the entire time. There was even a stain in his Calvins—somehow, every night he’d worn pyjamas to bed he’d tossed them off while dreaming—like he’d had a wet dream.

When he got out of bed, he wondered why his feet looked oddly tan against the skin of his legs. And, later, why they felt strangely snug in his loafers. They pinched where they had felt perfectly comfortable before.

When he got home, it was a relief to tear his shoes off, but Graham wrinkled his nose at the sharp aroma emanating from his sweaty socks. That was it, he resolved, he needed to stop procrastinating and wash himself properly again.

But it is sort of hot.

Graham paused as he was about to start making a shopping list. If he really thought about it, the scent was kind of hot. No one had mentioned that Graham wasn’t soaping up his body or deodorizing anymore. The smell from his feet hadn’t bothered anyone. It was like it was his own little dirty secret. Like another role he could play underneath his work role.

And the smell really was sort of attractive.

“New shoes” went on the shopping list.

Some sneakers, too. To get really smelly.

Right, Graham didn’t want to mess up any work shoes as he experimented with this new interest of his. “Sneakers.”

It was like his dream had opened a floodgate. Every night, Graham dreamed of his feet growing erotically, and each day they were just a bit larger, with just a bit more stink built up on them. In his dreams, Graham talked to himself, talking about getting gym equipment, a bunch of new clothes, even about how boring Graham found his job.

More and more, Graham found himself agreeing with his dreaming self. One evening, he put a bunch of gym equipment into his Amazon cart, then turned off his computer. Gym stuff cost a lot of money, he needed to be sure he wanted to buy it. But that night, he dreamed about sitting at his computer to finalise the order, and the equipment arrived a few days later. At that point, it seemed like a waste to return it, so Graham set it up in the spare room, where he had originally planned to have a library.

Books are boring.

Graham had decided books were boring.

Any time he was at home now, Graham kept finding himself thinking, “I should do a few reps.” The results were unbelievable, with muscles thickening all over his body in what seemed like just a few days. It wasn’t long before Graham was outgrowing all of his clothes, quickly wearing out three new pairs of jeans in as many weeks.

Sweats are better anyway.

Graham’s new fitness obsession extended into his dreams, too. The cold, slippery sensation still enveloped his feet every night, but it also covered most of his body now. In his dreams, Graham would feel himself get out of bed and strut to the bathroom to pose and flex as his muscles grew larger and larger, until they bulged off his frame.

Once his muscles had grown thick and tanned dark, Graham’s dreams went in a few different directions. Often, he would watch in the mirror as he sniffed his armpits or feet, jacking the thick, musky foreign cock that had grown in place of his average, cut dick. Sometimes, Graham would hear himself say, “Nah, needs some more,” after sniffing himself. Then, he would go to his home gym and pump out reps until he was coated in sweat.

He always woke up aching and coated in stale sweat after those dreams, with a pungent scent emanating from his armpits and shockingly larger feet.

Every few nights, Graham had a dream where he would run his thick, callused hands over his neck and face, subtly pinching and compressing his face until a handsome stranger looked back at him in the mirror. “There, that’s the real me,” he would say to himself in a deep, smokey voice.

After those dreams, Graham was always surprised to see his normal face in the mirror. And yet, there would be a familiar sharpness to his jaw, or the set of his dark eyebrows, that reminded him of the face in his dreams.

The world outside his apartment felt increasingly strange. It was like a part of his internal voice was missing. He had trouble understanding his own thoughts, now. It was like he was a jumble of two different people. Had he really used to spend most of his free time reading library books? Was he really the kind of guy who didn’t put himself up for a bonus at the end of the year?

The apartment was safe and secure. It was like Graham’s mind was wrapped in calm and good sense as soon as he walked in. His mind spoke louder, which let him make better decisions, like the time that he wore sweats and T-shirt to work. It had made perfect sense when he walked out the door, but then he had stumbled over his words when he tried to explain to his boss why he was dressed appropriately for work.

Long story short, Graham was arriving home early today. He was just unlocking his door when Leo came barrelling up the stairs in running gear. He stopped when he spotted Graham, just stepping over the threshold and into the wonderful calm of his apartment.

“Who are—Graham?” Leo stared at him. “Is that really you?”

Graham looked down at himself, then back over at Leo. “Uh, yeah?”

“No way. You’re so…muscular and tan. I barely recognise your face.”

“Yeah, I had a bit of a growth spurt.” Graham flexed a bicep with a grin.

“A growth spurt powered by anabolics and a talented plastic surgeon, sure,” Leo was frowning at him.

Graham was kind of offended by his rude neighbour. He’d put a lot of hard work into this body!

Yeah, I have. Get him in the apartment.

“Look,” Graham sighed, the words spilling from his lips like in his dreams, “I’ve had a bad day. Just come inside if you want to talk.”

Leo seemed to hesitate, just for an instant. “But that’s the—“

“Either get inside, or get out of my face.” Graham’s voice sounded a bit gruff to his ears, beyond just the depth that it had gained over the months he’d lived here. It was like it was another man’s voice.

Leo shook himself. “Okay.” He steeled himself and followed Graham over the threshold.

Perfect.

“Whew, it’s ripe in here, man,” Leo observed. “Do you ever shower?”

��Just with cold water.” Graham kicked out of his sneakers, freeing his massive, socked feet and stretching them out. More and more, he felt separate from his body, as if he was watching it move. Still, it hadn’t done anything he wouldn’t have done, he thought. He was just playing another role.

“Well, clearly, it’s not…enough…” Graham watched, his mouth held in a strange smile, as Leo seemed to lose his train of thought. The man’s nostrils flared, and he swayed slightly.

“Yeah, not so mighty and judgmental anymore,” said Graham’s voice. “You’ve forced me to move up my schedule a bit, but it’s not a problem.”

Leo licked his lips before answering. “Sorry, sir,” he said thickly.

“You’re the guy who’s been helping my potential bodies escape, aren’t you?”

“I warn them about this apartment…I keep listings for new places they can go…” Leo’s eyes started to clear, and he shook his head. “No, wait, what the fuck—“

In a flash, Graham leapt into action. He didn’t know how he got one of his sneakers in his hand, but he grabbed Leo in a headlock and shoved his face into the putrid interior. “Nuh-uh-uh, no escapes or exorcisms this time,” Graham’s voice whispered, as Leo thrashed in his strong arms. “The more you fight, the more you fall. Isn’t it hot? My sexy, sweaty new body all around you, and the smell and taste of my foot musk all over your face?”

As Graham spoke, Leo’s struggles weakened. Graham watched with amusement as they both slumped to the floor, a rock-hard boner growing in Leo’s running shorts.

Finally, Graham’s grip on the sneaker loosened, even as Leo reached up to hold it himself. “Look, this is all just a misunderstanding,” Graham’s said soothingly. “You’ve thought I was a sexy beast since I moved in, right? You loved my big, musky muscles and my foot stink. That’s why you made up that story about a haunted apartment.”

Leo’s eyes seemed to be rolling uncontrollably in his head, but he nodded.

“Now I’ve finally noticed you and invited you inside. You just couldn’t help yourself, you foot slut. You were gonna tackle me before I gave you that shoe to lick.”

Leo nodded fervently, moaning. A wet spot was forming at his crotch.

“Now we’re gonna go to the bedroom and I’m gonna shove my cheesy uncut cock in that virgin hole of yours, okay bro?”

“Fuck,” Leo gasped, muffled through the shoe. “Fuck yes, Graham.”

“Nah, man,” said Graham’s voice, picking Leo up like he was a doll, “I’d rather you call me Grey.”

As Grey’s thick cock entered Leo, Graham found himself watching as if from outside himself. He could see his own handsome, angular face as he fucked Leo. He could see Grey’s massive, musky feet shift as he gained a better angle to make Leo squeal. He could even watch the dribbles of sweat run over his thick ass as his voice gave short, sharp pants.

“Fuck yeah,” Grey said to himself in a harsh voice, picking up the pace.

“This is my body.”

“This is my fucking musk temple.”

“Made it all by my-fucking-self.”

“Feels fucking good to be alive.”

As Grey buried his thick, musky cock deep in Leo, shaking through his orgasm, Graham found himself back inside his body. Once again, he watched like a passenger as Grey licked his load out of Leo’s asshole, then sent his happy new foot slut on his way with a spare sneaker and instructions to stop using soap and add Grey's contact info to his bank account.

Eventually, Grey lounged on the couch, naked, idly stroking his slimy, still-lubed cock and scrolling through Grindr. “What do you think, Graham?” he said out loud. “Since it's my first night able to leave the apartment, I should go crash some boys’ b-ball game and make some more foot slaves, right?”

Graham couldn’t help but agree. He was just the voice in Grey’s head, after all.

This story is a slightly belated holiday gift for @idesofrevolution! Happy holidays, and here's to a hot and sexy new year ;)

[kedreeva]

The last photos of Stan Lee, the Cameo peacock.

I like to think he had a decent last day. We tube fed him early this morning so he would not feel hungry or thirsty despite that he could no longer find food or water. He spent the rest of the day loafing in the sunlight, surrounded by hens that liked him a great deal because he was always super gentle and sweet to his ladies. He always loved babies, and Aurora's 2023 kids were no exception, and I caught both of them cuddled up to Stan at one point as well. Even though he couldn't see them, I hope he knew he was not alone. I hope that they feel they got to say their goodbyes- I haven't heard anyone calling for him, so that's a good sign.

As the sun began to set, I came out to get him, and he was by himself for the first time, sleeping along the wall in the sun. He didn't fuss when I picked him up, and rode quietly in the car to the vet. He laid quietly in my lap in the waiting room, and I watched a rainbow crawl across his wing and back while we waited. As he fell asleep from the initial sedation, some of the vet staff that had seen him often the last 7 years for his many issues came to say goodbye quietly. They let me stay with him through the Final Sleep, as well, and he went just as quickly and quietly. Perhaps he thought it was time as well.

I am going to miss him like crazy. I never wanted a cameo bird, partly because I know they are prone to carrying health issues and blindness in particular, but he wobbled his way right into my heart once he was in my hands.

I set aside his final train of feathers, along with a good deal of his saddle and some of his neck feathers, as keepsakes. One primary from each wing, some of his actual tail feathers. I will make myself a feather vase from it when I am up to it.

Sark helped me to bury Stan's body beneath the weeping willow sapling we planted last summer. It's near the coops, rather than in the death orchard, as he never particularly liked sleeping near other birds at night, only by day.

It has not been an easy two days, but I know once I have some distance, his memory will certainly be a blessing for me, and for everyone whose lives he touched along the way. His train was always full of hearts from all the love.

[joosthead]

touch tank || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 16S) the classic “oh, let me help you put some sunscreen on” but then the little massage turns into something more

part 2 of just too soft for all of it — this is a standalone fic but both of these are set in the same universe if you want some more : )

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, gets referred to as joost’s girlfriend. notfamous!reader. if you are a person who does not tan/burns—pretend that you can tan easily for this fic😭 exploration into joost and normal!reader’s dynamic. little bit opposite aesthetic reader

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 7.7k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (oily massage, f!receiving oral+eating from back, unprotected piv, outdoors [but still private] sex, creampie), perfect world w perfect temperatures and pools, quite sappy lol didn’t know i could top jtsfaoi but here we are, google translate dutch. note: ice lolly/popsicle in mind. yes this is important. idk if they have these in nl but they do now < 3

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “touch tank” by quinnie, “love is strange” by mickey & sylvia, “pink in the night” by mitski

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i really wanted to combine this with prompt 14 but i couldn't make it work : ( i do have requests for that that i’ll fulfill so stay tuned teehee !! sorry this took so long, i am a perfectionist and absolutely adore this prompt so—here you guys go !! enjoy : 3

₊˚⊹⋆translation: "Kun je me hier voelen, diep in je?" - "Can you feel me here, deep in you?"

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

Because your life is so perfect, the day after your meltdown and subsequent putting back together (courtesy of Joost), your area gets hit with the worst heatwave of the summer. 

You guess that this is some cruel tactic of the universe to make its stars align for you in any way it can. The unbearable beams of sunlight beaming down upon you the moment you exit Joost and your shared home into the backyard. “Are you sure we should have a day outside?” you call back behind you, putting on your sunglasses. “Shouldn’t we just chill inside and watch something?” 

Joost comes up behind you, arm snaking around your waist, lips planted on your cheek in a second. “Some sunlight will be very good for you, you’re always holed up in the office or library,” he mumbles into your shoulder, covered by the baby-blue cotton fabric of one of his button ups. “You can bear it.”

You shake your head, but keep walking forward down the steps anyways, sandals slapping against the small wood deck. “I think the heat might kill me.” 

“It won’t—I won't let it!” Joost exclaims proudly, letting you go and going ahead of you. Even without seeing his face, you know how big of a smile he’s got on his lips. 

The pool sloshes on its own, the aqua blue water spilling over the sides and darkening the gray pavement next to it. On one of your loungers, Joost sets down the tote bag he prepared of towels, sunscreen, the change of clothes you’ll wear when you go back inside. You woke up to it this morning, along with a butcher paper wrapped breakfast sandwich and a glass of water. A text accompanied it—he would be out back, taking the cover off the pool and setting everything up. 

Usually, you're the one setting everything up, preferring to have it your own specific way, but—you chose peace last night, going straight to bed after taking that bath together  After these few years together, Joost may not be as Type A as you, but he can certainly hold his own now around the household. 

Your backyard is a quaint sight: the fence lined with various flower bushes, clean cut grass all around. A tree stands in the corner, roots surrounded by a ring of decorative rocks and pink carnations—there isn’t much either of you have done to upkeep any of it, but somehow, they bloom year after year. Your loungers are baby blue, covered in the towels that Joost has set out, the tote bag spilling over on the left one. 

It's almost like you’ve taken an outing to the beach and you're not in the little old house you’ve lived in for the past few years. Any day with Joost is that extravagant, he makes it that way. Already, you can relax, your shoulders lowering as you sit down on the edge of your lounger and watch as Joost squats, running his fingers along the surface of the water in silence. 

Low on his hips, Joost’s swim trunks are black and needlessly designer, just the way he likes them. He’s shirtless, the expanse of his back to you—his own name is tattooed on his right shoulder in some sans-serif script he must’ve liked before he ever met you, and in this sunlight, you wish in secret to see your own next to it.  

“You’re staring, lieverd,” Joost remarks over his shoulder, giving the water one final splash as he stands up and you smile. 

“How could I not?”

“I’m just too beautiful, aren’t I?” He comes over to you, standing in front of you and shielding you from the sun. “You ready to get in the pool?” 

Behind your sunglasses, you squint up at him and nod. “Put on some music and I’ll go.”

Goofy as always, he salutes to you and marches away like some Supreme swim trunk clad soldier. As he sets up the speaker on the far side of the pool, you unbutton your shirt, get ready to slip off your flip flops, but in your pocket, your phone vibrates. 

You check it—it’s an email from your supervisor, asking you to look over a few files for her. Regardless of your big day out taking up your time…it’s a Saturday. And yet you still find yourself about to respond, about to start typing when Joost places his big hand over your phone screen, saying, “We can look at that later, yeah?” Your grip on the phone loosens; he’s right, you can look at that later. There’s still a part of you that wants to reply, scared of what the consequences will be if you don’t, but—“Today will be great.” Taking your face in his hands, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Come, now.” 

You stand up and he slips off your button up for you, dropping it on the deck chair. You adjust the strings of your bikini; white and blue and flowery, patterned like a delicate porcelain vase, so pretty on you and Joost tells you such.

Turning to him, you hold your hands out to the side, showing yourself off. Joost’s hand comes up to your collarbone to fidget with the matching necklaces you both have that you wear now—pearl pendants in dainty silver cages attached to short chains and these green and tarnished (“well-loved,” Joost calls them) old halves of a “BEST FRIENDS FOREVER” heart-shaped necklace from a Claire’s you both visited on a trip to America. He wears them both today, too, chains intertwined and tangled as always. 

“Do you realize how pretty you are? Zo mooi mijn liefste,” Joost says, taking your hand and twirling you around for a better look—he wolf whistles, and it makes you laugh, cheeks warming with his eyes on you. 

“With how much you tell me, I think I’m starting to realize it.” 

“Very glad,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell you more then.” 

Grinning, you pull away and make for the pool steps, but not before Joost taps you on the ass; you act scandalized, dropping your mouth open, narrowing your eyes at him, but it’s lighthearted, and just makes you want to finish what you started last night. “Smokeshow!” he whisper yells through his cupped hands around his mouth as you walk forward and to the side of the pool—it’s still morning, and your neighbours are weird about noise. This is his version of being considerate of that. Too bad for them that you moved Joost Klein into your once quiet home. 

Dipping a toe into the water, you immediately suck in a breath through your teeth at how cold it is. Even with the tarp and the sun shining down upon it for hours, the water still nips at your skin, something in your brain perceiving it to be freezing and impossible to step into. “Ew,” you mutter, and Joost snickers from behind you. 

“Baby can’t handle it?” he teases. 

“Not true,” you mumble, going down the second step, ankle deep, and immediately scrambling out of the water. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck?” 

“You’re surprised that water is supposed to be cool?” 

“It’s not supposed to be that cool.” 

“Come here.” You turn around, walk right up to him. Even without shoes, you still have to look up at Joost, and he smiles right down at you—you know that’s going to happen. “C’mon. Jump, schatje,” he says, tapping the backs of your thighs, so you do—he can carry you with ease, all the times he’s brought you upstairs this way, all the drunken piggybacks he’s given you. You wrap your arms around his neck, wrap your legs around him tightly, while he has his hands under your ass. “Good, baby.” 

He takes the opportunity to press a kiss to your neck, then starts forward down the pool steps, slowly so you can adjust. “Agh!” you yelp softly as he moves further into the pool, the cold water coming up around your body, engulfing you. The temperature is a shock to your system, though the way it cools your hot skin is so, so welcome. It isn’t as cold like this. 

“Is it okay?” 

“I’m okay,” you say, though you hug him closer to get any sort of warmth on you. 

“Are you sure?” he laughs, and you nod, still clinging onto him like a little bear. “You’re so cute. I think I deserve a kiss for that.” 

“One for carrying me,” you say, kissing him on his soft lips. “Another for setting all of this up.” You kiss him again, and Joost deepens it, somehow squeezing your body even tighter to his, tongue teasing at your mouth as he squeezes your ass, as you rest your hands on his chest.  “Have we ever done it in a pool?” you ask once you pull away. 

“Never.” Joost gives you one last peck, one last kiss on the jaw as he smiles at you. “Do you think today is the day?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.” 

—

After around an hour of wading around—you’ve both decided that today is not the day to do it in a pool. It’s too hot, even with the cold water you’re situated in. Not even your house or the tree in the corner of the yard provides good shade for the water as the day gets later, the sun beating down on your shoulders; it would turn into a burn if you were that unlucky, but you, however, are not. 

In the morning when you first stepped out, the pool was still shaded and you and Joost could do whatever you wanted: breath holding contests, Joost trying (and failing) to do a handstand underwater, racing each other across and back several times like this was some backyard Olympics. After a bit, you floated on your backs together, laughing about what the water feels like in your ears, laughing about how terrible he is at floating. Finally, you felt all of the worries from the past month melt away and into the water as you gazed up at the blue sky above you. 

You heard it before it came—Joost swiping the surface of the water, making a large splash that drenched your face as you floated. You exclaimed, “You dick!” and freed yourself from your float to splash him back in the face hard, then he feigned the hurt and sorrow that fills one’s heart after chlorine fills their waterlines, rubbing at his eyes—you weren’t not going to come over and dote on him, but then he splashed you back as you looked over his red eyes, and it made you splash him back even more. 

Noise be damned, you were both laughing and shrieking and splashing for around an hour—in the midst of your splash war, you noticed how pink Joost’s shoulders were, the beginnings of a nasty sunburn afoot with the afternoon sun shining down on both of you. You shooed him out of the pool and into the refuge of the umbrella covering your lounge chairs, and started to rummage in the bag before he sprung up from his seat. 

“Wait, wait, wait! Before I forget—” Joost exclaims, running back up the stairs and into your house. A minute or two passes, and he comes back with his hands behind his back, closing the sliding door shut with his foot. In front of him, he holds out a twin popsicle—two sticks encapsulated by sweet red syrup and already melting in its package. “Ijslolly!” He presents it to you as he comes down the stairs, then bows to you deeply and dramatically, which makes you laugh. “Here you go, m’lady,” he says, then tips his imaginary fedora to you because. Because of course he would—anyone else, it would make you cringe, but it’s Joost. Perfectly goofy, perfectly sweet, perfectly Joost. 

You laugh as he opens the wrapper and splits the popsicle in two—one for him, one for you. “Thank you, kind sir,” you giggle, playing along. “Where’d you even get this?” you ask, taking your half and licking at the melting syrup already dripping onto your hand. 

“I went to the store while you were sleeping,” Joost says proudly, biting into the popsicle. “It’s strawberry, do you like?” 

Walking forward, you nod and get up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I love.” 

He beams at you, sits down, chomps at his popsicle while you eat yours; he puts his hat and sunglasses back on and you do the same, and you sit together as the music plays for you. 

A new Charli xcx song, Joost and Käärijä’s recent collaboration, an incredibly sexual recent Ski Aggu release that you make a note of texting him “???” about later. 

Before you know it, you’re left with a red-stained stick, a red-stained mouth, a satisfied sweet tooth. “Okay, Joosty. Sunscreen time.” He gives you an exaggerated grumble but sits down at the edge of the lounger nonetheless, and you stand between his legs, taking the sunscreen from behind him and uncapping it. “You need it more than I do.” 

“Shush,” he says, but lets you take out two fingers worth of sunscreen, lets you take off his sunglasses and spread the sunscreen on his cheeks, rubbing it in. You can’t resist him and his pretty face, dusted pink cheeks, ocean blue eyes looking up at you through long blonde eyelashes. 

