#it is very late at night currently and I have been painting for hours so I am a little bit silly rn

[familyvideostevie]

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 

You’ve only been open for two hours. 

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 

Your coffee shop. 

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired. 

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 

You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him? 

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

__

Joel stops by again. 

And again. 

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying. 

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 

“I’m honored,” he says. 

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash. 

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Miss me?” 

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags. 

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.” 

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 

They both wave at you as they drive away. 

__

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted. 

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

__

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 

And you still barely know him. But you want to. 

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says. 

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.” 

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says. 

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[verinarin]

First time requesting 😭 but anw sleepy cuddles with veritas? not yet officially an item but reader is always very very very clingy to him whenever they’re sleepy and he just finds it ridiculously endearing and realizes he has a thing for them a lot against all odds

this!!, since we all know Veritas has an interesting way to show how he cares about others (lovingly criticise them), he definitely is the type to show that he cares rather than just blatantly say it

fluff | Veritas’ sleepy TA that keeps sleeping on the job; he doesn’t mind the occasional rest though-

You have always been the type of person who likes to do practically everything on the floor or lying down, even though Veritas has given you your desk in his vast office you can’t help but end up scattering the countless mathematical questions and formulas on the floor

You’re his current and only TA, he entrusted you to help him grade his students and sometimes cover for him if he’s needed elsewhere so it is no secret to anyone that your daily activities mostly consist of working in his office, today was no different

Even though Veritas is currently needed to delegate for the IPC, his job as a scholar can’t be postponed, so here are you late at night preparing the materials for tomorrow in case he asks you to cover for him again, his students don’t mind his absence anyways, they even rejoice every time you’re covering for him

Feeling restless on the floor you decide to close your eyes, perhaps taking a simple power nap before resuming your work would energise you, so you simply lay on the floor with papers scattered around you, using your arms as a makeshift pillow, forgetting the fact that you hadn’t set your 30 minutes alarm-

Hours pass by as you sleep blissfully unaware that you have just arrived back at his office, his face paints a picture of a distraught expression. His faithful assistant sleeping soundlessly on the floor, he took mental notes to put carpet on the floor tomorrow so you could comfortably work in the position you like the most

He simply sighed as he sat down beside you, carefully lifting your head and placing it on his thigh, his eyes scanned the papers around you, seemingly impressed by your preparation. He took multiple papers and carefully reviewed them, while doing so he can’t help but play with your hair, it seems that you have overworked yourself since you aren’t aware of your current position

After approximately 45 minutes you slowly regain your consciousness, the first thing you feel his fingers running through your hair, you flutter your eyes open to reveal Veritas idly reading the materials you prepared, “Oh someone decides to wake up,” he scoffs

You quickly straighten your body feeling rather embarrassed at the position you are in, “How long did I fall asleep on your lap ?” you ask, your hand holding the back of your neck as you meekly smile

“Approximately 45 minutes, I’m the one who situated your head on my lap. Hope you’re not uncomfortable by my gesture,” he replies, putting your papers back on the floor as his eyes turn towards you

“Of course not it’s just embarrassing,” you laugh, suddenly you feel his hand grasping your wrist, pulling you in. Your head lands straight to his chest, while his other hand swiftly lift you to his lap via your waist, “You can continue to rest, while I review your work,” he candidly replies

Your face turns into an indescribable hue of red, he finds this to be endearing. You may not realise it but you have this tendency to accidentally fall asleep against him while waiting for his assessment of your work, you like to mumble things like how warm he is or how comfortable he is.

He deems this as you being half asleep and lacking the comprehension to know what’s real and what’s not, so he never bothered to tell you this. He likes to act dumb when you wake up in a daze, not knowing you were cuddling his arm earlier, “Is something the matter ? speak if there is something on your mind,”

You can’t help but stumble upon your words not knowing what to say, “You overstimulated that brain of yours, best for you to rest and to stop wasting my time by uttering inaudible words,” he scoffs as he pats your head, his eyes still trained on your work

[koolades-world]

Can I request headcannons of MC getting in a fight with Solomon and Simeon (separately) about something pretty big and how MC (or Solomon/Simeon depending on the reason for the fight) makes up for it/apologizes? I just need some good old angst to fluff man.

Thank you and your writing is amazing!

hi! of course :)

the solomon one was def a lot more serious that the simeon one just because i couldn't think of much that mc and him would get into a serious fight about haha (this only thing i could think of was mc confronting him about his choices that led to him becoming humans and that needs it's own piece for sure)

i kinda deviated from the prompt as a wrote, so sorry about that haha. that happens sometimes as i write. the solomon one is much more on prompt

enjoy <3

Mc gets into a fight w/ Simeon and Solomon (separately)

Simeon

you get jealous that he's been spending so much time with the members of the school's art club

that in itself isn't the problem and you're glad he's getting out there more with something he doesn't normally do, it's just that you can tell that two other members in specific are very into him

they inserted themselves into your relationship and specifically tried to upset you, which cause you to blowup at them

"So, what time are you going to be home?" You pinched your D.D.D. between your shoulder and your ear as you got together the ingredients for dinner that night, since it was your turn to cook.

"In about an hour. Art club will take a little longer today. We're finishing our paintings. I hope you'll like it." The melodious voice of your boyfriend, Simeon, was piped into your ear.

"I'm sure it'll be amazing. If you're going to be late for dinner, let me know. I'll set aside a portion for you." You smiled at the nervousness you heard in his voice.

"Alright. I'll talk with you later then. Love you, Mc." Simeon said.

""Love you too. Stay safe." You put the phone down, and went back to preparing dinner. After you were done, you left it on the stove on keep warm and went off to get some homework done. Eventually, dinner time had rolled around, and still nothing from Simeon. You assumed everything was as normal, so you called your other housemates to dinner.