You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t pay attention to where you’re going—“Oops,” you giggle. “I got sunscreen on your mustache.”

“Oops,” he repeats. “I don’t mind.”

Hands on the backs of your thighs, Joost pulls you close by them and presses a kiss to your stomach, then hugs you tight around your waist. Automatically, your hands come up to play with his hair, combing your fingers through the strands. “All of your sunscreen is going on my stomach, Joost.” 

“Don’t care. You think if I lay out in the sun for long enough, it’ll bleach my hair more?” 

You snicker, “The heat will singe you to pieces before it can even bleach your hair.”

Sighing, he presses another kiss to your stomach. “You’re lucky. You get to tan today.”

“I ran out of my oil in Cuba, Joosty, I can’t.” A couple’s vacation with Appie and Alanis in Havana, feels like so long ago even though it’s only been two months. Fruity cocktails on the beach (and in your hotel room, and at the bar, and in the club, and…), running down hallways, fussing over Joost’s sunburned cheeks, Joost ogling you sunbathing but unable to do anything out of respect for your friends right next to you. You should have picked up another tub, but you weren’t exactly expecting to be tanning back in Amsterdam anyways. 

“You can't, or you won't? Look in the bag,” Joost mumbles into your tummy. You lean over behind him and reach into the tote—most of the other things have already spilled out and onto the lounger behind him: your sunglasses, two droom groot caps, the wrapper of your popsicle, a cheap film camera, and…a brand new tub of coconut oil. Your favourite brand. He must’ve picked it up on his trip to the store this morning, and you laugh, “You're so sweet.” 

“Mm-mm,” Joost hums. “That’s you, lieverd. You should lie down, I’ll put the oil so you can tan your back.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you snort, “Feels like you have something up your sleeve, Klein.”

He grins a toothy smile up at you—“Maybe I do.”

Joost gets up and moves all of the things to the other lounger, allowing you to lie on it on your stomach. You wiggle around a little on it, settling into the soft cushion, your back already stretching with your position. 

“I will be a great masseuse, schatje, don’t you worry. “ Careful not to put too much weight on you, Joost straddles the backs of your thighs. 

“Should I be worried?”

“No.”

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“Don’t be.” From behind you, he gets up, and you turn around to see what he’s doing—he gets your/his button up from the other chair and slips it on. “No more burning today for me.” 

You nod as he settles back on you, and you hear the sound of your little coconut oil tub being opened, the safety seal being ripped off, the clicking of his tongue at it ripping off unevenly. The air is a comfortable blanket of warmth upon you now, your worries melting away with it as you wait for Joost. 

“Can you untie the string around my back?” you ask before you forget. 

A few beats of silence pass until Joost finally says—“What?” 

“Is there a problem?”

“Why untie?” 

Joost’s voice has deepened an octave—almost grave, the tone of his voice is, because all of the possibilities in his mind floating around. Just your bare back and its expanse in front of him.

“I don’t want a tan line,” you explain. “Untie it and I won’t get one.” 

“Okay,” he affirms, though sounding uneasy as he undoes the tight strings of your halter top, the strings around your torso. He swipes them out of his way, and you assume the pause in his movement is to dip his fingers in the coconut oil and warm it up for you. 

Your assumption is right. In a minute or so, Joost’s big hands smooth across your back, firm yet gentle—he knows exactly how to handle you. The oil provides a lovely glide for his palms against your skin, and it smells so great; the pressure he’s applying is perfect on you, and you let out a little mewl of pleasure. The knots in your back are melting away with every swipe of his hands across it and you have to ask—“Where’d you learn to give such a great massage, Joost?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” 

Even if you tried, you couldn’t deduce how he learned to do this; maybe you’re just super tired from the last month (very likely) or he was a masseuse in his past life, but you’re already less tense with his hands on you. He digs his thumbs into the small of your back and rubs circles into it as you sigh in contentment at how it feels.

“I like this song,” Joost mumbles as it changes to this one you found years ago, some song about baby blue shirts, how pretty he looks going down on you.

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Seems very appropriate for the situation, right?” Eyes closed, you smile with his fingertips hovering just above your skin, a pause now in his treatment for you. “Can I…you know…” with his finger, Joost writes a small J, one, two, three times, on your back and sliding with the oil waiting for your response. 

“Massage me for a little more, I’ll think about it.”

“Fine,” he breathes, then gets back to work. 

Joost smoothes his hands over your back muscles; first over the top, over your trapezius, then up to your shoulders. He pinches a little around the shoulders, gliding over the smooth skin there. Hands sticky with oil, the solid melts with the sun-warmed dip of your spine, the valley of your back before him. The dip is perfect to smell, perfect to kiss; perfect to put a light hand on in public and a harsher grip on in private. With every movement of his hands, it smells more like coconut, smells less like you, and Joost has to resist the urge to bend down and nose at it to get your scent back. Every movement is accompanied by a little—a little breath. A little happy sigh from you, and it makes him go insane with every press of his hands against you. 

You’re much more refined than he is, more able to keep it together; if Joost was in your position, he knows he’d be a mess under you, quick and fast and easy. You’re his favourite person—the wave of your hand could bring him to his knees. Taking care of you comes so easily to him, even if he’s so commonly doted upon by other people. This feeling—no wonder you like taking care of him as much as you do. 

Today is so happy, a day that’ll get him through weeks and shows to come without you, long days on the tour bus wishing you could be by his side. Joost got through yesterday, his flight, the ride home using the prospect of you, seeing you, to get by. Then he got home, and seeing you was all he could look forward to after being away for what felt like forever, and he finally did, and he was so overjoyed and then—then you were crying, and he felt so sad that all he could do was hold you. He wants badly to understand why. 

“Can I ask…can I ask why you cried yesterday, lieverd?” Joost adds in a soft voice, still running his hands firmly over your sore muscles, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand. But I’d like to know sometime, so we can help you feel better.”

You’ve known since the moment you started crying that you’d have to talk about it sometime. Sharing everything with each other is the way your relationship is, how it always has been—you thought about it in the bath with him, his chest against your back, deep and tired voice reverberating with it. How to word it as he played the first track on the new album, so crazy experimental and unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before. Thought about it in the pool, thinking about it now. 

“I just…I’m probably the most mundane part of your life. There’s this little voice in my head, maybe it’s what I think people are saying about me—‘You’re telling me Joost Klein couldn’t find someone more interesting?’” You think back to an offhand Tweet you saw come up on your timeline, 10 angry quote tweets already defending you, no likes, but it still sticks to the back of your mind like some aggravating super glue: “‘His girlfriend doesn’t even do music or anything special and she still can't show up for him.’ I don’t travel like you do, I’m not always making music or doing things. And still, I couldn’t be there for you. 

I watch you at your shows and you’re this…enigma, you’re amazing. I want to be as good as you, I wanna show you off like you show me off. But there’s always something in the way. My schedule, or university, or work.” It’s truly difficult now not to feel like you overshared, dumped something on him that maybe you weren’t prepared to dump on him—a cloud shadows the sun, just at the right moment, and the parts of your skin not already touched by the umbrella’s shade are cooled momentarily. “Or maybe I’m just not trying hard enough for you.”

“I’m not flashy,” you say softly, settling on your forearms. “My way of being flashy is the way I love you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever think it compares to how you do it. I feel bad, that’s all. Like I could be doing more for you in every way.” Whatever it is, whether or not you were prepared to say it—it’s out now. “‘Cause you deserve it, you always do.” Blindly, you reach behind you and hold your hand out for him to hold, and he does, squeezing it tightly. Your cheeks warm, and it’s certainly not because of the temperature outside anymore. “I’m sorry I killed the vibe.” 

From behind you, you hear a sniffle, and you raise your head and look back, alarmed. Joost wipes a tear away with his other hand, laughs a sniffly laugh as you laugh, “Joooost. You’re gonna make me cry.”

“No, no, no vibe killing in this house.” You crane your head back again, pursing your lips, and he leans forward so he can kiss you, then peppers kisses until your shoulder, mumbling, “I should be comforting you, lieverd.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Don’t really need to be comforted, just need to get it through my head that it’s not like that. I’m just sad that you’re sad.” 

Joost rubs your back, though it seems like he needs that more than you do if you’re judging by his sniffles and wavery voice alone. “I never knew you felt that way.”

He wraps his arms around your torso, hugging you close and continues, “If it’s any consolation, which I hope it is—you could never be careless. You set out my favourite sleep clothes for when I got back, favourite snacks, plushies on the bed, a place in the dresser for new stuff.” You have to admit—you were pretty proud of that last idea when you came up with it. “You’re thoughtful, and you’re kind, and I’m so lucky to have you. I love you, I love you. I love you.” 

With every “I love you” is a kiss upon your skin that you can’t see, but feel wholeheartedly anyways. “My muse, my saviour,” he says, and you have to laugh a little. “I mean it, you know I mean it.” And you do, you know it—how could you not when it comes from Joost? “You’re the most extraordinary part of my life, schat. Every show, your presence is there with me, even if you feel you aren’t.” 

“Not true,” you say, voice teasing. “That would be impossible, wouldn’t it?” 

You can feel the roll in his eyes from here, even though you can’t see it. “Yeah, yeah. But you know what I mean, right? Best friends forever, that’s what our necklaces say. Always there for each other. You’re always there with me.”

He kisses your shoulder. The oil is strange on his lips, but he doesn’t mind—it’s you. “Nothing compares to you, everything we have together…I hope you know how I feel now.” Pausing, Joost rests his forehead on the back of your head, breathes you in. “I’m obsessed with you, I think,” he whispers into the nape of your neck, then kisses it, and you laugh with the tickle of his lips, his facial hair against your sunwarmed skin. 

“You are? I didn’t know,” you tease, perking your ass up against Joost on top of you because—somewhere in your conversation, he’s gotten hard, and it’s poking against your thigh now, making you bite your lip. Stroking each other’s egos has gotten you both excited, it seems.  “What’s up with that, hm?” 

“You should know. I’m telling you right now, I’m obsessed with you. And this?” Joost grinds his crotch against you just lightly, kissing the side of your neck as he lowers his voice, “This, I like talking about you too much. You can’t blame me for it, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I don’t think I know how obsessed with me you are yet. Tell me more?” 

“Do I have to tell you, schat?” he says, gentle and low, fingering the delicate ties on your sides and the sensitive skin of your hips under them. His fingers drag down the column of your spine, tease at the edge of your bikini. “I don’t think I have to tell you, right? That I love you, need you?” 

“You don’t? Have to tell me?” 

“I’ll show you.” 

You imagine what he looks like behind you—burnt shoulders, rosy cheeks, dark sunglasses, chlorine dried blonde hair all messy and the tips dripping with water still upon the billowy cotton of his button up. Those blue eyes, blown out at the sight of you underneath him, wandering every lovely curve of your body. Slowly, he unravels the ties that hold both sides of your bottoms together, the nylon springing back against your skin, and you fight the urge to smile in anticipation of Joost all over you soon. 

“You don’t want any tan lines down here?” he asks, fingers already underneath the damp fabric of your swimsuit bottoms. You shake your head no. “Ok, then no tan lines.” 

Joost slips the fabric off of your skin; the dampness makes it cling to you still, though it’s easy enough to take off completely. You hike your leg up for easier access, turn your head so you can get a good look at him. In a sort of headband, his sunglasses are perched atop his head; the button up wrinkled and a bit stained with oil; rightfully, his eyes are half-lidded with want, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his trunks.

“What do you want to do?” Teasing him, you run a finger down his bulge and he smiles at you. Truly, you haven’t a single idea about what Joost wants to do with you next, and it looks like he doesn’t either—until his eyes light up, and you figure that tugging gently at his trunks for him can help expedite the process.

“Can I try something?” 

“Go right ahead.” 

You lie in wait as Joost lowers his shorts, erection springing out and his hand coming to wrap around it and give it a few pumps—you reach behind, running a finger down the slit, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he strokes himself, then settles his cock on the soft cleft of your ass and glides it against, between it. 

You laugh, “You’re such a dog, Joost,” but as he ruts gently against you—the little moans he’s doing in your ear, already rambling about how good you feel and he’s not even inside yet, one hand gripping your hip and keeping his cock in place and the other on the back of the lounger so he can keep his balance; this is your personal paradise. 

“Fuck,” Joost whispers, biting his lip. You love a show, and he’s ever the showman—but you’re outside, he’s outside, he’s very aware of your cranky old neighbours, and he loves you and your house. One day, you’ll share the lease together, so he tries and stays quiet for the sake of that dream, so you both won’t get kicked out for verbal indecency today. 

“I know how much you like it, Joost,” you purr from under him, voice muffled by your arms. “You can tell me.” 

From Joost’s point of view, you look like a line in his song, the notes in the margin crafting and tailoring the work to his perfect vision; you look like the fully realized final draft of something he’s been working on for months, trying to find the sound of for years. 

If he could write something about this moment, it would probably result in entire sagas, but for now—keeping you like this close to his chest is a gift only he has. 

“I can’t be eloquent like this,” he laughs, and you have to agree; whatever goes on in that head, he short circuits before he can say it in this state of pleasure. 

Joost pauses his small thrusts, catches his breath. “Go on,” you encourage, but he breathes a quiet, “No. If I go any more, I’ll cum early and that would be so lame, schat.” 

“Not lame. I would personally love to see it.” 

“Mm-mm. We are not doing that today,” he laughs, and the sound makes your heart warm. 

“Put it in,” you say softly, trying to convince him to keep going—it’s so cute how far gone he is already, how hard he’s trying for you. 

“No, no, no. Let me taste you first.”

You cannot argue with that. 

In an instant, you abandon your bikini top, abandon the bottoms too in a crumpled mess on the ground laying on your sandals and his flip flops. “Hands and knees, lieverd,” Joost says, and you follow his direction, settling so you’re on your elbows and your ass is hiked in the air. 

A few moments pass as Joost sits behind you, and you have to ask—“What are you waiting for?”

“Just enjoying the view,” he says, then gives a kiss to your ass cheek, making you giggle. “So impatient today, schat. Is it because I was gone for so long?” Joost moves your knees so they’re spread even wider, giving him more access to you. “How much did you miss me?” A kiss to the back of your thigh, right near your center, your stomach caving in with the deep breath you take in anticipation. 

“I missed you a lot,” you whisper, looking back at him focusing his dilated eyes on your pussy, and your cheeks grow hot at the sight. “Missed you more than you know.”

“Did you?” He licks a tentative stripe up your slit, up even higher over your hole—so sensitive, your knees could shake with only the tip of his tongue teasing you. “Show me, let me hear it, lieverd.” 

“Joost,” you scold, though your arching back reveals your true feelings about what he’s doing.

“Sorry, can’t resist.” He presses a kiss atop it before coming back to your pussy.

So exposed, so vulnerable, so open, Joost’s fingers parting your folds. He spreads them gently so you’re even more open to him and licks in between, drinking from you. The smacking of his lips against you—it’s filthy. You’re so cognizant of the sound; is it unmistakable from outside, Joost’s tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers rubbing circles on where he can’t reach? You hope the sounds of the city outside your flat cover the mewls that spill out of you as he lays his tongue flat against it and laps up your wetness. 

“I think we should get you more tan in the front, too, right, schatje?” Joost says, breathless, and you flip over, laying on your back for him. Before he can get back to business, you cup his chin, pinching it gently between your fingers. His lips are covered in your wetness, glistening with it in the sunlight. You pull him to you, bringing his lips to yours, the salty taste of yourself on your tastebuds, on your chin as well now. 

This all makes you realize—you weren’t wrong at all for missing him so terribly. 

When you pull away, Joost pauses, gazing at your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. On top of you, lying partly on you, he cups your cheek, silver chain resting on your chest, the pearl pendants and the halves of one heart of the matching necklaces you own together right next to each other. 

“Zo mooi,” he says quietly as he lowers down, kissing your chest right next to your pendants, kissing down between the valley of your breasts, maneuvering so he can graze your nipple with his teeth, flatten his tongue over it. His hand comes up to cup your other breast as he sucks at the bud, then sucks at the skin next to it; that will leave a mark tomorrow, a sweet reminder of your time together. 

Finally, he’s satisfied with his work on you and starts down your body, kissing your stomach, your hips. Before you can even process it, he folds you in half, hands on the backs of your knees; licks one long stripe through your folds, then attaches his lips around your clit, sucking it, forcing a loud and choked moan out of your mouth as he alternates between licking hard at your bud with the tip of his tongue and sucking.

Joost is a fiend for it, devilish look in his eyes, smile on his mouth even when it’s pressed up so close against you—his fingers tease at your dripping wet hole, then his middle fingers are inside you, and then he’s there to the knuckle and petting at your g-spot incessantly. 

Joost knows you inside and out; can already tell that your pretty hands resting on the back of his head and holding him there will result in your fingers tangled in his hair and tugging lightly; knows that a few more seconds of his curling fingers and his tongue on you will make you try and push against his hand still holding you open with your thigh, you’ll fail to do so, and be happier for it. 

You’re too lost in your pleasure to look at him like he wants you to. No matter—you’re a beautiful sight coming undone for him, eyes closed, chest heaving with your breaths, a slight sheen to your skin. “Joost,” you sob quietly as he continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, continuing to lap at your pussy like he’s trying to quench an unquenchable thirst. 

“Mhm? Do you like it, schat?” Joost says against you, the vibrations of his deep voice making you twitch. You nod, and there it is—he pauses to smile when he realizes you're holding his head in its place, burying his face in your center. Who is he not to give you what you want? He drinks you in, and it makes you moan louder. “Keep quiet,” he mumbles. “We wouldn’t want the neighbours to hear, now would we?” 

You’ve come back to reality enough to nod, quiet down a little, but after a few more seconds of him sucking your clit, pistoning his fingers in and out of you, you cum, saying his name over and over again, then whispering it once you realize that yes—you’re still outside. Joost presses one last sloppy kiss against your overstimulated bud, and you nudge his face away with your fingertips, laughing breathlessly. 

Joost laughs too as he settles his cheek on the inside of your thigh, peppering soft kisses to it as he gazes at you; the look in his eyes is so tender, you almost want to look away, but you don’t. You’d take a picture if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious what you were doing before. You cup his other cheek, and he nuzzles further into your thigh, eyes closed. 

For a few moments, you stay like this, catching your breaths, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm together. After a little, Joost wipes his mouth and his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Owie,” Joost winces, reaching back to rub over the spot on his head where you pulled on his hair. “You really enjoyed that, schatje,” he smiles, climbing up over you. 

“I'm sorry,” you say softly, putting your hand over his as he lies down on you, head on your chest. “I shouldn’t have tugged so hard.” 

“It’s okay, it was worth it.” You pet his hair—Joost is so warm, the air is so hot around you, but you’ve never felt better. “I’m so hard it hurts, schat,” he mumbles, and you laugh as he shifts around on top of you, erection through his shorts poking your thigh. 

“Let’s fix that?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

With quickness, Joost is up and off of you, straightened on his knees and parting yours, but you sit up. Hooking your fingers on the waistband of his trunks, you pull them down slightly, pulling him in to kiss you as you pull them lower, letting his cock spring out as you kiss sloppily, strawberry stained tongues meeting. You wrap your hand around his thick shaft, run your thumb over his weeping pink tip to spread around the precum, which makes him groan into your mouth, makes your teeth knock together. 

You stroke him a few times, Joost’s hand resting at the base of your neck. It’s like time slows down when you pull away from him and watch him and his furrowed blonde brows, the way his lips are dropped open, the pink blush of his skin creeping down his neck to his chest with all of this exertion. 

Joost opens his eyes, catching you gazing at him intently, and he brings his forehead to yours as you keep jerking him, and holds your face in his hands. “Catch me if I fall?” he asks, and you laugh. 

“So dramatic.”

“You don't even know, dude.” A few more kiss-filled seconds pass until Joost finally calls it—“Enough, baby, I need to be inside of you now, please.” 

Nodding, you lie back, opening your legs for him. He sits back, stroking himself. “No crying today, hm, schat?” Joost says as he takes his place between your legs. “No crying unless it’s out of pleasure, of course. Or if you want to cry out of sadness, that’s okay, too.” 

“I’ll take note of that, thanks,” you smile as Joost lines up with your entrance, lying over you. You slip your hands underneath his shirt, fingers running over Rayquaza, his skin piping hot on yours. The pool still sloshes, the sun is much higher, he's inching his cock inside of you and saying something in Dutch that sounds like whatever is equivalent to “fucking Christ,” his face screwed up in pleasure. 

“So warm,” Joost practically whimpers, and you both know that he certainly didn’t mean to say that in such a whiny tone. “So warm,” you laugh, making an exaggerated moan to tease him as he covers his face with his hands and laughs with you. 

“Shut uppp.” Another inch inside you, so deep. “I wish you could feel how it feels, it’d change your life.” Every vein and ridge on his cock, you can feel as you envelop him fully. “You changed mine,“ he says, and it makes your heart soar. “Over/under, 3 minutes, schat?” 

“Under. Over/under 30 seconds?” 

“Under. Maybe. Jesus fuck, you feel so good,” he laughs, breathless. “So tight, you’re amazing.” Joost goes silent as he fully bottoms out in you, but a few moments pass, and he states like he’s been thinking of it the entire time, “Lowkey, I wish we had one of those squeeze bottles,” he makes a disturbingly good squeeze bottle sound with his mouth, “Pfft-pfft. We could be oiled up super quick if we did. Maybe for next time I give you a massage.” 

You give him a puzzled, amused look—you know him like the back of your hand, but where his mind wanders sometimes, you aren’t sure. “I just don’t know,” you laugh. “Maybe we can workshop that idea.” Joost grinds himself against your clit, and you moan into his mouth as he comes down and kisses you. 

Joost fucks you like you both have all the time in the day to be here—as far as either of you are concerned, you do. Long, languid thrusts that you both watch as his cock disappears inside of you, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your clit. The wet, hollow slaps of his hips against your ass are filthy music to your ears; you pant into each other’s mouths, close enough to touch, but not wanting to for the sake of watching each other, eyes open. 

You snake your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as his thrusts become shallower, quicker, erratic, punching into your g-spot. Without warning, Joost straightens up, exiting you fully, then lifts your hips up to meet him where he is, his shaft rubbing against your clit. 

“Ik hou van je, lieverd."

“Ik hou van je, Joost, I love you so much.” 

Joost’s face lights up then melts once he hears you speak Dutch—it’s so cute, like a little surprise for him even though you try to speak it with him regularly. Since it’s easier for you to express yourself in English, he'd rather you just speak Dutch at work and school like you already do, but the excitement in his expression when you do speak it is priceless. 

He sinks inside you once more, a loud shared moan between you two; this angle allows him to be deeper inside you than before. You tighten around him, and he sighs in pleasure. Joost splays his fingers out on your belly. “Kun je me hier voelen, diep in je?” 

“Ja, je voelt je zo goed, schat,” you breathe. Your praises seem to incense him to thrust into you firmly, out, in, out, in, sloppy, though you can’t blame him. Still, the head of his cock hits your spot with every seat of himself in you. He smoothes his tattooed hand over your chest, your erratic heartbeat probably felt through to his palm; he moves up to put his thumb in your mouth, and eagerly, you suck as he fucks you. Anything to quiet yourself, anything to have more of him inside of you. “I’m close, Joost,” you say once he moves his hand to your shoulder for leverage. 

Nodding, he says, “Me too,” keeping the pace, smearing more of your wetness over your clit so his fingers slide over it better as he rubs it for you.  

A few more reckless thrusts, your arms flying up around his neck for support, lips catching each other’s, swallowing each other’s moans. That familiar tugging feeling in your stomach grows and grows until you can’t ignore it anymore, your core tightening, your pussy tightening around him as you gasp out his name over and over again with your climax, and he gasps out yours. He’s not finished yet, but his hips have lost the rhythm they once had, his control over his impending orgasm with how you’ve constricted around him. 

“Schat, hold on for me a little.” 

“I should be telling you that,” you say, though you understand—the overstimulation of his cock dragging against your insides is getting to be a lot. You hug him close, your lips right next to his ear, his panting breaths right in yours as he ruts into you. “Cum inside me, Joost,” you whisper, and with one last deep thrust inside of you, he cums with a groan, with a breathy moan of your name, clutching your body tightly in his hands as he shoots inside of you, cock pulsing; so warm, being filled up like this, no space between you two, his stuttering hips fucking back into you for a few final thrusts.

In each other’s arms you lie there, panting—sweaty skin on sweaty skin, music still playing from the speaker, him softening inside of you. Joost kisses you deeply, kisses your cheeks, your chin, and you smile. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted and more, schat,” he says into the side of your neck. “Don't forget that.” 

thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) - juno

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 18

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: extremely soft

A/N: An epilogue to end our story, I'll reblog later with all of my thank yous. For now, this final chapter is dedicated to @mrsmando ❤ and her big giant heart, for whom this story wouldn't exist without.

Series Masterlist

-

FIVE YEARS LATER 

“Honey?”

Placing his keys on the table in the entryway, Joel tilts his head to the side and listens. Silence greets him instead, but it’s a warm one. Peaceful.  

Sunlight streams through the open windows in the living room, and he walks through the beams of soft light towards the back of the house, passing through a scene of domestic disarray: a blanket tossed over the couch, toys scattered on the living room floor, small shoes that he bartered for last week kicked off and tossed on the stairs. Bending down to scoop them up with a sigh, he carries them into the kitchen. Placing them on the table, he looks around for any sight of you. 

The backdoor ajar, he heads into the backyard. 

“Honey?”

“Yea?”

Calling to him from the middle of the garden, he spots you with a smile – right as a small body crashes through the bushes with a shriek. Running straight for him, Joel automatically holds his hands out to catch June, but she looks behind her and screams, dodging his reach instead. Another child comes through and then another; a game of tag that’s crossed borders between the houses. 

“Hey! Stop runnin’ through! Just go around em’!”

You stand from your place in the garden, picking your way carefully through the sprouting plants. Your face and shoulders come into view first, and then your stomach – the soft swell only just beginning to show. At the sight of it, he visibly softens and comes over to help you, lending you his hand. 

“You sound just like a cranky old man,” you tease, brushing the dirt from your knees. Looking up at him with a squint against the sun, you grin and mime shaking a fist. “Stay off my lawn!”

“Well I am an old man,” he says wryly, defending himself. “Besides, all I need is for a kid to get hurt bustin’ through those bushes like that.”

He looks over his shoulder and surveys the damage for a moment; the squall of children slightly muted from the front yard. Bringing his eyes back to you, he steps closer and reaches for your bump, splaying his touch over it. 

“How we feelin’ today?”

“Oh god,” you answer with a sigh. “Tired.” 

Letting your head drop forward, you rest it on his shoulder. His hands glide smoothly from your stomach to your hips, encouraging you to lean into him and you do, pressing your cheek against his chest. Warmth radiates through the material of his shirt, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. Sunshine, sweat, the faint smell of the stables and the horse he rode today while on patrol lingers in the fabric, and your body relaxes against his. 

“How was your day?” you murmur. 

“Good. Tommy n’ Maria wanna know if we can come over for dinner this week. Guess she’s been askin’ for that dessert you made last time, wants to know if you can bring it over again. What was it called?”

“Brown sugar pie.” You burrow even closer against him, and his arms slip around your back in an embrace. 

“That’s the one.”

“I think I have everything I need for it. I can do that.”

“I told him I would let em’ know tomorrow. Got patrol with him again at dawn.”

You look up at him with a pout. “So early again?”

He says nothing, bending to press his mouth to your forehead. 

“I miss you in bed when you leave so early in the morning.”

His kiss drops lower, catching your nose.  

“You know I like curling up next to you. You’re like a human furnace.”

The edge of his mouth lifts. “I know, I like it too. But duty calls and all that.”

Presenting your lips for a kiss, he grants a lingering, full press of his mouth to yours and then pulls back. 

“You need me to carry anything into the house?”

“I don’t need that kind of help just yet,” you reply. 

He puts his hands up in defense with a smirk, taking a step back. “Just askin’”.

You wave him away, turning back towards the garden and he turns to head into the house, calling over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna take a shower. Is he sleepin’ inside?”

“Yes,” you call back. “Try to be quiet when you go in. He kept me up most of the night, so I know he’s tired too.”

Nodding, he catches the screen door before it smacks the frame behind him and quietly heads upstairs.  

The bedroom is scattered with the same lived-in mess that downstairs is: the quilt thrown back over rumpled sheets, his sweats on the floor, a scatter of items on the dresser. Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off in a smooth motion, and tosses it on the bed before sitting down with a soft groan, bending forward to unlace his boots. 

His bare back is littered with long ago healed scars, one of them pulling tight across his flank. Sitting up with a stretch, he rubs at it with his hand, the muscle underneath sore from so much time spent in the saddle. Heading into the bathroom, he tosses the rest of his clothes into the laundry basket and steps into the shower, letting the water beat down on his lower back.

Four years in, and he still lets out a sigh of appreciation every time. 

Done and dressed in fresh clothes, he pads around the bedroom in bare feet gathering the rest of the laundry. A mix of his and yours, a threadbare blankie that needs washing, a sleeper on the dresser. Tossing it all into the basket, he goes into June’s room to do the same. 

Picking up the small guitar she plays with while he practices on his own, he places it carefully against the corner of the wall and gathers the laundry she’s left at the foot of the bed. The room reflects the girl herself: purple walls, drawings taped up on every surface, a butterfly suncatcher that hangs in her window scattering rainbows over the floor. 

Hearing muted babbles from the next room over, Joel grabs a shirt off the floor before heading over to the closed door. Opening it, he’s greeted with a grin. 

“Hey big guy," he says lowly, setting the basket on the floor, peering over the side of the crib. Built by Joel shortly after you arrived in Jackson, he thumbs at the mending it needs on the corner, thinking about how it’ll need to be moved into the bedroom in about five months. 

Still puffy with sleep, the boy’s face resembles yours so much that Joel’s eyes crinkle with affection. “You ready to get up?”

One hand holding the basket and the other one dangling to let his son grasp it, they slowly navigate the stairs together, entering the kitchen just as June comes through the back door with you right behind her. 

“Someone woke up, I see,” you coo, scooping the toddler into your arms. 

“You done playin’ tag, June Bug?” Joel asks, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Yea. The other kids had to go home for lunch. Can you make me something to eat, Daddy?”

Routine takes over, the afternoon sliding into the evening, twilight descending around the house. The picture window in the front is a beacon of light; figures moving around inside. Dinner, playtime, bathtime. A freshly bathed June and Henry – Hank, for Hank Williams – in Joel’s lap on the couch while he reads them a book, the gentle clink of dishes being washed sounding from the kitchen.

After the kids are tucked in for the night, you find him on the porch. Pulling his flannel tight around your torso, you take a seat next to him and he wordlessly drapes his arm across your shoulders, tucking you close. Handing him a well worn mug with an owl on it, he hums with approval when he discovers the whiskey inside. 

“I saw the midwife today,” you say, spreading your fingers over your bump. “She said everything looks good so far, and gave me something for the heartburn.”

“Is it still real bad?” he asks, and you nod. 

“She says that it’s a sign it’s gonna be a girl,” you smile at him, shrugging. “I don’t remember having it too bad with June though, so who knows.”

Watching your fingers smooth your shirt over the small bump with a rub, the action moves in time with the slow rocking of the bench. Another sip of whiskey, and Joel thinks about how much has changed between then and now: a fleeting image of your younger face, a picture of a river, a cabin just beyond.

The comfortable silence between the two of you lets his mind continue to roam, the memories coming in flashes: the trek across the country, the simultaneous relief and on-edge anxiety he felt when the walls surrounding Jackson first came into view. A familiar voice calling through the fog, one he thought he’d never hear again. Favoring his left side due to a deep gash still healing from an encounter with raiders, warmth slipped from his eyes as he clutched his brother tight, unwilling to let go. 

The same brother he saw just this morning, and who he’ll see again tomorrow. 

“You’re so different than the guy I left all those years ago,” his brother said later on, and Joel had said nothing, just lacing his fingers with yours. 

He is different. 

The years have softened him around the edges, or maybe the kids have. Or maybe it’s you.  

Relaxing into him, his cheek comes to rest on the top of your head.

“You tired, honey?”

“Yea.” The word slips out, the edges rounded. “But keep rocking me?”

Fireflies spark and dance in the air, the wisps of a song caught on the wind from the neighbor playing their radio next door. Your profile is highlighted with the softened light from inside, your cheeks plump with health and happiness and enough food, the frown lines from ever present anxiety smoothed away years ago. He gently collects the soft hair at your temple with a soothing stroke and your eyes flutter shut. 

His boot pushing off the wooden floorboards of the porch, he rocks and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, letting the gratefulness pass through him. 

The old life feels like a dream, or maybe this is the dream – with a wife sitting safe and sound beside him, on the porch of a home filled with his children. 

Everything possible because you imagined it possible. Everything here because of you.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, and you nod, not moving. 

The edge of his mouth lifting in a smile, he tucks you in closer and rocks.

THE END

[twst-drabbles]

Silver 7

Summary: Sleepy morning kisses with Silver. With a trail of pets behind him waiting their turn.

(Originally was going to write some hardcore angst regarding Janitor Prefect and their time travel shenanigans, but eh, lemme get this light piece out first before that. It’s Lilia and Janitor angst if you’re wondering. Anyways, enjoy this cuteness!)

Silver always had this strange sense of when you wake up. He didn’t even need to be looking at you. You just take in a deep breath and Silver would zip right by your side in a moment, no matter what state of being he’s in.

Sunlight hit your eyes, dragging you from whatever senseless dream you had, and within seconds Silver walked to your side. He bent down to your face.

“Good morning,” his voice was gentle, pleasant as he smiled. He reminded you of iridescent soap bubbles reflecting light. Smelled like them too.

Wait.

“Did you just get out of the shower?” You squinted, voice gravely with sleep. “You just have a towel on.”

“I heard you waking.” Silver leaned in and pressed a kiss against your lips. “I can’t start my day without this.”

A gentle kiss on the lips, then two on both cheeks, then finally ending on one on the forehead. The same kisses you give him right before you both go to sleep.

“Of course you can’t,” you sighed as you pushed a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Morning by the way. What time is it?”

“7:01 AM,” Silver didn’t get up. Instead he laid his head on the bed. His eyes were always a marvel to you, glowing with an affection you still have trouble understanding the depths of. It’s nice.

“Later than usual, huh?” Usually he wakes far earlier for his morning training regime. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can catch the plant nymphs copying his moves. Well, Ace and Deuce mostly. The rest usually just sit there, watching for trouble.

“Sebek’s a little tired from following Malleus around.” Silver pulled the blanket over your shoulder, stroking a thumb over your jaw. “I figured I could sleep in a little.”

“That’s good, that’s–” there was a squeak and you had to lift your head, “…seems they’re awake now.”

Behind Silver, on the nightstand where you had a lamp and a couple of books was Malleus, Lilia and finally a very sleepy Sebek. Poor little critter was practically falling asleep on his feet. Lilia was looking fluffier than usual, smile curled in that eerily evil way. And Malleus was looking a little sleepy grumpy, but not quite enough to stop him from looking tall and proud.

“…they formed a line,” said Silver.

“That they did.” How cute. It’s rare for them to behave.

“They want their morning kisses,” chuckled Silver.

“Yup.” Because it’s become a routine for all of you. For Silver to greet you in the morning this way, and for the rest of the pets to come in and get their own kisses in turn.

“Let me grab a few more first.”

“Put on clothes first, Silver.”

[archiveikemen]

Harrison Gray 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story (2024)

Chapters 1-3

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

1st Birthday Campaign Story

I opened my eyes to the feeling of warm sunlight hitting the back of my eyelids, and saw Harry’s sleeping face.

(We fell asleep without getting dressed. Both of us have been really busy lately and haven't spent much time together, so we got a little too carried away last night…)

We finally had some quiet time last night and spent it together, but— 

Harrison: Mm…

Kate: Good morning, Harry.

Harry, who had woken up once, frowned and shut his eyes again.

Harrison: … Good night.

Kate: It’s morning already. Please wake up.

Harrison: It’s my day-off today…

Kate: Harry! Wake! Up!

Harry finally opened his eyes when I yanked the sheets off to cover my body.

Harrison: You look amazing this morning, trying to seduce me? 

Kate: I-I’m not!

Harry, groggy from being woken up, planted a kiss on my cheek.

Harrison: Sure looks that way to me, though.

Kate: Mmph, Harry!

He distracted me with a kiss on my lips and reached for the sheets covering my body.

Kate: N-No! 

Harrison: … Is it because I went too hard on you yesterday?

Kate: That’s not the case. 

Our interactions since morning filled my heart with both joy and embarrassment, but—

Kate: We made a promise to prepare for your birthday together this year! 

Today's date is the 29th of May, a day before Harry’s birthday.

I tried to secretly plan a birthday party for him last year, but…

= Flashback Start =

Harrison: You’ve been avoiding me all day because you’re planning a surprise birthday party for me, am I right?

= Flashback End =

(The cake remained a surprise, but he easily found out about the party.) 

I thought about how to go about the birthday party preparations this year, and decided that we would prepare for it together. 

(Avoiding Harry while preparing for the surprise party made me feel guilty, so I’m glad I don’t have to do that again this year.) 

(Moreover, Victor gave us two days off. That means we can be together throughout.)

Harrison: Where do we start?

Kate: First of all—

…

Kate: We’re baking the cake together this year! 

After arranging the ingredients and equipment on the counter, Harry picked up the cake mould.

Harrison: … Isn't this too small?

Kate: I think it's enough, but would you prefer to have a bigger cake? 

I baked a five-tier cake with Crown’s help last year, but we’re baking a single tier cake this year. 

(Harry loves sweet foods, so he probably wants more cake to eat.)

Harrison: Knowing you, you definitely put a lot of thought into choosing this size for the cake. 

Kate: Huh… 

Harrison: I’ve never baked a cake before, so I guess this might be the right size. 

I felt a wave of affection wash over me as I watched him put the mould back and think with his hand on his chin.

(Harry is always respectful of my thoughts.)

I tried my best to keep myself from smiling while reflecting on the kindness my lover always treated me with.

Together with the rather adorable Harry whose hands were unfamiliar with baking—

Kate: It’s done!

Harrison: My arms are sore from whipping the cream.

Kate: You were the one who decided to make so much cream because you wanted more to eat…

The cake with a generous amount of fruits as toppings looked good enough to be displayed at the storefront of a bakery. 

Harry scooped up a mouthful of the leftover whipped cream from the bowl with a twinkle in his eyes.

Harrison: Open your mouth, Kate.

Kate: Yes? Mmph.

He shoved the whipped cream into my mouth, some of it getting onto the tip of my nose.

Harrison: Pfft… 

Kate: Goodness! Don’t just shove it in my mouth like that all of a sudden!

Harrison: Haha… my bad. Here.

Harry’s face drew closer and he licked the cream off my nose.

Harrison: Mm… sweet.

Harrison: So? What are we doing next? 

…

Kate: Next, we’re picking out a present for you!

I walked briskly through the shopping street, pulling Harry along behind me by the arm.

Harrison: We don’t need to rush. It’s not as if anything’s going to run away.

Kate: But what if the item you like gets sold out? 

Harrison: What do you think I’ll choose as a present?

Harrison: … You’re being especially energetic this morning.

Kate: Of course I am. Today’s the day before your birthday. 

Harry stopped walking and gave me a wry smile.

Kate: … Are you going to laugh at me?

Harrison: Yeah. 

Kate: It’s been a while since we last went out together like this. We rarely get the chance to spend full days together, you know? 

Kate: Even though this is to celebrate your birthday, it also feels like a reward for myself… 

Despite living in the same castle, I knew from before we started dating that we wouldn't always get to be together. 

(Harry’s missions and his job as a proofreader have been keeping him busy…)

Moreover, we’re total opposites of each other, so we often did our own things separately even on our off days.

We had a relationship where we respected each other’s likes without restricting our actions, and it suited us perfectly.

(But, still, spending time with Harry is my ultimate favourite.)

I stole a glance at Harry next to me and saw him frozen in place with his mouth opened, but he soon snapped back to reality and sighed.

Harrison: … That’s fine, no?

My cheeks started to burn when I noticed that his ears were red although he tried to hide his face.

Harrison: What are you turning bright red for?

Kate: P-Pardon me. 

Harry took my hand with his usual carefree smile, our fingers intertwined.

Harrison: … Being with you makes me happy too.

Kate: What…

Harrison: Was that a lie or the truth?

Kate: … It’d be nice if it were the truth.

Harry pulled the hand he was holding.

Harrison: Then enjoy yourself to the fullest without worries. I’ll do the same. 

We spent our date looking at clothes and going to a cafe, but…

…

Kate: Are you sure that’s all you want for your present? 

The book in Harry’s hand was a recently published mystery novel.

Harrison: Yeah this is what I wanted the most. Thanks.

(As expected, he chose something that doesn't cost much.)

He seemed to notice my disappointment that he chose an inexpensive present. 

Harrison: Isn't it the sentiment that counts, and not the price? 

Kate: That’s true, but… 

Harrison: All that matters is that you bought it for me. 

Harrison: Besides… I’ve already received more than enough from you.

(What does he mean by that?) 

When I cocked my head in puzzlement at Harry’s words, he stroked my hair fondly.

Harrison: Give it a good thought, okay?

He took his hand off my hair and held my hand.

Harrison: Alright, what’s next?

Gazing at Harry’s profile under the light of the setting sun, I took a deep breath.

(It’s okay, he hasn't seen through my “lie”.)

(I hope this lie remains hidden from him for the rest of the remaining hours.)

…

Afterwards, we enjoyed the dishes Victor prepared for Harry’s pre-birthday celebration.

…

Harrison: We’ve been out and about all day. 

Kate: Are you exhausted?

Harrison: A little, but it's not too bad. 

Kate: Fufu… I feel the same.

Kate: I’m looking forward to tomorrow.

Harrison: Yeah. 

Kate: Eh…

Harrison: What’s wrong?

Kate: Nothing… I was just surprised to hear you say that you’re looking forward to it…

(Harry has always been one to think that he doesn't deserve to celebrate his birthday.) 

No amount of imagining how his past birthdays must’ve felt like to him would make me truly understand.

Last year, I tried my best to make his birthday special without having to lie to him,

(But he didn't say that he was looking forward to his next birthday.)

Knowing Harry now thought of his birthday as something to look forward to filled me with so much joy, I felt a twinge in my nose.

Harrison: … Sorry to interrupt your emotional moment, but can I have what I want the most?

Kate: Whoa!

Harry suddenly pulled my arm, making me lose my balance and fall onto him.

He gently caressed my waist as he held me close enough to hear his heartbeat. 

Harrison: … I want you. May I?

I nearly nodded in response to Harry’s whisper in my ear,

Kate: N-Not yet! 

Harrison: … You're hiding something from me, aren't you? 

Right when I thought I was in trouble, there was a knock on the door.

Kate: Be right there!

Harrison: Huh…?

I swiftly got out of bed and went into the hallway where a maid handed a tea trolley to me.

I expressed my thanks to her before pushing the trolley into the room and parking in front of Harry, who stared wide-eyed at it from the bed. 

Kate: Harry! Happy birthday!

Harrison: What’s with that cake? 

His eyes fixed onto the six-tiered cake on the tea trolley with the cake we baked together at the very top. 

Kate: … I’m sorry, Harry. I lied to you.

I raised a finger.

Kate: The truth is, I had Crown bake the other five tiers.

Kate: But I knew that if we did the same thing we did last year, you’d figure it out.

Kate: That’s why, this year, I decided to make a cake together so that you wouldn't find out about it. 

While Harry remained astonished, I pulled out a refined black box I had kept hidden. 

Harrison: … What’s that? 

Kate: There’s one more thing I hid from you. Actually, I’ve already bought you a birthday present.

I opened the box to reveal a mint coloured fountain pen.

Kate: I knew you wouldn’t choose something expensive for your present.

Kate: … But I wanted to give you a proper present.

Kate: I thought that if I had everything prepared in advance and did the same things with you, you wouldn't realise it.

Kate: Looks like I succeeded! 

Harry’s lips curled into a smile as he gazed at my triumphant expression.

Harrison: You really are something else…

He caressed my cheek with his palm. 

Harrison: … You’re always surpassing my expectations. 

Harrison: I did think you were hiding something from me, but…

Harrison: If you were to do the same thing again, I wouldn't be able to figure it out just by looking into your eyes. 

Despite his words, Harry looked happy and I held the hand stroking my cheek.

Kate: Let’s dig in, Harry. 

I fed Harry a piece of cake with a fork, and he placed a hand on the back of my head and pulled me in for a kiss.

Kate: Mm, why?

While I was distracted by his non-stop sweet kisses, I felt his hand untie the ribbons on the back of my blouse,

Kate: Are we not eating the cake—

Harrison: We’re eating it together now, aren’t we?

Kate: This isn’t eating!

Harry was being more impatient than usual and I felt like I was going to drown in the sweet moment,

(But I must say it to him.)

Kate: P-Please wait a minute! 

Harrison: … What? 

He wore a dissatisfied look, but I straightened up and spoke.

Kate: Happy birthday. I’m glad I could spend it together with you again this year.

Kate: … What do you think of my lie?

After blinking in silence for a brief moment, Harry pulled me into a tight hug.

Harrison: … I used to think that someone like me didn't deserve to have his birthday celebrated properly. 

Harrison: The lying fox’s fated ending isn't a happy one. No matter which fairytale, the fox is always the hated one. 

In fairytales, the fox was a symbol of deceit.

I was well aware that none of the tales had happy endings for the foxes.

Harrison: … But all of that changed when you came into my life.

Harrison: There’s no one who would be happier about my birthday than myself, except for you. That’s why it doesn't feel bad to have been lied to.

I felt Harry chuckle on my shoulder and narrowed my eyes.

Kate: I’ll still be here to celebrate your birthday with you next year, and every year after. 

Harrison: Any birthday with you by my side is the best birthday of all.

Kate: Really…?

Harrison: You’ll find out from now on, whether that’s the truth or a lie.

Harrison: … You’ll still be by my side next year and every year after, right? 

I intended to remain by his side to find that out and be the first person to celebrate every one of his birthdays from now on,

Harrison: I told you, didn’t I?

Harry removed his shirt and his lips drew close— 

Harrison: — Any birthday with you by my side is the best birthday of all.

Kate: Ah… 

Last year, I wasn’t able to truly believe those words.

(I wasn't confident that my presence alone would be enough to make his birthday the best one ever.)

(... But I understand it now.)

This is the truth from you, a person who always lies. 

[jinkookspencil]

a way to wake | ksj

you're fast asleep and seokjin has to wake you up... an old method he used on his friend eventually comes to mind

description/tags/note: seokijn drabble / fluff + suggestive / established relationship / i had this idea in my head for a while, ever since i found out how jin used to wake up jungkook when they were younger... and i ended up writing the whole thing while stuck in traffic on a random afternoon / i am actively working on til you make it 2 whenever i have the time! i'm glad i took my time with it, i improved it in all this time and am still thinking of ways to improve it little by little / also, i often get ideas or scenarios in my head that could be mini pieces, not even a drabble - some are barely even 500 words. would you guys be interested in stuff like that? lmk!! / anyways, enjoy!! / edit: i edited this fic to make it even more suggestive. they both hint at yn wanting jin to wake her up by touching her.

wc: ~1.3k words

Seokjin didn’t have it in him. You were sleeping so peacefully beside him, as you had through all seven of your alarms, likely finally getting in a good rest after many sleepless nights… and he had to disturb it?

He knew he didn’t really have a choice - you were already running late. It wasn’t going to be a problem for Seokjin really, after you both showered, it’d only take him a couple more minutes at most to change into his suit. You, on the other hand, always needed some extra time to get ready, and that ‘extra’ time was getting shorter and shorter the more he let you sleep.

You’d want him to wake you up, he knew that for certain, as well as the fact that you would probably scold him as well as yourself for your sleeping in. That reminder is what finally got him to nudge and rub your shoulder.

“Jagiya?”

He repeats the action numerous times, raising the volume of his voice every time, but still, you slept.

“Honey,” he calls with a laugh, tickling your side, belly, and thigh. Your elbow twitches once, but never again despite him repeating the action over and over again. “We need to leave soon. You need to wake up now, darling.”

Nothing.

He gets up to pull open a bit of the curtains, letting sunlight stream in and disrupt the darkness of your bedroom.

Still, nothing.

Frustrated now, Seokjin pulls out his phone and quickly takes a photo of you sleeping - just for himself - before opening up the music app. He plays clips of several songs, and all you do is wince, sleeping through them as you did your alarms.

“Are you faking it?” he asks aloud to your sleeping body. “Jagi… if you’re faking sleep, I swear I won’t eat you out tonight. I’m serious.”

Nothing.

That definitely would’ve done it if you were faking sleep. Really, you had no reason to fake it - you'd panic at the mere thought of running late - but Seokjin couldn’t eliminate the possibility entirely. You could be a bit of a brat at times.

He half considers physically pulling you out of bed, throwing a plushie at you, or emptying a water bottle on you, until he remembers a failsafe. A way that couldn’t hurt you like manhandling could, nor anger you with wet pajamas and sheets.

Jungkook’s way.

Seokjin giggles to himself at the thought. He had never tried it on any of his exes in the past, just Jungkook, really. It wasn't uncommon for boys to do such a thing at that age, especially when they were playfully roughhousing, which, with Jungkook, happened every day and at any time of day. Seokjin always had the edge by starting off Jungkook's days just like that - it always did the trick... And considering the other similarities you shared with Seokjin's younger friend, it wasn’t something to dismiss entirely.

Slowly, he turns you until you’re lying entirely on your back against the mattress, facing the ceiling with shut eyes. He moves from his position next to you until he’s over you, straddling your body with a knee planted on either side of your hips. He never took on this position with Jungkook of course, and almost started regretting it already - you felt too good.

“Jagi,” he whispers, pulling away the blanket from your body and letting his hand graze the skin at your collarbone and your stomach by the hem of your pajama top. He kisses your neck once, calling your name. It was the final chance he'd give you before he’d pull the trigger.

And you didn’t budge.

He sighs in defeat, not holding back his smile any longer when he sees your hardened nipples peak through the thin fabric of your top. Ready. Just for him.

With his index finger and thumb on both hands, Seokjin pinches and fiddles with your raised buds for mere seconds before you shoot up, finally awake.

“Wh?! W..what the fuck?! Jin!” you yell, wriggling underneath your fiancé’s body as he laughs, tumbling over you.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he says between his giggles, stopping only when you lazily reach towards his chest. “YA! I only did that to wake you up. You slept through your alarms, bub. We’re running late.”

“WHAT?!” you yell, pushing him off of you and hurriedly searching for your phone. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?

“I TRIED!” he protests, getting off the bed. “You slept like a rock. Who knew squeezing your nipples would finally do it? It’s what I used to do to Jungkook when we shared a dorm. Though, of course, I used to twist his nipples to the point where he was certain I detached them from his body somehow. I tried handling you with care, princess.”

“Couldn’t you have used your fingers somewhere else, Seokjin? A bit lower perhaps? You know, something Jungkook doesn’t have? Something you could only possibly do with your girlfriend?”

Seokjin stares at you. Despite the fact that you’d looked delectable asleep and under him already, the thought never occurred to him. Of course the thought wouldn’t occur to him. This wasn’t a conversation you had had together and he hadn’t gotten your consent or any hint that it’d be something you would want. Unless of course, he had been the reason you refused to wake up… Seokjin’s mind wanders with a desperate need within him to have the conversation then and there, knowingly unprepared if you’d admitted to it all. Wanting to be woken up that way. A dream, perhaps. They might have just forget the event altogether…

He begins following you around the room with pleas for a moment to talk, but you don’t turn back for a second until it is to do the exact opposite of handling him with care - dragging and pushing him into the bathroom.

Seokjin watches as you undress, doing the same and half hoping for a quickie, considering your eagerness. He almost felt his length begin to harden, but soon you’re pushing him once more, into the tepid shower with a loofah in hand. He tries to put his thought away for now, caring for your body in another way he felt so privileged to do. To maximize efficiency, you wash yourselves and one another before going about your routines at double the pace. Seokjin’s entirely dressed in minutes, save for his suit jacket, while you were still getting ready, wearing a lingerie set underneath a robe. Extra time for you, and extra time for him to admire you.

“Help me with my dress,” you command him, stepping into a dress he promptly zips up, but not before he drinks up the sight of you in brown silk and lace underneath. Stood behind you, he watches as you adorn yourself with jewelry but can’t stop his hand from snaking over your waist, softly cupping your breasts over the fabric of your dress. You don’t react save for a sharp inhale, continuing to adorn your look. You’re so stunning it almost brings him to his knees. He’d happily allow his body to get there, too, kneeling to tease you at the very least and at most, sneaking his head underneath your dress and pulling down your underwear - just for a taste. But instead, he nudges his head in the crook of your neck - softly kissing along the chain of your necklace. “Tell me, honey… were you dreaming of me? Is that why you didn’t want to wake up?”

You roll your eyes, playfully swatting Seokjin’s hand on your waist, his fake arrogance replaced with a wide smile in seconds. “We need to leave.”

“I made a promise,” Seokjin says, wearing his jacket. “While you were asleep. I made a promise.”

“Oh?” you question, spraying perfume on the two of you. The final touch.

“I said that if you were faking sleeping through your alarms, I wouldn’t eat you out tonight.”

The promise makes you stop in your tracks towards the front door, Seokjin getting there first with an intrigued expression on his face when he looks back. “Since you weren’t faking it, that means I have to do it. And since you slept through the many different ways I tried waking you up… I guess it seems I gotta get you to do something else.... gotta get you somewhere.... many different ways tonight…. Oh, and of course, you won't be faking it this time around as well.”

He’s unsure if the redness in your cheeks is heat flooding your system or makeup he simply hadn’t noticed a minute prior. As you make your way towards your fiancee, you see smugness only slightly present on his face, overshadowed by sincerity - that of a genuine promise. Your hands fiddle with Seokjin’s tie before resting on his chest.

“I didn’t realize dreams could manifest into reality that quickly.”

“I knew it,” Seokjin smiles, kissing your hand as his ears go red. The idea of you actually having a wet dream about him this long into your relationship… the fact that you’d dream of him and his body pleasuring yours, after only hours apart in sleep… it sent him into a frenzy.

“I mean, I know I’ll hear it tonight, but I kind of wish you’d been moaning my name in your sleep…”

“Well, you didn’t see my pajama shorts, did you?,” you whisper, flicking Seokjin’s nipple over his shirt. He winces but is quick to disregard the pain - his face flushed, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands, trying to reach for your waist, thigh, or ass - you push him away.

“It was a very vivid dream, honey. Don’t you worry… I’ll tell you all the many different ways I want it. The ways you did it… And tomorrow, wake me up like it never ended.”

There it was.

“Can we stay in? We’re late already,” Seokjin whines. “We can get a head start. Morning to morning…” He feeling his knees buckling at the thought, slowly trying to pull you closer to him in persuasion. You don’t budge and open the door instead.

“You know we can’t…. Now’s your time to dream of me.”

The hunger within him only grew, already fantasising of the of the night to come. Now, he was in competition with himself and he’d make sure your reality is far better than anything you could dream of.

[tabbedtabby]

good luck, babe! | chapter 2

regina george x reader

summary: After the Queen Bee of North Shore makes up rumors about you taking pictures of girls in the changing room, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You didn’t think that would mean coming to a reluctant agreement with Regina George.

a/n: i wasn’t gonna add cady but now i am because it’s convenient for me so just pretend she’s in the last chapter lol. also they get high way faster than what’s accurate but i wrote this in like 4 sittings it felt longer to me pls spare me. if the picture collage thing is ugly i’m sorry i’m not a tumblr native 😭 but anyways big thanks to everyone who interacted with the first chapter mwah!!!!! (photo creds from left to right: @/mediorcesav on insta, @/marvelsgirl616, casual mv by chappell roan)

——————————————————————

When the bell rings after 7th period, you’re already halfway out the door.

You’re already sober enough from earlier so you’re desperate to get outside, even if Regina will be there. You bite the inside of your mouth in annoyance. You like your after school alone time; you didn’t want the person who literally ruined your social life to be there. At least maybe she’ll leave right after you smoke. You realize she most likely won’t after you remember she drives. How could you forget that bedazzled orange Jeep?

You feel the dappled sunlight sink heat into your skin once you enter the woods behind the baseball field. It really was a nice day. You make your way to your usual spot and lift up the pile of sticks and leaves that hide your forest stash. The guy who sells to you charges a ridiculous amount for carts compared to just the plant so you try to use them sparingly. Even if this shit stinks up the whole forest.

You’re not sure if Regina will care or not if you start without her, so you pull out your phone to pass the time. Besides, you want to be sober anyway when she finally shows.

After about 20 minutes of standing there, you start to get impatient. You almost pull the bag out to start without her before you finally see a flash of blonde hair from behind the trees.

“Took you long enough.” you mutter, already opening the bag without paying Regina much attention. Your patience was windeled, and you don’t especially want to talk to her anyway.

“Sorry I have a social life. I guess you wouldn’t know,” she snaps back, her voice strained.

You feel the annoyance crawl down your back like a centipede, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from saying something back to her. She holds basically your life in her hands since you’d be both fucked and poor if she decided to snitch on you. Probably not a good idea to start a fight on the first day of your little deal, but she made it difficult.

You grab one of the cans from under the pile of leaves as you see Regina cross her arms a couple feet away from you. Her eyes watching your every move makes you a bit wary on instinct. You feel like a mouse being stalked by a snake. You grab a decently sized piece out of the bag and put it on the crushed can. You couldn’t be bothered to roll your own blunts, so this was the next best thing.

“How much have you smoked before?” you ask, just wanting a general idea on how much she should have so that you wouldn’t have to drag her to the parking lot. Apparently, she takes great offense.

“What are you, my mom? Just hurry up so I can get out of here,” she says begrudgingly, like being out here was the biggest possible drag on her life. She was really grating on your last nerve right now.

“Trying my best.” you respond dryly, giving her a snide smile as you fiddle with the lighter.

“Well, obviously it’s not good enough. What are you even doing, anyway? This is the shadiest shit I’ve ever seen—”

You blow the first hit out of your mouth harshly. “Can you please just shut the fuck up? I don’t want to be out here with you either!”

“That’s shocking. I’m surprised this isn’t your ultimate wet dream, being alone in the forest with me,” Regina sneers, nothing but disgust on her face. Like you were some kind of animal instead of human.

“What’s that going off of? The photo collection that you made up?” you snap, putting the can down for a minute. “Believe me, I want nothing to do with you either. But since we’re gonna be out here every day, you could at least make it a little easier.”

You can tell she wants to rip your throat out just by the way she looks at you. Pursed lips, downturned eyebrows, piercing blue eyes surrounded by eyeliner almost as sharp as the look she’s giving you right now. She’s way too tense for someone about to get high.

“Whatever.” she finally says, although the edge to her voice makes you want to scoff. Better not to sour her mood more than necessary, though.

Pleased with the newfound silence, you light the piece on top of the can once more and take another hit. It’s strong enough to make you cough, and you sit down against the foot of a tree. Regina raises an eyebrow at you.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of professional,” she says, but her voice isn’t quite as taunting as before. It almost sounded like a joke. Maybe she was considering not making this hell for you after all.

“It’s not good if it doesn’t make you cough.” you respond with a shrug. She looks at you expectantly, but you pretend you don’t see. You don’t want to have to stand back up just to pass her the can.

Eventually, she sits next to you (albeit, begrudgingly) and you pass the can to her, lighting it again when she puts her lips up to it. She explodes into a coughing fit the minute the smoke hits her lungs.

You can’t help but snicker at the sight of Regina George coughing her lungs out with just one hit from the can. It was almost strange to see her not perfectly arranged the way she was at school. You were up close enough to see the strings that sew her together.

She glares at you from the corner of her eye, but it only makes you laugh harder. You’re acting stupid right now and you’re aware of it, but you can’t stop. It’s a nice sort of high. Not like when you smoke too much and everything starts to blur together, which happens more than you’d like to admit. But this is nice. You lean back until your back touches the grass.

Regina has a couple more hits until she’s smoked about everything that’ll come out of it, and you both just lay there on the forest floor. You’re surprised she isn’t whining about dirt getting on her outfit. Maybe she’s too stoned to care. She never did answer your question about her tolerance.

Your thoughts go elsewhere as you stare up at the sky. The tops of the trees cover most of it. The sun from behind the leaves make them look almost as if they are glowing. It’s so beautiful. You wish you could reach up and feel it between your own fingertips, the fabric of the sky.

“You don’t care about what I think about you.” You hear Regina say, her voice only a couple of feet away from you. It sounds more like a statement than a question.

You don’t why it’s funny to you, but it is. You feel the laugh escape your lips before you can stop it.

“I guess not.” you respond, even though you’re not certain if she wanted a response. It sounded like she was just thinking out loud. You feel that.

“Everyone else does. They grovel to me like lap dogs.” she says amusingly, although her voice drags and you can tell she’s starting to get tired.

“You don’t like it?” you ask with surprise.

“It’s the way it should be,” she declares, as if you’re stupid for even asking. “But everyone else is a less hot version of me. It gets annoying talking to the same clones that hang onto my every word. Like, just be normal for once in your life,” Regina complains, an annoyed edge in her tone near the end. Somehow you could tell she was talking about Gretchen. That poor girl really did hang onto every little thing Regina said or did. It was almost worshipful. But in an unfortunate, sad kind of way.

Her problems didn’t seem all that hard compared to others, but you don’t say anything. It’s intesting to you to hear her talk about this stuff, to see what goes on in her head. You’d never really considered what her life was like. You wonder if there’s a reason she’s the way that she is. There must be. Everyone’s a product of their environment in some shape or form. Of course, it doesn’t excuse everything she’s done, but that thought makes you want to get inside her head somehow.

You shake your head at the silly train of thought. Regina George was just plain mean. Nothing more to it. You turn your head to look at her as you realize you never responded.

Her eyes are closed, hair splayed out on the forest ground. She looks stoned as fuck, her chest rising and falling dangerously slow. You snort and roll your eyes. How low was her tolerance? You already felt mostly normal again.

Somehow she still manages to look perfect, even if you could mistake her as a corpse. You lay your head back down. Your parents wouldn’t mind if you were home a little late, right?

-

After that, you and Regina would meet to smoke behind the school almost every day, except when Regina had plans with her friends and you would just go alone. You still wish she wasn’t there, but sometimes she’s okay to talk to when she isn’t being a priss. She complains about her friends and boys and how sometimes in the morning her eyelash curler refuses to work. It’s entertaining to hear about how shallow her problems are. You still want to punch her most of the time, though.

This time around, however, she’s complaining about math. Something about her teacher failing her on purpose or something to make her have sex with him to get her grade up. You seriously doubt that’s true, but you listen anyway.

“Like, he’s totally obsessed with me. I know how to do the work, but he always marks it as wrong anyway. That Cady girl helps me with it, and she’s some kind of math freak.” Regina exclaims, taking a huge hit from the smoking can. She immediately sputters and you take the can back from her with a slight roll of your eyes. That’s probably enough for her.

“Is she, though?” you ask, taking a hit from the can yourself. “She’s in my Calc class and lately she’s been doing really shitty. I guess you guys are rubbing off on her,” you say with amusement.

Regina takes a deep breath, an agitated sigh coming out of her. “What’s the point of her tutoring me, then? They’re gonna take me off the soccer team if I don’t start passing like all of my classes. It’s like she wants me to fail.” she seethes, and she sounds genuinely upset. She could afford to pay attention in class instead of doing her makeup if better grades is what she wants, but alas.

You kind of want to offer to help her, but it’s her own fault so you bite your tongue. You put the can down with a sharp sigh. You’d rather not smoke too much around her in fear that you’ll start acting stupid and she’ll post it all over the internet. Just the slightly more giggly high is fine for now.

Regina stares bullets through you as your stash back under the pile of leaves. You pick up your backpack and get ready to leave. You feel fine enough to walk home.

“You’re not gonna offer to help me?” she asks indignantly, as if you owed it to her. You have to bite your lip to keep from groaning in annoyance. Could she be any more of a spoiled brat?

“Why would I do that?” you respond, feeling that your distaste seeps through your voice as well as your expression. You’re tired, both from school and from hanging out with Regina for too long. You just want to go home.

“Because I’m keeping your secret?” she says with that tone that reminds you of a viper. The one she uses to get whatever she wants from people by threatening to ruin them. Your chest bubbles with that same anger as that day in the cafeteria.

“Dude, I’m literally your plug. I’ve done enough for you to keep your mouth shut.” you snap, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. She was really starting to piss you off. That’s how it was with Regina; just when you think she’s all right, she starts doing this bullshit again.

“So what? I don’t need weed. I can break our deal whenever I want. Besides, you’ll only tutor me until the end of the month. It’s not that deep.” It’s only the beginning of October, so you’d be wasting more of your time with her for the next month, but of course she doesn’t include that. God, you’re so pissed off, but what can you do? Not be able to smoke anymore? Get suspended again? You hate that she can just hang this over your head until you comply. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as you stare at her, one of her hands on her hip and her eyebrows raised as if you’re a dog she just told to heel that won’t listen. Your hands bunch into tight fists until your knuckles turn white. You really wish you had seen her with that bruise right about now.

“Fine.” you spit, pushing your way out of the clearing and back towards the school. Great. Now it would take even longer to shake Regina off. You shoulder branches of leaves out of your way, your feet kicking at the dirt. You wished she could just be fucking normal and that she never started any of this in the first place.

“I better see you tomorrow, loser!” You hear Regina scream from somewhere behind you. God, you were gonna kill her. Or yourself. Whichever came first.

[tojivu]

would u do satoru who actually has six eyes with the reader scenario? it could be anything, like the reader going through his baby pictures and cooing at how cute he looked with one set of eyes open, but the other two werent. or comforting him cuz people think they're freaky. anything fluffy :D

# SIX ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note stop this is so cute.. i changed the prompt a bit i hope u don’t mind. hope this isn’t too long for your taste as well zzz

✰ — cw / tags satoru with literally six eyes , sfw , gn!reader , use of pet names ‘baby’ etc , briefly proof read ( i tried )

✰ — playing n side by steve lacy.

✰ — word count 1.2k

✰ — part two click here.

it was a lazy sunday morning when you decide to wake up early. it was unusual of you, because you usually woke up later than your boyfriend—but you remembered the state of your shared apartment and knew something had to be done.

it was a mess. a complete and utter disarray.

moving in week was finally done, at least technically. some of your stuff was still in cardboard boxes. you knew gojo had some unpacking to do as well, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to help him—you knew about the long hours he endured.

you’re still groggy when you make your way down the stairs, holding onto the railing for support. you rub your eyes until the sunlight doesn’t hurt anymore—but you glance into your living room and see the piles of tiny boxes, full of trinkets from your previous house and it hurts your eyes all the same.

you yawn and sit yourself down on the couch, scissors in hand and ready to take on the workload. you meticulously cut the tape sealing a particularly damaged cardboard box, deciding you would eliminate the smaller stuff first; gojo would wake up sooner or later and you certainly weren’t going to carry the bigger boxes by yourself.

you turn the flaps over and the sunlight spilling in through the living room windows help visualise how dusty it really is—you don’t think it’s yours. the box must’ve not been opened for quite some time.

it’s a photo frame you find in the box, but there’s way too much dust for you to really see anything. you bring the frame to the kitchen, grabbing a wet rag and wiping the plastic film to the best of your ability. you think this must have been hidden from you on purpose, you’ve never seen this photo in your life—no picture of satoru escapes you, after all. he must’ve not wanted you to see it.

it’s your boyfriend as a child, at a strawberry farm. he’s wearing a sunhat and a basket of berries are being shown off to the camera; his smile undoubtedly huge, and his eyes are glistening in the sunlight the hat failed to deter—all six of them.

you’re wondering why he ever ought to hide this photo from you. you knew about his eyes, and you’ve made it clear that you loved them. though, you can’t really speculate—gojo’s told you briefly about his childhood, but not really in detail. “i didn’t really like showing them when i was young,” was all you got out of him when you asked about his middle school days.

you’re startled when you hear a yawn coming from the stairs, and you shift your gaze from the photo to gojo—adult sized gojo with only one pair of eyes open—who’s making his way towards you. quick reaction time enables you to hide the photo behind you, just as gojo enters the kitchen.

“good morning baby,” he says while rubbing his eyes. he plants a kiss on your forehead, then blinking slowly at you in an attempt to wake himself up completely. “what’re you doing up? it’s 8 a.m.”

you scoff at him, jokingly. “what, am i not allowed to wake up at 8 a.m?”

gojo lets out a chuckle, his voice still raspy. “didn’t say that.”

you smile up at your boyfriend, who’s eyes are still not fully open yet. the slits on his cheek and forehead from his other two pairs of eyes further intrigue you—perhaps, if you dig a little more… would you be able to find photos just like that one?

you feel sneaky, looking through your boyfriend’s things without his permission. of course, you couldn’t help yourself—how could you? his smile looks priceless.

and so, something in you is determined to find every single one.

your mental scheming is stopped, though, when gojo makes a loud gasping noise. you’re snapped back into reality, and you realise he can see the photo frame you’ve hidden behind your back. “y/n!”

gojo is fully awake now, his expression a mix of shock and embarrassment. “how did you find that? i swear i put all those boxes away in my office. . .”

you point a finger at him, accusingly, with your eyebrows furrowed for dramatic effect. feeling offended, you gasp as well. “so you did try to hide them from me!”

he lets a laugh slip through his lips, much too flustered that this is how you discover his childhood photos. he shakes his head, “i’m sorry, y/n. didn’t think it would matter much.”

“why did you hide them? is it because of your eyes?”

gojo nods his head, taking a closer look at his younger self. “they were a bit weird for a six year old to have, no?”

you gasp again, hurt by his statement. the first thought you had when you found the photo was how adorable his eyes were, the different tints of blue shining in the sun—and the missing teeth which were shown so proudly in his smile. how happy he must’ve been to smile like that.

“i love them, ‘toru.”

it was always heartening to hear that coming from you.

when gojo satoru first met you, he was unsure if you’d be weirded out—like how everyone else was when he was younger. he’d learned how to keep the pairs on his forehead and cheeks closed in his teenage years, so it was muscle memory by the time he knew you.

the first time you saw them was a few years ago, an unremarkable tuesday morning: at least that's what you thought, but to satoru—it was everything.

you awaken next to him, and gojo's perplexed. why you were staring at his face so intently? was his bed hair that bad?

“i didn’t know you could open all of them.”

gojo internally cursed himself, thinking it was game over—you’d probably tell him you’ve got to go and never call him back; but you did.

you called him and told him you missed him the following day. that sweet voice of yours he was so relieved to hear.

as a child, people would often call gojo strange looking—his piercing blue eyes already made him intimidating. people would barely look at him; so when there were six of them, it was even harder to make conversation. you guessed a long time ago that that was why he started wearing shades.

people could never look at him directly, but with you—it was a different problem altogether. you just couldn’t stop looking, always telling him how pretty his eyes were. he would find it hard to believe with the way he’d grown up, but it’s undeniable he feels comfortable showing it to you; sometimes feeling all right to go out without his sunglasses on.

“yeah, i know.” gojo’s smile is soft. he leans down and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his jaw on your shoulder and swaying you left to right. “you tell me that all the time.”

it’s cheesy sunday mornings like this you look forward to.

it’s been an hour since you’ve woken up and gojo insisted on helping you finish cleaning—it’s pointless, though: because you two end up on the couch, looking at childhood photos of yourselves—with the occasional embarrassing story time.

at the end of the day, nothing is clean and you two are still on the couch: except gojo is snoring and you’re on top of him with your face buried in his chest, trying to fall asleep despite the inconsiderate noise—photo albums sprawled out on the coffee table.

211023 — this is so bad i’m sorry… TT

[grippingbeskar]

duality

: ̗̀➛ joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: explicit content 18+ (mxf, f receiving, dirty talk, joel being a king as per usual) swearing, mentions of death, mentions of canon typical violence!

a/n: hii! this was based on this request right here - oh my god. i am obsessed with this, i really hope i did this justice! i kind of just started writing and went where it took me lmao. its all just smut at this point so like don't look to hard. also thank you to @everybirdfellsilent for the title name and answering my question "how do i write this?" with a simple "why not write both?!" you are a queen.

✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩

“Joel… what time is it?” You keep your eyes screwed shut when you begin to fight the muddiness of deep sleep away, but the early morning sunlight in Jackson always sneaks it’s way through. You stretch out, reaching for him in a natural reflex, and instead of answering you he just presses closer. You keep your eyes shut, letting your other senses guide your hands to his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of him under your palms.

You could hardly open your eyes right now, but you could do this. Lay here with him— you could do that easily. You and Joel had a string of long days recently, and you’d hoped, or at the very least expected that he’d be so tired he’d sleep up until the last possible second.

Apparently you were wrong, as you feel him shift under your hands to the point you lose your hold on him. He kisses you once on the lips, light and feather soft, and you smile sleepily, toes curling at the gentle touch.

“Mornin’.” His voice rumbles through you, low and brassy, waking your bones before your brain could catch up. As his hair tickles the skin of your neck, you can feel him moving lower, the warmth of his body leaving your chest and hovering over your stomach.

You reach for him blindly, and he guides you back even when you sit up on your elbows and peak one eye at him. You watch him move, his own eyes still half lidded, but his hands more awake than ever. They slowly slide over your hips, drawing faint patterns with his fingertips. The warmth of his rough palms move further up over your tummy, pawing at you to lay down on your back. ‘Relax’, he whispers, and your chest tightens. He moves you languidly, using your half conscious state to mould you where he wants to put you, and you let him, no resistance in your muscles.

With a hand still sliding up and down your bare skin, he leans down close enough you can feel the touch of his nose on your cheek. Before you can move to take control, he dips his head. First down to your jaw, the heat of his mouth making you shiver when he kisses along all the sensitive spots. He’s light and quick, your delayed reactions making it easy for him to move without interruption. You wonder how long he’d been awake. Waiting for you to stir, just so he could see you squirm.

His tongue licks indulgent lines further down your body, teasing your skin with his lips following suit. He starts at your collarbone, then tucks the fabric of your shirt higher so he can see you bare below him. The blanket covers over his head, but the light is strong enough that you can see his eyes watching your reaction as he plants soft kisses down your chest. You swear he smirks when you arch your back, nearly groaning at the light but not nearly enough pressure.

Your hands finally wake themselves when he mouths at the skin of your lower stomach, brushing through the soft curls on the top of his head. He hums against you, eyes flicking up with warmth lining them, and smiles slightly. The sight tugs at a string of your racing heart, and you keep your voice low when you manage to speak.

“Joel, let me…” You fade off, eyes fluttering as you attempt to bring him back up to you. You want him to feel good too— so as much as you love where this is going, you know the two of you can’t have very long this morning, and you want to make the most of it. “C’mere.”

He shakes his head, mouth too busy to reply as it dives into the newly exposed skin of your thighs. At some point he’d taken your underwear off— or maybe he’d done it in your sleep, making sure you were ready for him in the morning.

You’d both been exhausted last night, so as badly as you’d wanted him, you knew neither of you could keep your eyes open for more than twenty seconds. Joel had grumbled a few curse words at how he couldn’t even hold himself up, and as soon as your heads hit the pillow, and you curled in on his chest light a weighted blanket, you were both out like a light.

Joel was clearly making up for lost time. Slowly, he spreads your legs, his hot breath fanning against your core. The feeling makes you unconsciously try to close yourself from him— the feeling and the way his eyes were staring so intensely at the most intimate part of you.

“Joel, come here—“ You try again, and his hair brushes the inside of your thighs when his head shakes again. His eyes look to you, and they almost look… pleading.

“Please, baby. I need this. Let me.” He sounds half broken— his voice cracking and hands gripping your hips. His hold wasn’t harsh, still keeping those gentle, sweet touches he’d started with, but it was enough to hold you down and keep you right where he had you. “I’ll make you feel so good, I swear. So… so fuckin’ good. Don’t I always?”

His shoulders press you open wider, leaving no room for insecurity. You just nod your head as he stares up at you, wide eyed, waiting for permission. The lines of concern in his forehead disappear when he sees you agree, chest deflating like he was relieved.

He drags the tip of his nose lightly along your inner thigh, and you can feel your legs already shaking in anticipation. It was one thing Joel did so well; he almost didn’t know he did it. Making you wait. All day, he would work you up so subtly— soft touches, intense stares across the field. Words whispered only to you, so any reaction you had would seem out of line. And then here… indulging his every want and need while you sat patiently, waiting for him to decide when, and where, and how.

You’d do it over and over again, because you knew what came of it. What came when you did exactly what he wanted. Sometimes it was fun to fight him back, be a bit of a brat about it, but right here, when he was working you up so nice and asking so desperately— there wasn’t a damn thing in the world worth that.

“Fuck, baby you’re so pretty.” His teeth replace his nose, tracing the same line along the opposite thigh. His fingers massage circles into your hips as he feels you fidget and shake, the world still spinning slowly above you. “You’re gonna take it so well for me this mornin’, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah. A-anything you want. I just—“ Your breath hitches when he kisses closer to where you’re all but aching for him, right in the join between your leg and pussy. “I need—“

He groans into you, never giving you a chance to finish your sentence as he buries his tongue between your legs. You cry out louder than you mean to, the hand not buried in Joel’s messy hair slapping over your open mouth. Joel smiles against you, tongue swirling around your clit in the way he knows makes you dizzy with pleasure.

Everything was too hot. It was winter in Jackson, snow falling gently onto the windowsill, but the blanket over you mixed with the heat Joel was spreading up your stomach was too much. Your back arched and he took the change in direction with eagerness. Groaning your name, he flattened his tongue and caught your eyes before they rolled back into your head, his eyebrows furrowed and concentrated.

“Oh, god… Joel. Joel, Joel—“ It was all you could think of to say, the pleasure shooting white hot sparks up your spine and sliding you further down the bed into Joel’s onslaught.

He was messy. Joel ate you out with an enthusiasm you never found anywhere else. Maybe it was the fact that there was nothing good outside the four walls you’d both found yourself in, the rest of the world cold compared to the warmth of your bed— or maybe he just fucking loved it as much as he always said.

Whether he did this for you or for himself, Joel knew exactly how to build you up; it was so quick you couldn’t prepare for it. His hands held your hips tight as you squirmed— grinding your hips forward to match his pace as he let you use him to chase your release. The sounds he was making were only spurring you closer— slurred words of praise hardly audible, his voice horse and breaking like he could hardly manage them.

“Good— fuck, you taste good.” Each word is muffled underneath you, but it hits you hard in the chest. Being praised by anyone made your heart flutter, but when it was Joel? Capable, stoic, hard-as-nails Joel? It was entirely different. A whole other ball game. And he fucking knew it. “You close, baby. Fuck, I know you gotta be. So tight…”

“Oh fuck. Fuck, I’m so close…” You whimper and he hums in response, the vibrations pushing you over the edge. Your fingers gripped his hair harshly, his mouth only working harder to keep its lock on you. He wrapped his lips around your clit, eyes fluttering open halfway to watch you, and the sight is what undid you.

“That’s it. Fuck, there’s those eyes…” You hear Joel mutter but you can’t form words to reply. Everything was on fire, your stomach locking tight as the waves of pleasure wrapped you into a ball and burst over every inch of skin. It was cliche, but it felt like fucking fireworks went off in your chest, Joel’s hands an anchor keeping you from taking off with them.

He was halfway up your body when you came back to it, kissing and touching you so gently you could have cried if you had the energy. It was moments like these that he was the most vulnerable— where he couldn’t get enough of you, indulged himself in you, but did it with such sweetness and… well, love, that you knew the man he didn’t think he was anymore was still in there.

“So pretty. Sound so damn pretty when you cum for me.” He whispers against your mouth before kissing you hungrily. It’s teeth and tongue, a mix of you and him on your lips as he pulls away to look at you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth.

Your hands reach down to tug lightly at his boxers, and he huffs, shaking his head against your mouth.

“M’not done, baby.” His voice makes you shiver all over again, pleasure still stirring low and hot in your tummy. “S’fuckin’ good.”

“I can’t, Joel…” You whimper, his hand ever so slightly brushing between your legs. You jolt upwards, your body betraying your words.

“Yeah, you can. You can f’me, yeah?” He was already moving down, ignoring your whines as he made his way back to his favourite spot in this house. He was quicker this time, knowing you’d still be sensitive.

It was addicting. He couldn’t get enough of the sounds you made, the way you tasted— it was like the best game he’d ever played. Joel was an adrenaline junkie— he knew it. He was smart about it, but he longed for that rush of endorphins when he was winning a fight or putting bullets into bodies. Out of all the shit he’d done, though, nothing compared to this. The best adrenaline rush he’d ever felt was right here, hearing you scream his name as he tasted every fucking inch you of he could manage.

He was messier this time. Wrapping his mouth around you and swirling his tongue in quick, mind-numbing movements that had your fingers burying deeper into his hair. He nearly came at the feeling of it— you, trying your hardest not to hurt him but still yanking him into you, hardly giving him an inch to pull away. Not that he’d every fuckin’ dream of being dragged away from you now.

“Joel… too much. Fuck— I’m…I—“ He bucked his hips against the mattress, the way you whine his name is like a stab at his chest every time. His nose brushes against your clit again as he tastes you deeper, your voice broken and tapering off into barely there words.

He knows you’d stop him if it was really too much. He knows if he pulled away right now you’d drag him right back where he wants to be, where he knows he’s fucking good at being. Joel wants you closer— all day, he can’t fucking find it in himself to drag you under his arm or kiss you like he wants in front of all those people.

He was too possessive.

None of them get to see you like this, how your eyes get all soft when he kisses you, and how you sigh his name when your body moulds to his. No one else gets to see this. He’s the only one that can break you like this. So when he has you? He doesn’t stop until you make him.

“Just a little more f’me.” Joel’s low, cracking tone sends a violent wave of pleasure skittering across your stomach, butterflies erupting at the sound of him.

His movements weren’t timed anymore, still just as indulgent, but he was losing his control. His hands were tighter now, fighting against the surges of your body off the mattress. You hoped it would leave marks behind— proof of how badly he’d needed you this morning. How much he wanted you to Stay. Put.

“Baby, I can’t—“ You choke out, a hold on his hair so hard you swear you might rip it out.

“Mmhmm.” Is all he rumbles against you, and you think he speeds up, or does something different, or maybe he just looks at you again— because you drown in the onslaught of whatever it was as you feel the familiar rush of pleasure all over again.

This was something different. Everything tightened and released, and you could feel how wet you were— a damp mess underneath you only present when you could feel your heart begin to slow again. Joel doesn’t move from his spot, arms still wrapped around your thighs, fingers drawing slow circles into the shaking muscles.

“God, baby. Fuckin’… never get tired of seein’ that.” He wasn’t looking at you, at anything really. His eyes were shut, forehead pressed to your inner thigh as he tried and failed to catch his breath. “You feel good? You there?”

“Mm.” You push out, feeling the warmth of his laugh between your legs. “Can’t… can’t feel my legs.”

“S’okay. You’re not goin’ anywhere.” His eyes open again, half lidded, and he begins a slow descent, mouthing the bruises he’s left behind as he sinks down. Your back bends off the bed, but he presses you down with a gentle hand. “Lie back.”

“Joel… wait, I can’t. I—“ You can’t talk between small, shuddering breaths, and he just shakes his head, looking at the mess you’ve left behind.

“Keep sayin’ that, but here you are.” He stops, hovering over your stomach; waiting. Waiting for you to tell him to stop for real.

“Lemme keep goin’, darlin’. Just a little…” He groans at the way your hips shift lower, closer to his mouth despite your words. “Fuck. Little more. Need this.”

His nose brushes against your clit as he looks up, holding your eyes as he spits slowly down your centre.

“You like it, don’t you?” He says, a smile on his face even when his voice wavers. You whine, maybe in protest or impatience, but he coos at you either way. “I know. Shh. I know, baby. Just stay right…here.”

You think you black out when his mouth wraps around you again, sounds and colours all blending together in your mind in a way that nothing makes sense except for the way his tongue feels on you. Minutes or hours could go by— every responsibility you might have drifting to the back burner when he was here. Right here.

“M’right here. Never lettin’ you go.” He groans, his hips grinding into the soft covers, and you give in, knowing he’s got you.

✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩

It might of been a good morning, but it was another shitty day.

Winter in Jackson was good and bad. Good, because clickers and runners couldn’t make their way through the thick snow, and froze before they ever got close to the gates. It meant less patrols, less waste of resources, less need for supply runs; it was the closest to normal you got.

Bad, because while clickers weren’t made for the heavy fall of winter, neither were the fucking fences.

Everything broke down, cracked and froze during winter. There wasn’t a single area that didn’t need repairs, so while you weren’t needed on patrols, it meant you’d be out in the field, dragging plywood or banging nails into something. Even with all the hours you'd spent on your area, it felt like there was still miles to go, your hands aching by the time you found a minute to rest.

You could see Joel the entire day, too, which only made it worse for your wandering mind.

You could see him getting pissed off, ordering the young guys he’d been posted with around and up ladders. You know he’d want to relieve all that built up tension when he got home. Sometimes it was a matter of talking it out, listening in a way Joel wasn’t really used to before you. Other times you sat in silence, pressed up behind him in a steaming bath until you could hear his breath start to slow.

Today, you had a feeling it would be something a little different.

You hadn’t gotten to continue things at all this morning. By the time Joel dragged himself away from between your legs, he was already 45 minutes late to his post. Still, he walked you into the shower, holding you up on wobbly legs, trying his best not to get too distracted with how you kept kissing his jaw and looking up at him all innocent. He managed to get you dressed, too, and with no time to spare he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek and all too suddenly you were standing out in the snow, alone.

So that, and the fact you could see, and sometimes even hear his low voice grumbling orders all day was doing nothing to help your focus.

When you finally saw the sun begin to go down, you didn’t spare a second before you all but sprinted off, bursting through the door of your shared home. You quickly shook off your clothes, the warmth of your house making you strip down to just one of Joel’s old t-shirts. Now, you waited.

When the door burst open a few hours later, you were like a dog hearing a lead. You jumped out of the bed, watching Joel from the top of the stairs as he carefully stepped through the threshold. He’d found the carpets laying on your floor for you a few months ago, and he knows how much you love them, so he balances on one leg as best he can to take his muddy, snow covered shoes off before he called out to you.

“You home, darlin’?” He kept his voice soft in case you were sleeping, but smiled when he caught you basically hanging over the stairs. “There she is.”

“You’re late.” You say, squinting down at him with a smile and your arms crossed.

“Didn’t realise I had a curfew.” He smirked, shaking off his jacket and abandoning it over the couch. Playful Joel was one of your favourites. It made you as warm as the crackling fire behind you.

“Well, you do. And you’re late, so better get moving.” He raises his eyebrows, a bigger smile playing on his face as he walks to the bottom of the stairs.

“You know, I was gonna cook you dinner and everythin'. Do a real nice thing here. How longs it been since we did that?” He walks slow, every step groaning under the weight of him. Your heart swells at the idea, and if you weren’t so hell bent on jumping on him, you’d take him up on it.

"That sounds n-nice." You take a step back as he gets closer, something about him still intimidating you- even when you knew the man underneath. “Plenty of time to eat tomorrow, though."

When he finally clears the stairs, you don’t have time to blink before he’s surging in front of you. His hands find their home on your hips, staying light when they pull you toward him and make up the rest of the small distance between you. He must remember how hard he held you down this morning.

“Is that my shirt?” He mumbles into your hair, already knowing the answer. He nudges your face to his own, smirking confidently. "You miss me that bad?"

“Nope. It’s Mark’s from today. I just got sooo hot lifting all those planks of wood I had to take all my clothes off, so he—“ You’re cut off by your own squeal when he lifts you up, hands gripping your ass tightly.

“Very fuckin’ funny.” Joel growls low in your ear, but you can feel him smiling against your skin as he walks you to your bedroom, kissing you dizzy.

It’s a little embarrassing how easily he drives you to the brink. All he has to do is say your name a few times, whisper it against your skin, and kiss you like this, and you’re gone again. His. You’re his to mould and bend, your arms lifting as he drags the fabric of his old shirt up your stomach and chest.

He watches with an intense stare, goosebumps rising where the fabric brushes lightly over your sensitive skin. When he finally slips the shirt over your head his control snaps and he’s on top of you, and he’s everywhere.

His hands slide up your sides, spanning the entire space of your waist and ribs, coming over your chest and cupping your breasts in his hands. You arch your back, chasing his mouth as it presses hungry, quick kisses between movements, his fingers catching over your nipples making you moan his name.

“Thought about you all day.” You confess, nipping the skin of his jaw. He huffs a breath, your hands tangling once again in his hair. It’s still slightly wet from the cold, curling around your fingers in something like ringlets. “Needed you so bad, Joel.”

“Greedy little thing. Didn’t get enough this morning?” He laughs, and it's almost mean- teasing. You roll your hips into him slowly. It wipes the smirk off his face, turning it into an almost painful scrunch of his brow. “Fuck.”

“You didn’t let me touch you.” You whine, rolling into him again. He drops to hold himself up on his forearms, hands touching you where they can reach. “Always want to touch you, Joel.”

“Shit, you gotta stop talking like that or…” You repeat the slow movement of your hips, and he runs out of words, practically whining into your mouth.

“It’s true.” You bite his bottom lip, a little harder than necessary. “Wanna fuck you all the time. It’s distracting. Always… always think about it.”

Joel moans your name brokenly, and you take your chance. A small push with your leg collapses him on his back next to you, only that easy because he wasn’t expecting it. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, and before he can shuffle down you straddle him, locking him in place underneath you.

One of his hands grabs the back of your neck, hauling you to his mouth, and you let him take control. You might be sitting on top of him, fiddling with his belt and tugging his pants down, but he is still in control. You know he could flip the switch in a second, and he’s just indulging you, but you take what you can get.

It’s so rare he lets you take care of him. You could count on one hand how many times he’s really let you do the work, but when the opportunity comes, you were going to take it and run with it.

He was still searching your body, fanning out his fingers and running them down your spine, leaning you closer. He takes off his shirt so he can feel you against him, his tongue licking into your mouth like he needs to learn you inside and out. When you finally get his pants off, you don’t waste a second, both of you gasping when you feel the thick head of him against your heat.

“H-hold on, you gotta… Jesus Christ.” Joel curses, his forehead pressed to yours. “Let me get you ready for me.”

“Mm-mm. Ready. Please…need it.” You shake your head, angling your hips just right, and he slumps forward in something like defeat when your hand snakes down and presses him inside of you. “Oh, god.”

"Fuck. Slow down, baby. Nice and slow." He stutters out, his hands coming to your hips to try and hold you up. Joel was... big. Big enough to the point where you should of taken your time, worked yourself up a bit more, but you just wanted him so bad-- "Hey, look at me."

Your eyes flutter up to him, and he kisses you quickly, like its an apology. You stay there, feeling the slight sharp pain fade quickly with how desperate you want him, how fucking wet you were already. In a few seconds you try to move again, and Joel's hands tighten around you.

"You can stop, baby. It's okay, you--"

"No! Don't want to. Just... fuck me, Joel." You say a little harsher, shaking your head where its now tucked into the crook of his neck. You sink down further against the push of his hands, and he groans your name lowly as you feel him split you open, taking the last inch of him.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, and where you were rendered speechless, he couldn't seem to shut himself up.

"Fuck. So fuckin' tight, Christ." You feel his palm on your ass, pushing you forward just slightly, creation a friction that has you whining. "Yeah, I know baby. Feels good. Fuck, you feel so good."

When you don't feel that pain anymore, you start to grow desperate for more. Joel was right. You were greedy tonight, and the friction of your hips against his just wasn't enough. You wrap your arms around his neck, shutting up his rambling with a lazy kiss, and use him to rise up just a little, before sinking down again.

He says something into your mouth, but the words are lost when you begin to repeat the same motion over and over again. Heat builds in waves, crashing higher and higher in your stomach until it makes your toes curl, your jaw dropping open to moan a broken version of Joel's name.

Your eyes roll back, head falling to the side, leaving you open to Joel's mouth who sucks harsh marks just below your jaw. You know you'll be covered in them tomorrow, but right now you don't care. You can't seem to care about anything else, except the way Joel is buried so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him everywhere.

"Focus on me. Need to see those pretty eyes, girl." He nudges you straight, your neck no longer able to support the weight of your head as it falls forward to rest on Joel. He groans again, matching your pace with his own movements, and you get louder with the added force. "Fuck, that's it. Let 'em hear you."

Everything turns molten inside of you, liquid heat spreading from the tips of your toes to your heavy head, and if Joel wasn't fucking you back so hard you don't think you'd be upright. As soon as he was inside you, you lost all sense of direction and control, like your body knew to trust him, to give yourself over to him.

His hands wrap tightly around your waist, bodies pressed together as he takes the work out of it for you. You move together— you’re so close you don’t have a choice, and when the hot, tingling feeling ripples up your spine you can only do exactly what he’s telling you.

“Take it, baby. Take it. Good— fuck, good girl.” His head drops from where it was pressed heavy against your forehead, dipping into the crook of your neck. Your palms can feel the release in his back, the way he relaxes as he finally gives himself to you. The noise he makes, and how he almost whines your name is a calling card, hauling you over the edge with him.

He rides it out. Makes it linger, all the pleasure and relief flooding your body in burning waves, and when his hips start to slow, his mouth trails kisses from your neck, all the way up your jaw and to your mouth. He breathes in when you breathe out, both of you wiped from exhaustion, but he can’t pull himself away.

It was like this morning, how even though his back was cramped and he was late as fuck to work, he couldn’t stop. At the expense of himself, he’d starve himself of everything if it meant being here with you.

“Christ, darlin’. Fuck, you’re so good t’me.” He says it like it’s a bad thing— words laced with an anxious wave, like you’d realise it wasn’t right, and leave. Even with him still buried inside of you. “Look at me.”

Your eyes blink open, hands still tangled in the curls of his hair. You can’t tell him all the things you want to— how he deserves this. How much you want to give him, and how if anything, you were the one who didn’t deserve this. Instead, you smile at him, and it seems to say everything all at once.

“You okay?" Joel's muffled voice asks, holding you tightly against him.

"Mhmm." You hum happily, a sleepy smile on your face as his hands cup your face. You feel his thumbs trace the high points of your cheeks, and his lips press to your nose before your eyes open.

You stay right there, his eyes watching you with no real purpose, just taking in the sight of you here with him. When the two of you finally muster the energy to go down stairs, Joel follows through with his promise to cook for you, and for this first time all day, your complete attention is captured.

[az-flaming-sword]

John Price x Reader – Morning sex

fluff,smut,unprotected sex, fem!reader

Word count: around 1,3k

————————————————————————

The sun shines through the half closed curtains. Two bodies in one bed.

Price was sitting up, leaning against the headboard while stroking through the hair of his fiancé. He was finally home after a long mission. Being gone for 2 Months is a long time after all. And how he missed her during that time. Her smell, her soft skin, her beautiful voice, her loving gaze. He looks between the curtains, outside of their house. A big tree planted in their garden, towering in front of the window and breaking the sunlight into thousand pretty pieces.

The woman next to him started to move and groaned a litte.

"Good morning my love. How did you sleep..?" His soft but raspy voice echoed through the silent room. Only a few birds were heared from the outside.

"Wonderful.. I could lay in bed with you forever…"

A deep chuckle left Johns lips. She truly was adorable in his eyes. The most precious and lovable woman for him.

"And you..?"

She sat up, the blanket falling from her shoulders and revealing her nude body. He smiled and stroke her cheek.

"Wonderful. How could I not when I am back home with the love of my life?"

She leaned closer and crawled on his lap to snuggle against his warm chest.

"Do you know how adorable you are when you're so sleepdrunk..?"

She only shook her head. Warm and strong fingers gripping her chin softly between two fingers.

"Look at me beautiful, I want to see those pretty eyes…"

Warm lips pressing softly against hers and she couldn’t help but melt into that kiss, as she always does when he kisses her like that. His hands slowly moving to her hips and drawing smooth circles over her skin.

"How about some morning sports to get you awake my dear?~"

A simple nod. Nothing more than a simple nod and his lips were already trailing over her neck. A sigh.

"I love you so much John.." her voice was just a whisper while she enjoyed his touch and his lips on her skin. After some time, John placed her back in the soft pillows to make her feel even more relaxed and as if she was in heaven.

Soft and wet kisses trailing down her neck and her collarbone until they reached her breasts. His right hand placed on her right one, twirling her nipple softly between his fingers, the other one being treated with his lips and tongue. Soft fingers stroking his short and messy hair and a soft hum left her. It was clear she enjoyed it, almost falling asleep to that soft treatment. But he doesn’t want it any other way. After some time he was done with her breasts and he moved further down to her waist, leaving more hot kisses on her skin and trailing down to her hip, which he loved so much, and even more, since its one of her insecurities and he wants her to feel comfortable. Her thighs, no differences, god lord, how he loved them, those squishy, thick thighs. He caressed her hips and started to kiss the inside of her thighs. Holding her legs up in place since she was out of this world right now, floating in heaven.

"Don't fall asleep my love..~"

He chuckled, his lips moving up more and more. She whimpered softly when he kissed a sensitive spot on her thighs. He knew her body like no one else.

"Good girl, let me hear more of those sweet sounds~"

She hummed and stroke his hair, a soft moan leaving her lips when his tongue moved skilled over her already wet cunt. Rubbing her clit softly but with enough pressure. Her legs shaking a little since the sleep is still deep down in her muscles.

"Hmm John..~"

She started to squirm a little while he holds her hip in place, enjoying the taste of her a little too much. More and more sweet and sinful moans and whimpers leaving her lips, her legs holding him in place like he holds her in place with his hands. She was sensitive since she just woke up. His tongue dipping into her, eating her out like this was his best breakfast after a while.

"J-John..~" she sounds a little whiny, gripping his hair now and pressing herself more into his direction. His right hand doing more than holding her in place, joining his mouth with his sinful actions. Two of his long fingers pressing slowly into her while he sucked on her clit.

"..'m gonna cum.. gonna cum John..~"

He smirked to himself because she just stated what was thinking.

The closer she came to her orgasm, the more whiny she becomes in her tired stat and before she could say anything else, she was hit by her orgasm and Price, how he is, was tasting it all, being proud of himself. After she came a little down from that height, she freed him from between her legs.

"That's my girl…" Price said and came up to her. A soft moan leaving her lips when she tastes herself on his lips. He towered over her and took her soft hand, guiding her to his dick so she can wrap her smaller hand around it. She started to pump it a little and a deep groan left his lips. "Let me take you now, love..~" he took her hand and pinned it down into the soft sheets. His cock already leaking with precum and he started to tease her a little. Soft whines coming from her until he pushed himself inside. "God.. you’re feeling so good love… so good… made for me… taking me all they way in… That’s my good girl..~"

He didn’t gave her much time and started with slow but intense thrusts, picking up the pace soon after.

"Hm ngh~" She closed her eyes, her head pressing more into the pillow. Johns eyes moving over her body, taking every inch in like he does everytime. He adores her, he can’t help it.

"Christ.. you’re so thight baby… i love you so much..~" his words were answered with a moan. Her eyes rolling back when he just hitted the right spot without much effort. His thrusts became faster again. And faster. The sound of skin clapping against skin filled the air, soft moans, whimpers, groans or grunts and the wet sound of his dick thrusting into her wet cunt.

She was holding his hand, gasping when he hitted a spot which made her see the stars. She was nothing but a little mess now. "Look at you… making such pretty noises for me…~" Price whispered into her ear. She bites her lip, holding back another moan while was hitting that spot over and over again. Her eyes rolling back again while she tried to look at her man.

"Luv you su much~" she tried to say, which worked out pretty good. And another kiss started, muffing the sound of those moans and whimpers.

"I'm close darling, so close.. you're doing so good, so good my love.. you’re made for me…~ So thight around my cock as if you don’t want to let me go..~ So needy your little pussy..~"

She wasn’t able to do anything else but to nod when one of his hands went down between them, to where they are connected, rubbing circles around her clit while thrusting into her. And before she could say anything else, her next orgasm crushed down on her, bringing her up to those heights that she can experience with him and him alone.

"God- so-" he mumbled, thrusting a few times more into her, filling her up when she thightned around him, milking him. She bites her lip while feeling his hot liquid shooting into her womb. It took moment for both to calm down a little and he kissed her forhead caring and then her lips. Stroking softly over her cheek. "Is my princess now awake..?~" she simply hummed to his question and noded. "Yes…" she was satisfied, so was he. He got up and picked her up

"Let's take a shower to get us all clean and fresh again.. then I'll make a little breakfast for my princess..~"

——————————————————————————

English is not my first language and it’s been a long time since I've written anything, especially smut but I tried. Starting with some fluffy smut.

I'm 'new' to tumblr, at least if it’s about posting and I'm getting into the cod fandom rn so here's my first post pookies cuz

Trying to take requests

My masterpost

[valleyfae]

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ➛ Guys My Age AU: Masterlist

Paring: divorced!neighbor!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: soft father figure Bucky, age gap (reader’s in uni and Bucky’s in his 40s), hurt/comfort, heavy topics (indications of an abusive parent), smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (male receiving), lots of praise, dirty talk, and teasing. Bold italicized text is from the reader’s journal or past!!

Synopsis: You can't seem to keep your plans straight or your hands off of each other.

Word Count: 3.5k words

Authors Note: I have finally decided to update this fic, and I am so sorry it took so long. This part was supposed to be double the length, but I split it in half to post something now until I am happy with the second part. Enjoy!!

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✴︎ 𝐒. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✴︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

You’ve been awake for hours.

The bright rays of sunlight sneak through the narrow opening of the cream curtains that lightly sway in the summer breeze. The ashamed feeling of disgust still sunken deep into your heavy chest. Brain fuzzy, limbs weak, stomach cramping, nausea taking over your body as you groan. 

You tiredly stretch; the feeling of your cotton sheets is the only comfort you’ve gotten since Bucky held you in his safe arms. The sunken bags under your eyes become more apparent every day you go without him. 

Falling back into your drowsy state, chilling goosebumps creep down your spine. Yet, no matter the temperature, all you can feel is the isolation and the guilt you somehow manage to carry, blaming yourself for the actions others make. 

A sudden buzz from your phone instantly snaps you out of your hopeless mood. Too lethargic to check your messages, you ignore the notifications. A second buzz vibrates against your wooden bedside table. Tiredly you lift your hand out from under the covers. You squint your eyes as the bright screen inflicts your tired vision.

Dad - 9:27 am

About to leave for my business trip

Dad - 9:29 am 

Your keys are in the kitchen

His texts give a clear indication of what will be happening.

What always happens. 

You can’t deny the sick feeling that stirs your stomach from normalizing his apathetic customs. Dropping your phone onto your burdensome chest, you have zero reaction to the thump of the heavy glass screen on your exposed skin. 

You huff out, grief crawling under your skin. As you pull your covers over your face, you hear yet another buzz, your phone buzzing on your skin. "Shut up," you irately mumble into your soft duvet.

Carelessly, you sit up, sick of seeing your father's name. You quickly glance at the message, not bothering to see what it says, immediately throwing your phone back onto the sheets. 

Freezing your movements, you furrow your brows in confusion. 

You sit fully up for the first time this morning. Leaning against your headboard, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to collect yourself from the lingering worries built up through your restless night. Nervous excitement washes the sullen expressions off your face. 

Your heart beats at a pathetically fast rate from simply seeing a notification.

Butterflies swarm your stomach, filling your throat with apprehensive nausea. Oh my god, just look at the fucking message. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the candle that lingers around your room; building up the courage, you open Bucky’s text.

Bucky - 9:31 am

Good morning, sweetheart! I hope you got a good night's sleep and got some rest. If you want to come over, I’ll be at my house. I just need to finish a little work but come whenever you want. There is a key behind the plant pot :)

Overwhelmed, you feel a sense of consolation as you read Bucky’s text repeatedly. You drag your hands down your face, shaking off your last bit of exhaustion.

It’s a little pathetically how a straightforward text Bucky probably wrote without thinking could bring you this much joy.

Stretching your sore muscles, you take your time to get out of bed – following the bright shine through the curtains, you pull them open to the sound of your father’s car dragging against the gravel. You turn your back to the window, take a deep breath, and push away your negative thoughts. 

You spend the next thirty minutes getting ready, taking your time to feel the hot water run down your back. You gently rub the sweet vanilla scent across your skin, wincing as your fingers skim over your bruises and sore muscles. 

Overcome by the debilitating urge to rush next door, you hastily gather your journal and headphones, knowing Bucky will be busy for a bit – you don’t care how long it takes him. 

You slip into a pair of shorts, the distressed denim skimming your legs, and the cotton of your old band-tee loosely hangs from your shoulders.

The warm breeze hits your skin as your shadow follows your restless steps until you reach the familiar sight of Bucky’s front door. 

You follow his expected thoughtful notes, involuntarily smiling as you pick up the cold key from the shade behind the potted plant, dragging the tip of your finger against the sharp ridges of the metal and taking a breath before gathering your overly excited body.

Carefully opening the heavy door, you step inside. The perfect type of silence and captivating scent flood your senses. Just being in Bucky’s house felt safe. The calm, sleek modern features hold a refreshing atmosphere that radiates the most precious feeling. 

As you step out of your untied Converse, the silence breaks. A faint purr draws you to the couch, and your giddiness heightens.

“Hello, pretty,” you coo, sitting beside the snow-white feline. “Don’t you look comfy?” Then, with one hand tenderly stroking Alpine, you pull your pen and journal out of your canvas bag.

Curled beside you, Alpine’s eyes flutter shut. “You have the most beautiful eyes, just like your dad.” She purrs in response closing the slight gap. “The most beautiful blue eyes.”

Your soft smile melts into a somber gulp as you take out your journal–leafing through your messy notebook and skimming over your prior writing. Lump forming in your throat, you hinder your light flipping of the pages and blankly stare at your words from the previous nights. 

The rivets of dried tear stains scatter your notes like the cuts and bruises fading from your skin.

The painful pages of burden. Every word, hit, insult, ingrained in your memory, the agonizing pluses, the claustrophobic beating of your heart, the fearful tremors, the salty tears slipping through the passage of your lips, manipulated to insanity, exhausted and delirious.

Bottled-up emotions flooded onto the pages of your journal – forever stuck in the cycle of shock, fear, denial, anger, and hopelessness. The stiffly chained pattern has never broken before.  

You never expected to feel any sort of safety.

Shame is always significant, always present, lingering in your mind, but the way Bucky cradles you in his strong arms brings you the comfort and acceptance you never expected, ever. The mounds of self-doubt that control your life slowly dissipate with every second you spend with him. The feeling he gives you is so foreign, and there are not enough words to describe it. The way he holds you in his arms. He’s nurturing. He feels like home.

The desperate longing for someone – that someone, perfect with all of their flaws and broken pieces. That person who will mend your fragile, fragmented mind, body, and soul. You never thought you would find the person, but with Bucky, it is finally starting to feel real.

You’ve never felt joy reading through your journal, repressed memories surfacing, haunting your every moment. Well, not until the night you spent the night at Buckys.

He is perfect – every part of him. 

“Sweetheart?” Bucky calls, a deep and gentle voice echoing down the stairs. His eyes land on the precious sight below him, and he gushes.

Longing gaze snapped back into reality, turning around and stuffing your journal in your bag. “Bucky?”

Nimble fingers rubbing through his beard, scratching the nape of his neck, he teases, taking his last steps to the couch. “Bunny?” kneeling, he tenderly pulls you into a hug, stroking Alpine when she lets out a jealous meow.

Walking down the hall, Bucky guides you into his bedroom. Thoughts mirroring yours, he stops you, gripping your chin between his fingers. Limbs intertwining and heavy breaths mingling, his soft lips skimming yours.

“Miss hearing that flustered hitch in your breath,” he whispers against your lips. “Perfect little girl’s all mine.”

You huff, nuzzling your heated cheeks into his buff chest. “Miss everything about you,” your words muffle against the black cloth constricting Bucky’s muscular figure.

Silence has never been more beautiful, cradled in his arms. Tension building with no fear, just desire.

“Got you something,” Bucky smirks.

Letting out a faint whine, you look up at Bucky, urgently wrapping your arms around his neck. Dwindling patience at an all-time low, heart rate climbing, Bucky welcomes your lips. His tongue glides pasts yours, syncing with the motion of your body as you cling to him.

“I got you a swimsuit,” Bucky whispers into the kiss. “Can go swimming this time, not just— God,” he curses under his breath when you playfully suck along his jaw.

“Not just… fuck me?” you pull away, surprising yourself with the way your words blatantly slip out of your mouth.

Bucky laughs, mockingly pulling away and laying a kiss on your forehead. “Someone’s got a dirty mouth today,” he chuckles, cupping your cheek.

With another sheepish grin, you follow Bucky down the hall, patiently swaying in your seat; you wait for him to bring you the swimsuit he found while in his suit.

Confidence in his step, Bucky tenderly smiles, holding out a cherry red one-piece.

Throat abruptly going dry, the customary throb radiates heat through your jean shorts. Hesitation stirs in your stomach–nervous nausea blocking your airway, cutting your breath short.

I’ve never felt uncomfortable around him. He’s never commented on my body, never drawn attention to my bruises and scars, and never made me feel weird for the horrendous way my eyes get puffy and face blotches when I cry. No one has ever made me feel the same as he does or made me feel good about myself. So does he care or only pity me because I’m just that pathetic? I don’t want him to worry about me. I don’t want him to think I just want attention. I don’t want to feel even more ashamed of myself. I just want to keep pretending that life is perfect, like how it is when I’m with him.

“I’m not the best shopper, aren't I?” Bucky sarcastically snickers, lightening the worried expression on your face.

“No, no, it’s just a little red?” you giggle, pushing your stresses aside. “I love it!”

Smiling up at Bucky, he takes your place, sitting on the linen couch. The soft chuckles of banter gone silent, you timidly undressing to rapidly put the swimsuit on. Tense arms hidden behind your back, you fidget with your fingers, eyes following the pattern of the wooden tiles.

Tongue swiping across his velvety yet slightly chapped lips, his large hand grips your discarded clothes. “Bunny?” his tone sweet and delicate, melodically humming with the blowing wind that ruffles the curtains.

Hands molding to your shoulders, he coos, “Take a deep breath for me.” Chaos constantly cluttering your mind, you follow Bucky’s instructions, giving him your vulnerability. “You don’t need to be scared of me. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

All you can do is nod, leaning into his warm embrace.

*ೃ༄

The summer sun beats down on the two of you as you agilely trace patterns down Bucky’s abdomen, centimeters away from gliding over his shorts. You shift lower in the sun lounger, intertwining your thigh around his leg.

The nervous lump thumping in your chest falls, adding to the pulse radiating off your clit and breaking the stop to your restlessness, gradually bucking your clenched hips as your nose brushes the thick trail of hair that travels beneath the waistband of his shorts.

“Feeling needy, bunny?” Bucky smugly chuckles, placing his book down and his colossal palm on your head instead. “No need to act shy; been teasing me, wiggling in those little red bottoms.” 

You tuck your head, and your flustered instinct kicks in, nose pressing against Bucky’s bulge; you whimper, realizing your position and rising embarrassment.

“Did so good for me last time. I’m still here to help but fuck.” Bucky tenderly rests his palm on your cheek. “Gonna get me hard just thinking about those soft lips wrapped around my cock, looked so pretty, so innocent sucking on my balls. Most perfect sight I’ve ever seen.”

The temperature of your face increases, but that doesn’t stop your body and your racing thoughts. Vivid images flood your memory of the first time you gave Bucky head, the first time you have ever given a man head. 

The one time has left you with a ravenous craving for Bucky, a desperate yearning to please him, the vague taste of him ingrained in your imagination every second that goes by, and it’s intoxicating.

“Can I?”

Looking up, you admire Bucky's defined abs, perfectly sculpted biceps, the bright sunlight glimmering in his crystal blue eyes. A comforting aura emits from his words, breath, and presence; that feeling of safety mixed with passion curates his effect on you, the lust that flows through your veins, leaving you writhing for friction.

You sit up, putting your weight on your heels – pressing against the emerging wet patch on your red bikini. “You know, um….” you mumble, eyes subconsciously drawing to Bucky’s bulge.

He shifts up, spreading his thighs, establishing a space for you to lay. “We have an eager little girl today, now do we?” Bucky chuckles, cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your forehead, savoring the feeling of his soft, blush lips on your skin before he pulls away, his gaze piercing through your eyes with a gentle smile. “You’re gonna make me crazy,” he murmurs.

Licking your lips, you tug the supple flesh with your teeth; anticipating his following instructions, you center yourself and lay your clammy palms on your legs, exhibiting your restlessness with a subtle pout.

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he guides your hands to his growing bulge. “Don’t worry, bunny. I'm here.” The trembling of your wrists dies down as Bucky reassuringly moves your shaky touch to a steady pace. “I got you.”

Slipping your fingers past the band of Bucky’s swim trunks, you pull them down his hips, gaze apprehensively shifting from Bucky’s alluring eyes to the expanding path of hair you’re gradually exposing.

“Lemme just,” Bucky grumbles, freeing his strained erection and aching full balls from the polyester. A content sigh washes over him as you finish taking off his bottoms.

Sinful and tainted, you cave in, your mouth watering excessively as you attentively watch Bucky wrap his fingers around his thick base. “Go on and lay down for me.” 

You hastily shift into the spot between Bucky’s muscular thighs, timidly placing a hand on his olive skin. “There you go, pretty girl’s so smart,” Bucky croons, his palm smoothing over your temple.

Your fingers barely conceal Bucky’s staggering girth mimicking his form seconds before; you glide your tongue up his shaft coating him with an abundant amount of your drool, all while maintaining hankering eye contact. His distinct, musky taste seeping into your taste buds, the feeling of his jutting veins intoxicating, you let out a content hum. Following your steady path, you kiss Bucky’s bulbous tip; a faint moan vibrates off your puckered lips, drawing a deep grunt from his chest.

“You see how hard you make me? Fucking hell, don’t need my help at all. So good for me—” Bucky groans, guiding your head down, pushing himself past your glistening lips. “That’s my girl.”

You immediately gag, glassy eyes building tears, your body’s natural response seeming hostile, but it’s your favorite feeling.

Both hands tentatively wrapped around him, the tip of Bucky’s cock prods the back of your throat—drool seeping past your lips, cascading over your tense knuckles.

Bucky's words meld into satisfied grunts, his chest heaving to the rhythm he enforces with his hand pressing down on the crown of your head. “Always take me like a champ,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Don’t you, bunny?”

His pulsing tip pummels down your throat, pushing your head down further, and a perfectly sculpted outline of his cock shapes down your neck abundantly. Copious amounts of saliva coat your chin, running down your chest and creating a glistening pool to glaze over the cushion below you.

Encouraging groans flow from Bucky’s lips as he digs his pearly white teeth into his plush red lips. His eyes locked on yours, the plentiful strands of silver that weave through his hair, glimmering in the sunlight.

The thump in your chest drops between your legs. You urgently clamp your thighs together, helplessly clenching your muscles in an attempt to fulfill the ache exuding heat from your neglected clit. You sync your needy movements with the tempo Bucky set with his hand planted on the back of your head. The repetition of your self-inflicted grinds rapidly builds a coil in your stomach.

Bucky frees you from under his grasp, stifles the tempo of his thrusts, and pumps his cock. “There she is,” he groans. “Shit. Making me feel so good.” 

Increasing the speed of the rough buckling of your hips, Bucky continues to praise you as your drool-painted lips connect to his full heavy balls. His stare drops from your watery eyes to your hips, needily grinding onto nothing. “You don’t need my help, doing amazing. Love it so much you’re humping the air, aren’t you, poor thing?”

The sound of your gags is replaced by your pleading whimpers, which have become more and more substantial as you borrow your nose further against Bucky’s base, his balls drawing up as you slurp your excessive drool.

“Come here,” Bucky motions, soothingly rubbing your free hand on his thigh. “Help me cum – need to feel that pretty cunt wrapped around my fingers. Need to show my girl how proud of her I am.”

Responding with a confused hum, Bucky cups your cheek, gently guiding you up, patting the cushion; he stabilizes your trembling legs, straddling your thighs so you’re hovering over his cock, harder than ever.

He patiently hooks his dexterous fingers around the vibrant fabric, revealing your puffy clit.

He catches your keen gaze, eyes following down to your eager pout and back to your cunt, skimming your mound with his digits. Struggling to form a sentence, you reflexively roll your hips, internally screaming, begging for Bucky to speed up his sly gestures.

His soft chuckles fuel your neediness, but before he can get his words out, you huff, “be patient. I know, I know.” Digging your fingers into his biceps, you giggle, mirroring his smile.

Swimsuit fully pushed to the side, Bucky slides his tip between your folds, teasing your entrance. “Using my words against me,” he rebuts, moving his hands and securely gripping your waist. “You know I’m right. I always make you feel good.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you whimper under your breath, “Bucky.”

Feeding your restless state, he slowly slips you down onto his length, stretching past your entrance.

As much pleasure as Bucky has brought you in every other position, this foreign fluffiness and a false sense of control is startling yet exciting. Bucky’s steady thrusts, combined with your frantic bounces as you rock your hips, almost instantly bring you to your climax.

“B-Buck–” you mewl, embarrassment and pleasure clouding your senses. “Please, I’m- I’m….” Squinting your eyes shut, you arch your back, tensing your muscles.

Maintaining his authoritative grasp on you, Bucky attaches the pad of his thumb to your clit, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat. “So quick,” he scoffs, breathlessly moaning himself. “Look at me, bunny.”

You collapse onto Bucky’s chest, tired and helplessly chasing the rapid thump in your abdomen. “Feels s-so, feels so good.” Brows furrowed, you open your heavy lids, holding back your release until Bucky reassures your pleas. “Can’t hold it, can’t hold it.”

Desperately squirming on top of Bucky, you press your parted lips to his, panting into his mouth. “Go on, cum for me.”

You let go, moaning as you jolt forward, embracing Bucky’s pace, clinging to his frame, letting him take complete control. “There you go—” Bucky’s words get increasingly gravelly as he feels himself climaxing.

His hot breath cascades down your neck–the heightening, deep, harsh snaps of hips let you know he is close. “B-Bucky, please. Please c-cum in me,” you breathlessly mumble.

“Fuck, bunny.”

Bucky holds you close, soothing you from the bliss. He isn’t thinking about anything else besides you in his arms. He lets you bask in the comfortable silence as the pulse between your legs ebbs away until all that is left painting your sensitive folds is his smooth seed that you begged him to fill you up with.

Keeping your clammy cheek pressed to his beating chest Bucky reaches for one of the pool towels he had brought out to clean up to the best of his abilities.

“Said we were swimming, and you wouldn’t just fuck me,” you murmur, voice still raspy as you pull yourself out of the hazy aftermath.

Bucky chuckles as he lays the towel back down. “Really are using my word’s against me today, aren’t you?”

“Uhmm,” you happily hum back at Bucky, shifting up to press your buzzing lips back onto his.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

I want to say thank you for all of your sweet messages on my form. They all mean a lot to me, and I wish there was a way for me to respond. I hope you guys enjoyed the fic. Sending my love.

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[waltzingwithyourenemyattheball]

PICK A CARD: BLESSINGS ENTERING YOUR LIFE IN 30 DAYS.

Left: Pile 1; Right: Pile 2

Pile 1

I see that you are struggling to make a decision, within 30 days (for some of you 2 months), the universe will make the best possible decision for you, so relax. This does not mean that you don’t give it a thought and leave it to the universe, this message means to stop struggling and being impatient because I know you want the decision, right now right this second. Paitence is a virtue that is required and rewarded handsomely, so be patient. Your workload will decrease in a good way, like you will stop overworking yourself, and have more time for yourself and leisure activities. Some of you have been carrying emotional responsibilities for too long, you have been carry HEAVY EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE, congratulations because it will all come to an end. This process will begin in 30 days and the end can vary, I am hearing 56 days strongly.  Some of you will get a partner who will make this journey easier, whether it is romantic or someone who simply listens to you, they will help ease your life. Some of you will WALK AWAY FROM LACK AND SCARCITY, since this is a general reading, take it as it resonates, it could be Money wise, and emotional void as well. Some of you are moving to a house, and having the security of shelter finally. You have been through HIGHS and LOWS a lot, you have fear of uncertainty and security. You are manifesting root chakra healing and PEACE.  Comment ‘111’ to claim this blessing.  Save this and come check this again in 30 days. 

Pile 2. 

ALMOST ALL MAJOR ARCANAS. Some of you suffer with anxiety, especially with uncertainty. I am hearing Breath Work/Kriya Yoga and being patient will help you a lot. You think life has been slow and unfair, you have developed the mindset that slow means failure. You will learn the importance of divine timing, and this will bring you a sense of peace. You will be moving from ruffled waters to calm ones. This that you would faze you before have now no impact. You have received the blessing of mental and emotional strength. CONGRATULATIONS!! You will lead a balanced life, good morning routine, lots of plants and sunlight. You will be more in tune with the universe. If this are delayed, you know something better is coming and it does because that’s how it was supposed to me. You haven’t felt this good in a while, you have inner peace, and longing no longer comes to you. You are content and protected and you know it. You know no scarcity of any kind, whatever you need is provided, whatever you want, if good for you, comes in due time. You will realise that you are just a part of nature, take intuitive decisions, no longer scratch your head or stay all night worried what to choose, how to do this and that, you’ll know. You’ll get good sleep too. Some of you might be attracting or more in communication with your soulmate whether platonic or romantic.  Comment ‘222’ to claim this blessing.  Save this and come check this again in 30 days.

FOR MORE CONTENT -> ELTAROT

-

EL TAROT

[missvelvetsstuff]

The Situation Room

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After a mission almost gone wrong, Tony brings back Bucky's former assistant, who is also Bucky's ex. Can they work together without hurting each other? Will the whole truth about their break up finally come out?

Avengers AU where Thanos never happened.

Chapter 4

Warnings: swearing, angst

The day after the party Radar woke up because of the sunlight in her face and groaned. She couldn't remember ever sleeping so hard with no dreams to remember. She couldn't remember much of the party either, at least not after Loki arrived. Even the attack and working with Bucky to take the invaders down was spotty.

She rolled over, away from the sun when she realized how late it must be considering that her room didn't get any direct sun in the morning. She sat up quickly and felt dizzy but no pain like an alcohol hangover so grabbed her phone to leave herself a note to ask Loki about that plant. Maybe she could grow her own to keep it on hand.

She frowned when she remembered Bucky getting high with them, she'd have to ask him how he slept. If the ambrosia helped him sleep she'd have to talk to Steve or Sam about it before she left, maybe have them keep some around for him. She shrugged, something for her brain to deal with when she was awake and sober.

Radar stood slowly and did some stretches before taking a hot shower. Her stomach growled and she chuckled at herself, she had passed out before the munchies could kick in last night. She hurried to finish her shower, dried off, styled her hair, threw on some leggings and an oversized shirt with slippers and went to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Half of the team was up, Sam at the stove making omelettes and hash browns while Wanda was juicing oranges. Steve, Bucky and Loki were at the table, too busy shoveling food into their mouths to notice her entrance.

When Loki sat back to drink some juice, he looked up, saw Radar, waved, set his juice down and offered a greeting "Good morning, pet. You look well rested. Dare I say hungry as well." He patted the seat next to him, opposite from Bucky.

"Mornin Lokes, I slept like a damn rock. No dreams, no tossing because my back hurts, nothin. Just sleep but I am hungry. I think I passed out before the munchies could set in."

Sam walked over from the stove with a plate for Radar, bowed and offered it to her "Milady"

Radar took the plate and looked at her omelette "Bacon, tomatoes, avocado and cheese? Sammy, you remembered my favorites. Thank you!" She kissed his cheek and dug into her food. It was half gone when she had to stop for a drink of the o.j. that Wanda brought to her.

"Ohmygawd, Sammy, this is so good. Will you marry me? I need me a man who can cook." and dove back into her food, oblivious of the reactions to her off handed comment. Sam and Loki laughed, Wanda chuckled, Steve almost choked on his food and Bucky clenched his jaw and fists, prosthetic whirring while he glared at Sam, then Radar.

After breakfast, well more like lunch, Radar headed to her office to finish some paperwork and Bucky followed her. She sat and didn't notice he was there until the door clicked shut and she looked up in surprise.

"Can I help you, Barnes?"

Bucky wanted to talk about the message he left for her and was surprised that she hadn't brought it up yet. "uh, yeah I was uh wondering how you're feeling today. You were pretty baked last nite"

Radar looked at him with her brow furrowed, wondering why he was talking to her so casually, as though they were friends "Well, yeah. I told you that's why I prefer weed, no hangover. Didn't you take a few hits? Loki said it was a lot stronger than Midgardian weed so you must have felt it. If you're lucky it kept the nightmares away like it did for me."

He shrugged "Yeah, I slept pretty hard." He didn't want to ask directly about the message and make her think he was desperate but had to know. "That attack was crazy, right? Trying to take over the compound on Steve's birthday. I wonder what they were after. You know, Steve said we still work pretty well together and wondered if you'll be able to find anyone that works with me as well as you do."

Radar smirked "Obviously no one will be as perfect as I am but I'll find you the next best thing."

Bucky started to leave before turning back to her "I can't believe you're not going to say anything about the message."

She looked at him confused "What message? Shit did I miss something important? Fuck, I'm sorry Barnes, I-" she shuffled through the papers on her desk frantically.

He raised his voice a little "Seriously, Y/N? The fucking voice message I left for you last night?"

She stared blankly "I didn't get any messages last night. I haven't gotten any new messages in a week."

Bucky bristled "Are you kidding me? That's the lamest blow off, not to mention being almost as old as I am. You don't even have the decency to acknowledge it. From last night "I'm not just saying this because I'm high....."

Radar just stared at him. "Seriously Barnes. I don't know about any message" she pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at incoming calls "I see where you called here" she pointed at the screen and showed him before checking her voicemail "There's no messages at all. Sorry but what was it about? You're not just saying what because you were high?"

Bucky pulled back and shook his head "Oh, I uh don't remember, being high and all. Must not have been important, nevermind." He tried to leave but she grabbed his arm.

"If it wasn't important or you don't remember then why ask about it? Why were you getting so worked up? Just tell me!"

"Just forget about it, doesn't matter" he pulled away from her mumbling that he had to go do a thing and practically ran down the hall.

Two days after the party, the entire team and their Angels were called into a meeting. Nick Fury swept in and gave them the details of the upcoming mission to figure out what Hydra was up to with that raid and introduced them to the field agents that were joining them.

Bucky stood up to greet one of the extra agents. He shook hands and turned to introduce him.

Radar saw who Bucky was talking to and felt like she was going to be sick as he introduced John Walker, who he had personally invited to take part in this mission. Bucky looked at Radar with one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. She kept her face impassive, she knew he was doing this to fuck with her and refused to let him see her get upset.

When the meeting was ended, Radar left as quickly as she could manage but Bucky had to stop her. "I thought you'd like seeing your old pal John again, he said it's been awhile, years." He chuckled as she turned away from him.

"I hope it wasn't anything I said."

Radar hurried to the closest bathroom, hoping she could keep from puking all over Tony's fancy rugs.

Wanda was pissed and pulled Bucky aside. "I know you think you're clever, Barnes but you're not, you are being a prick. You think we can't see how you're trying to punish her, with all the different women that you could have met in the lobby but had to parade them in front of her and now this, bringing that piece of shit here, but we can see it and you're dead wrong about what you think happened. Bringing Walker into this mission is just cruel and I'm surprised because I didn't think you could sink that low."

Bucky shrugged "I don't know what you're talking about Wanda. Walker is an asset, he can...." He trailed off.

Wanda scoffed "That's what I thought. Just remember, karma might be a bitch but I'm a witch, so you better watch your ass."

The mission involved multiple teams infiltrating multiple facilities simultaneously so they couldn't warn each other.

Since John Walker wasn't an Avenger he didn't have his own Angel so Radar was working with him and Bucky. She was displeased, to say the least. Being stuck listening to them argue like 6 yr olds while they trained together in Tony's simulation was her worst nightmare. They seemed to get along but Radar could hear the sarcasm and disdain in Bucky's voice every time he spoke to John. Somehow John didn't pick up on it and acted as though they were old war buddies.

After 3 days of training as a team, Radar was ready to make both men disappear and grateful that they were leaving early the next morning which meant they were getting closer to when the mission would be completed and she wouldn't have to deal with John.

On departure day Radar woke early to load up Bucky and John's gear in the jet they were assigned to with Sam and Steve. Sam's Angel, Katie and Steve's Angel Sophia went to breakfast with Radar.

When they returned to the compound they all set up in the Situation Room for over 30 minutes when Friday notified them that the jet was landing. Steve called Sophia when they were ready to leave the jet. The Angels logged in and walked their charges through the building.

It took over an hour for the soldiers to clear the building and set charges to bring it down.

As they walked away from the building John started talking "You know Barnes I just want to say I appreciate that we can all be adults about that incident and still work together." He chuckled nervously

"I was really expecting you to take a shot at me after what I did so I'm glad that we can leave the past where it is."

Bucky stopped and turned to look at John "What the fuck are you talking about?"

John froze "Well, you know. That prank with Y/N. I know you were together but Sharon wanted me to keep Y/N busy so she could take her shot with you."

Bucky stood for a moment, processing what John just said and then pushing John up the ramp and into the jet

"Prank? What prank? Sharon put you up to that?" He shook his head "No, something is not right about this. What else happened? Beginning to end."

Radar heard John mention that night and tried to interrupt them but neither responded, she figured they must have muted her since they were heading home. She was afraid of what they were going to say but couldn't bring herself to shut her laptop off so listened carefully.

John cleared his throat "You know, we were at the bar in town......

***FLASHBACK***

The team was at the bar up the road from the compound. Steve, Sam, Bucky and Nat were taking turns playing pool. Radar was sitting with Wanda, Vision and Maria, drinking and talking. Scott, Hope and Luis were waiting for their turns at karaoke.

Sharon, John and Lamar were doing shots.

Radar took some shots over for Sam, Steve and Bucky, letting Bucky do a body shot off of her before he kissed her hard. "You shouldn't tease me like that doll, I might have to ruin you when we get home."

Radar nipped his lower lip "Don't you threaten me with a good time, Sarge. I gotta go, be right back." She headed to the bathroom as he returned to his game, after watching her walk away.

She ran into Nat, Sharon, Maria and Wanda in the restroom. They told her they were leaving and offered a ride back but she told them she'd stay with Bucky.

As she checked her hair in the mirror the door opened and she saw John Walker behind her holding out a water bottle. "Bucky told me to give this to you, so you don't get a hangover"

Radar looked at him confused "Why didn't he bring it?"

John chuckled "He was in the middle of a game with Sam and didn't want to risk Sam cheating if he left."

Radar shrugged, seemed odd but it's just a bottle of water and Bucky was always reminding her to drink plenty of water when she had alcohol. She drank down half of it in one go, noticing it tasted weird but it was a generic brand so wrote it off as low budget.

She set the water down and was already feeling dizzy and her vision was getting blurry. She tried to speak up but her words slurred "W wha what was in that wahturr? Whad'you d.....?" and slumped into his arms.

John cursed as he half carried her out the back door and into a room he had already reserved at the motel across the street.

When Radar woke she was alone in a motel room and couldn't remember the night before, at first.

As she looked around, bits and pieces came back to her. Her stomach dropped as she remembered John helping her walk to the motel room, taking her clothes off, hovering over her, touching her. She ran to the bathroom and threw up until nothing was left.

Radar hurried to get dressed and when she found her phone she tried to call Bucky but it just went to voicemail. Once dressed she practically ran the whole way back to the compound and hurried to her and Bucky's shared room. She stopped at the door for a moment trying to catch her breath before opening the door, only to see Sharon sitting next to Bucky showing him some pictures.

Radar stopped in her tracks "Bucky, I-"

Bucky cut her off "You what? What excuse do you think you can come up with that will make this any better?" He tossed the pictures on the coffee table.

Radar looked at the pics of her hanging on John outside of the bar, going into a motel room, her practically naked with John shirtless on top of her.

She shook her head "Nononono, that's not-"

Bucky cut her off coldly "Not what? You fucking your ex last night?"

Radar felt her eyes filling up "I didn't, Bucky baby I would never. Let me explain, I-"

He cut her off again "There's nothing to explain, obviously what we had didn't mean anything to you."

Radar begged "Please, Baby, I-"

He spat "I'm not your baby. You need to go. I'm leaving in a couple of hours and you can come get your shit then. I'll have Friday notify you but right now I want you out of my sight. You make me sick."

"No, Bucky, please" she cried as he pushed her out of their room and slammed the door in her face, Sharon smiling behind him.

***END FLASHBACK***

As he finished telling the story, John laughed nervously "I mean, Sharon said it was just a prank. I never slept with Radar or anything. We took her clothes off and posed for intimate looking pics. I did touch her a little but I swear, that's all."

Bucky felt hot and dizzy as he reconsidered what John was saying. He wanted to tear the man into tiny pieces and realized he deserved the same because he never gave Radar a chance to say anything. He fell to his knees when it hit him, he had pushed away the woman he loved and wasted 2 years of their lives when she hadn't done anything wrong.

As he sat on his knees he felt his temper rising, almost like the soldier was trying to come out. Like he wanted to kill John and Bucky for hurting his girl. With tears streaming down his face he stood and hit John once, he heard his nose crack. It felt so good he hit him again, in the gut, forcing John to grunt and double over. After that he lost control and kept hitting John until Steve pulled him off. John was bloody and barely conscious.

Steve went into Captain mode "What the hell are you doing, Buck? You can't just go off on another agent, no matter how horrible he is. How am I supposed to explain this to Fury?"

Bucky was breathing heavy, sweat and tears running down his face. "But he, he, you don't know what he did. Stevie, you don't know what he did to me and Y/N"

Steve shook his head "I do know, he slept with Radar and you broke up with her. You were totally justified dumping her, she cheated and I know John is trash b-"

Bucky grabbed him and shouted "NO! You don't get it. John and Sharon set us up, he drugged Y/N and took pictures that looked like they were having sex but they didn't. He said it was a prank. I ruined everything and it was a set up so that I would turn to Sharon. And I fell for it, just proof that I never did deserve her."

He sat down with his head in his hands

"I still love her, how do I fix this? I don't even know where to start or if it can be fixed but I gotta try."

Back at the compound Radar was curled up in the corner of the situation room, rocking herself and crying, trapped in a flashback of that morning, unable to bring herself out of it.

***Flashback***

After she left their room in tears, Radar went to medical and told Helen Cho what she remembered and had her do a complete rape exam. She was relieved to hear there were no signs of recent penetration but that also meant no DNA. Helen took some blood so they could test for rohypnol or any other drugs used to roofie women.

Radar had moved out of the compound before Helen received the results so they were put away in Radar's file.

***End***

No one could get through to Radar until Wanda returned and went into her mind to push that memory aside, making Radar fall asleep. Vision carried her back to her room where Wanda took off her shoes and tucked her friend into bed.

Wanda asked Friday to let her know when Radar woke and left her sleeping to wait for Bucky to get home.

@unaxv @calwitch @buckitostan @cjand10

Chapter 5

[thetravelingtyper]

Our Shattered Heart Interlude (Part 3.00) KG (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)

Loading Track 4 - Missing Piece by Vance Joy (Kyle Garrick One Shot). With Simon and Johnny gone for the day, you and Kyle spend the day together.

Warnings: None!

Part 2.75, Part 4, Masterlist

God I freaking LOVED writing this! Enjoy - Ash

Our Shattered Heart 3.00 Interlude Kyle Garrick (...Loading Track 4…)- Missing Piece by Vance Joy

Sunlight filtered through partially drawn blinds. The noise of London heightened in the rising day. You curled towards the edge of the bed stirring but an arm swung over you from behind and pulled you back into a firm chest. You stirred, turning over and tucking further into his warmth. His chest rumbles with a low laugh and Kyle presses a kiss into your hair.

“Mornin’ Sweetheart”

You murmur a reply into his chest before pulling out to look at him.

During the early morning, Johnny must have dropped you off with Kyle before he and Simon returned to base.  Price had adamantly called them last night in for yet more paperwork and you and Kyle were left alone for the day. He holds you securely, as if afraid for some reason you would slip from him like a waking dream. 

I've been waiting for the tides to change

For the waves to send you my way

I see you darling but you pixilate

It gets hard to take these days

You end up rolling out of bed at 9:36 am. You pull yourself into a stretch as Kyle watches sitting at the edge of the bed. There is a buzz of your phone and you pick it up from the nightstand and stifle a laugh. There is a sneaky picture taken of Simon and John by Johnny before there is a blur of a pale hand snatching the phone from him in the next shaky photo. It then buzzes with a message from SImon saying they will not be back until the next day.

You relay this to Kyle who stands and ruffles through the dresser and pulls on a dark green shirt. He passes into the connected bathroom to get ready for the day.

“We could hit the shop.”

He smoothly voices and you call back an affirmation. Food was running low. You chuckle, given the presence of four soldiers, you expected as much. You change into something a bit more street-worthy and pass down the hall and into the kitchen. You open the fridge and laugh, other than a pack of beer, juice, and some eggs you guys were running on empty. You hear footsteps and Kyle enters, arm naturally reaching to you and hand bracing the small of your back and he reaches past you for the juice. He asks if you want a glass and you nod.

You pull out the eggs to start work on breakfast. He hands you a glass and you drink some, eyes squinting at a sour taste before Kyle mirrors the same look.

“That's expired” You chuckle as he spits it out and dumps the glasses in the sink. 

“Let’s just go out love.”

You look to the eggs and the expired juice, then to Kyle who has a growing grin. His eyes crinkle as he sees you thinking a moment, then smirks when you accept the inevitable. 

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

But we'll hold the line, I won't let go

'Cause I'll be there when you can finally make it home

And I don't mind 'cause we both know

That we'll be fine when you can finally make it home

And that is how you find yourself in a bustling London cafe, with Kyle lounging across from you with the occasional brush of his hand against yours on the table. You relax into the plush chair and savor the flavor of the rich food in front of you. You two had stumbled upon a small family-owned cafe that thrived in the city. People passed in and out with smiles and light conversation and you found a table tucked into a plant-filled corner. Your server had been a little ruffled but smiled nonetheless and jotted down your orders before disappearing into the back. 

15 minutes later your pancakes sat in front of you and at the first bite, you fell in love.

“That good huh?”

His laugh melts your heart and the man reaches a fork over expectantly and you let him take a piece, his face then mirroring yours. He looks from his eggs to your pancakes in misery and you sigh before splitting your pancakes and taking his plate and setting half on his plate before passing it back. 

He grins at you. You always gave in to his and Johnny's wants so easily.

During a lull in a three-person mission, you paced the safe house kitchen looking for ingredients. You had been wanting something sweet all day and after almost getting yourself killed something domestic would settle your soul. Kyle and Johnny were both fine other than some scuffs but the men had passed out into sleep the moment they hit their respective beds. So that left you in the cold kitchen in some sweats and a sweater baking.

30 minutes of mixing later you folded chocolate chips into a browned butter cookie batter. You had been pleasantly surprised to find not only fresh butter but dark brown sugar. Your signature cookies called for only the best (and most unhealthy) ingredients. You smile as you work, after your last mission with Gaz, he had probably expressed frustration with the food in the safehouses with Price. While remote locations made sense to be meagerly stocked, this mission was more city-side, allowing for more preparation. You set the tray of cookies in the oven to bake as you continue to spoon batter into the tray. 

Because when I'm in a room with you

That missing piece is found (oh)

You know when you're by my side, darling

Nothing can bring us down (oh)

Vance Joy’s voice permeates into the chill of the night as you spin in the kitchen. You always liked music, growing up your parent would pull you to parties and other events and leave you to your own devices. When you got promoted in the service your old captain had known about your skill so you always went undercover to events like galas. With a teammate in your arms, you could spin them out and imagine yourself dancing with someone you loved. But service was service and you always put your head down and into the part you played. 

---

Things in the 141 had changed in the past month. First, it was Johnny, pressing a swift kiss to the side of your lips. It had triggered something in the team, he and Kyle became your shadows. Especially when members of other teams or Kortac were around. Kyle though became more, well intimate. You both shared a bathroom on base, but he would often end up around you just sharing the space. If you were up early for a run Kyle would pop his head out and call to you for you to wait. He would then match your pace and often brush up against you. 

Then before this mission, during discussions with Konig, Kyle would sit himself next to you at the table and just stay on his phone but have a knee consistently bumping yours or an arm brushing yours. Something in your heart settled when Johnny kissed you. Shock of course, but a natural whisper of belonging to something greater as well. If Johnny was flirty before, oh boy was he stuck on you now. Where you were he appeared, a knowing look gleaming in his eye and head cocked in anticipation. You found yourself naturally leaning into the affection now. A hand on your shoulder or an arm slung towards you in a side hug now became a silent sign. You noticed it, especially in the other members of the 141. 

Kyle of course in his closeness to you, a step further than before. His meeting your pace, bringing you food, and cooking more in general. If you stepped into the base kitchen it was a silent signal that Kyle materialized and joined you. One time you felt eyes on you as Kyle passed behind you to reach for something in the fridge. You freeze and turn to the entrance of the kitchen. Across from a table of privates and other soldiers eating is Ghost, well Simon, you correct yourself. He is in full gear, leaning against the wall, just watching. When you meet his eyes his soften. You smile at him and turn when Kyle calls your attention, turning back to the risotto. What you don't see is the knowing look from Kyle to your Lieutenant and a shared smile under the mask. 

---

The smell of cookies seeps out from the kitchen and in his room, Kyle stirs. 

The feelings for you from the 141 were known to all of the men, despite the quieter nature of Price, and Simon, Kyle, and Johnny figured it out from their respective superiors about a year or so after you joined. It was after a risky mission that Johnny lost himself in the spur of the moment. You had just yanked him from death and the surge of pride and love towards you had overtaken his nature. He had fallen first, seeing your interactions with the corporals and privates. You cared for your soldiers. Not to mention you could flip him on his ass so quickly when sparring. Having you so close was intoxicating so he went for it. Pressing soft lips to the side of yours he yearned you to take your head in his hands and pull you down. But the situation of course had sent you spinning off him in a blush before switching back into work mode. 

But neither of you forgot that moment. Kyle could see it, a week after Johnny told him while they were at a pub. You had been working with Price on late-night report sessions. Simon leaned back in the booth, hand lifting a glass of bourbon silently while Kyle about smacked the man upside the head.

“What were you thinking?” Johnny just shrugs and throws back the rest of his scotch. No matter what they would say he was still pleased with himself. 

“They didn't seem to mind too much.” He says smugly and Kyle throws up a hand in exasperation. They didn’t though. He saw as much when the two interacted. The touches seemed a little more than casual and you subconsciously leaned further into them. The exasperated sighs from the Scot’s flirtatious comments became silent blushes and a stammering biting reply. But what it did most for Kyle was to give him hope. 

Kyle awakens fully moments later, slipping out from underneath the sheets and out of the shared bedroom. He approaches the kitchen hearing the sound of an Australian accent singing.

I remember happy wasted days

Summer's golden haze in our eyes

Lifting you above the breakin' waves

Memories floatin' back to my mind

There he finds you singing softly to yourself. You sway quietly on socked feet, the mismatched corgi socks hitting Kyle somewhere deep in his heart. It was this he fell in love with. The quiet singing in the bathroom while you got ready, humming during jogs, or while you and he cooked. Something gripped his heart and he stepped into the kitchen. You turn and jump a little when you see him suddenly, eyes widening at his appearance.

“Are you ok?” You go to turn the music off but he steps into the kitchen making you pause. He is shirtless, something that you silently admire when you don't have to patch the man up. He doesn’t say anything though but there is a look in his eyes. Some swirling brown depth you stumble into. He stops in front of you, looking into your eyes searching. You swallow thickly, the moment feeling intimate as his hand reaches for your face. 

A rough palm meets your cheek as Kyle hovers just outside your space. There is a calmness in his eyes then, your heart hammering in your chest. First Johnny, then Kyle sticking to you like glue, you gulp and step forward to meet him. 

You said, "Hold the line", I won't let go

'Cause I'll be there when you can finally make it home

And I don't mind 'cause we both know

That we'll be fine when you can finally make it home

It is your hands that seek him, ghosting the sides of his abdomen before curling around him and pulling you to his chest. Kyle's heart hurries along, his arms up in surprise before they settle around you. You tuck your head easily into the crook of his neck. So many nights of staring up at the stars, or cooking. Laughter as you collapse into bed at the end of a mission. It seems to have all led up to this he thinks. He dips his head down and presses a kiss into your hair, Vance Joy’s voice fading into memory.

In the shop, Kyle follows you dutifully with a trolly as you pass into the produce. You set a carton of strawberries in the cart before you debate over what to do for dinner. You look back to Kyle only to find him looking at you with a soft smile on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing Love just admiring the view.”

You flush a little at his comment and the man has the audacity to chuckle. He then leaves the cart and approaches you, arms pulling you in for a kiss on your forehead before releasing you. You frown at the disconnect and while one of his hands pulls the cart you entangle your fingers with his other hand for contact. The smile he gives you lights something in you and you pull him along to fish for dinner ingredients. 

Because when I'm in a room with you

That missing piece is found (oh)

You know when you're by my side, darling

Nothing can bring us down (oh)

It's like when you're far away from me

I get lost in the crowd (oh)

Because when I'm in a room with you

That missing piece is found (oh)

After shopping you and Kyle make it back to the apartment in the early evening, groceries quickly filed away for later consumption. While Kyle goes to shower you get to work on dinner for the two of you. You moved around the small kitchen with practiced ease as Vance Joy’s Missing Piece rang out. Something about the song was so nostalgic to you, especially this past week. Maybe your running was what triggered it. Your team, your men came after you. Not that you wouldn't have returned but something more in their eyes and heart surrounded you. As you tend to the stove Kyle enters back in seeking you.

After the small kiss, Kyle was everywhere with you. A little more subtle than Johnny the man was a bit more protective. Especially when you were amongst the other sergeants. There had been a time while SImon and Johnny were away and a group of Sergeants on base had decided to go out while on leave and you, being a particular favorite, were invited.

“Come on Heart! You're always with the task force! Join us for once!” 

The sentiment was echoed by a few others who grabbed your arms in a friendly manner and tugged you toward the pair of vehicles. You did have some paperwork with Price due soon but at their insistence, you went along with it. They could see it on your face as the hesitence gives away with their jesting and there is a collective cheer and you allow yourself to be pulled by the rowdy men and women. 

You slipped into the back middle seat of one of the black SUVs. As the main Sergeant, Smith, got into the driver's side there was a firm “Hold it!” from outside. There is a shadow in the tinted windows before the right side door opens and Kyle slips in next to you. Your left-side companion gives you a look with a raised eyebrow. Kyle sees this and replies.

“And let you guys have all the fun? Never.”

He grins and this seems to appease the others but he sends Smith a sharp look that everyone misses but you. You look at him in concern but his left hand moves to your knee and he gives you a secret smile but doesn't reply. 

The place Smith selects is less bar and more club and you sigh as both SUVs pull into the tight lot and the groups depart with eager smiles and a few excited chatters. Kyle steps out before offering you a hand which you take. You send him a smile but you find his eyes clouded and a frown on his face. You are about to question him when Smith throws an arm around your shoulder and steps into your space. You about yelp before you turn to him in surprise. 

“It's been a while eh Heart?” He asks with a cooky smile before his green eyes meet Kyle’s in a challenge. You cock your head before it clicks. There had been a mission months ago that required you and him to pass a couple for a few weeks. It was one of the few times where you went under without one of the 141. You nod to him in a friendly way.

“I guess so.”

Smith’s grin widens and as the others move towards the entrance he pulls you along. 

Oooh I won't waste a minute when you're here

And we're finally in the clear

When every day is like the last

I just keeping holding fast

He stood at an easy 6’2” almost meeting eyes with Ghost. It was a fact he took well as during the mission there was a couples carry. An inherently stupid contest that you wanted nothing to do with but the target was competing so Smith had insisted. What you had not expected was the man to literally sweep you off your feet with a cocky ambition that made him preen. 

His attraction to you wasn’t known to you until he swept you into a victory kiss as he passed the finish line. His lips against yours were soft but you played the kiss up for a show, mind set on the mission. Yet the heady look in his eyes went unnoticed by you. The pieces showed themselves though when you both returned. You both in dress clothes stepped out of the car laughing at different events of the mission, his hand splayed along your back in what you took as a friendly gesture. He had your gear slung over his shoulder as he insisted on carrying it. As you both enter base there are a few glances at your return and the hand on your back. 

It is when you enter the common room that you realize it. There you find Kyle and your lieutenant, the former cooking something that made your stomach rumble and the latter leaning against the kitchen counter conversing with his Sergeant. There is little clamor as you enter but a few Sergeants playing a game pause it when Smith enters. His friends approach as you part from him to see your teammates. You smile at a few corperals who light up seeing you return and the noise draws the eyes of Kyle and Ghost. Two pairs of eyes close in as Kyle smiles and shuts off stove. He calls your name and you perk up, parting with a polite goodbye and entering the kitchen. 

Kyle approaches you first, looking you over for any damage but you wave him off  looking up at him with a pleased smile. The sight of you in your dress outfit makes his heart skip a beat but he only returns the smile.

“I’ve got dinner on the stove if-” Kyle is disrupted by Smith popping his head in to the kitchen, searching for you. He meets your eyes and calls your name before offering,

“Heart, a few of us were going to go catch a movie and dinner if you wanted to join,” his eyes flicker to Kyle and he adds a joking “sweetheart.” 

He enters the kitchen fully holding your bag still in expectation as Kyle pulls his shoulder back. Green eyes flicker dismissively over him but its the hazel in the back that catch his. You can feel a tension in the air then when Ghost stands up from leaning. The mans eyes lock with Smith and the man stands taller under scrutiny, there are boot steps then as your Lieutenant approaches Smith and holds a hand out expectantly. Smith pauses and Simon wants to smirk under the mask as he can see Smith's eyes shift between you and Ghost. Something gives and Smith hands over your stuff before Ghost replies with.

“Sergeant Heart has debriefing tonight, at ease Sergeant.” With that he shoulder your bag and dismisses Smith. A look of defeat passes over Smith's eyes for a flash before he winks at you and mutters “Next time then.” Kyle coughs a laugh into his elbow before leading you into a delicious meal.

---

After that night with him and Johnny though you were keener with the others. And while Smith was attractive you felt nothing but a slight friendship with the man. While the feelings were all a tangle, Johnnys abrupt kiss had opened a door you dare not question, and since then your heart paced between four certain men. Kyle seemed on some wavelength to know and you had accepted his closeness with a cherished happiness. 

As you were dragged forward you kicked on the breaks, pausing Smith in place. You then call back to your fellow 141 member. You look up to Smith with a soft but resolute smile before holding a hand out to Kyle. The man in question grinnes before walking forward to take your hand, a smug smile shot to Smith before he pulls you forward into the club.

Kyle’s arms circle your waist and pull you back into a firm chest, his head dipping to you shoulder.

“Smells good Love.”

You turn your head towards his and hum. He moves you both to the music in the kitchen something in his heart settled and soft. He turns and presses a kiss to your neck. 

“There are tarts in the oven for the boys tomorrow.”

He doesnt reply, just taking in your warmth.

“Kyle?”

“I love you.” The admission makes your heart skip and you set the utensil down to run a hand up his arm. You tilt your head towards his, murmuring,

“I love you too,”

Before meeting him in sweetly shared kiss. 

Because when I'm in a room with you that missing piece is found

You know when you're by my side darling nothing can bring us down

Its like when you're far away from me I get lost in the crowd

Because when I'm in a room with you that missing piece is found

End Track…

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