"Thank you Mc." Luke sat down at the table with his plate.

"Let me know what you think! I tried a modified recipe today." Before Solomon could speak up, the front door finally opened. You got up to greet who you presumed was just Simeon, but there were three people in the doorway.

"I'm home. Hope you don't mind I brought a few guests." Simeon stepped aside to fully reveal his two companions. You recognized them as two other members of the art club, an incubus and a succubus. They really liked Simeon, which wasn't wrong, but they liked him too much. They knew he was currently in a relationship, but that didn't seem to stop them.

The rest of what happened was somewhat of a blur. You vaguely remembered getting progressively more upset at the two newcomers, until eventually, you stood up from the dinner table and went upstairs to your room.

"Mc? I know you're in there." Simeon knocked on the locked door. you didn't answer him. "I'm sorry for bringing them home. I didn't know they'd say that to you. You can blame me all you want." Instantly, you felt bad for unconsciously pinning the blame on him. He had such an alluring personality, so it wasn't really his fault that everyone liked him.

"It's not your fault." You opened the door, and pulled him into the hug. "They were trying to get a rise out of me, and I took the bait. It was a result of pent up feelings I should've share before. I'm sorry."

Simeon sighed and patted your back. "No need to apologize. It's normal to be jealous. I could have done better and asked, but the past is in the past, isn't it?" He took a step back and picked something up that was leaning against the wall. "This is for you. I'd wanted to prepare some of your favorite cookies to go along with it, but I thought now might be a good time to give it to you." In his hands was a portrait of you.

"Simeon! This is beautiful. Thank you!" You hugged him again.

"I'm glad you like it." Simeon moved to set it down, but you stopped him.

"Let's hang it up right now. I have the perfect spot." Simeon was glad to have been graced with seeing your beautiful smile once more.

Solomon

the two of you get into a fight about his tendency to hole up in his room for days at a time

he says he's doing important experiments but you just want to spend time with him

when he does leave his room, it's a weird hours and it's at one of these times that you happen to run into him

"Sol." You held up your D.D.D.'s flashlight. In front of you was your boyfriend, looking like he hadn't slept in at least a few days. The situation might had been funny if you weren't so upset with him. He froze in the beam, looking like a deer in headlights.

"Mc, my love, my joy, my sunshine. What are you doing up this late?" He chuckled nervously, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing." You stared at each other in silence. "Babe, it's been three days since I last saw you." He smiled at you sheepishly.

"I've been doing important work." The response he came up with was lackluster.

"What could be more important than your significant other?" You sighed, lowering the flashlight. Solomon didn't respond. "Our anniversary was yesterday. You promised to take me out to dinner. I waited and waited, and even knocked on your door, but you told me you'd be out soon. You never came out." Tears began to well up in your eyes despite promising yourself you wouldn't cry. As the realization hit him, Solomon began to move towards you to comfort you, but you took a few large steps backward.

"My work really is important, but let me make it up to you. We can go out tomorrow morning for brunch, or whatever you'd like." He kept trying to move towards you, but stopped once he realized you didn't want him to close the distance.

"Maybe. I don't know. My feelings are hurt is all. I got dressed up and even had a present ready. I left it outside your door, not that you noticed." You wiped the tears away with your sleeve.

"I made a real breakthrough in my research, if that helps." Solomon suddenly looked much more awake.

"It doesn't. At all. I only wanted one thing from you, but somehow you've managed to avoid it at every turn. I admire your passions, really, I do. But sometimes, I feel like that's the only thing you care about." You turned around, and ran out of the room, taking the only source of light with you.

"Wait! Mc, come back!" Solomon promptly ran headfirst into the door you'd just slammed shut, leaving him alone in the dark, and upset himself.

The next day, he showed up at the HoL, bouquet of flowers in hand. He hesitated for a moment, but knocked. Unfortunately, Satan greeted him. He looked mostly collected, but that didn't stop him from being nervous.

"Hello." Solomon smiled at him.

"I presume those flowers aren't for me." Satan raised an eyebrow.

"Haha, no. They're for..." Your name died on his tongue when he saw you in the background. Your eyes were rimmed red and you had messy hair, but you looked rested. When the two of you made eye contact, you froze.

"Mc, I'm sorry." He held out the flowers to you over Satan's shoulder. He rolled his eyes and stepped a little out of the way. Far enough to give him room, but close enough to force him back outside if needed. You burst into another round of tears, and before Belphie, who was next to you, could grab you, you ran towards him and hugged him tightly.

"That's all I wanted to hear yesterday." Solomon held you close with his free hand.

"I'm sorry for making you think my research was more important that you, I'm sorry for forgetting our anniversary, and I'm sorry for not communicating better." He extended the flowers to you again once you stepped back.

"Thank you. You remembered my favorites." You took them, and gave them a quick whiff.

"Is it too forthcoming of me to ask if you're still up for brunch?" Solomon chuckled.

"No. I'd love that. Just let me get changed." You handed the flowers back to him temporarily to run back inside to get out of your pajamas. Satan had left at some point, but Asmo had found his way into his place.

"Sol. I love you, but if you ever try that again, I think I'll have to put your heart on a spike in the RAD courtyard." Asmo giggled. That was the second time he'd heard his usually endearing nickname spoken in such a threatening way in the past day.

"Noted." Just the reminder he needed never to piss off his s/o or Asmo ever again.

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: Can’t Help Falling in Love

————————————————————————-

Summary: You surprise Joe when he gets home from practice by putting on your wedding dress from your wedding back in March of 2022.

Warnings: Fluff

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Into The Mystic

A/N: Joe isn't injured.

————————————————————————-

*December 30th, 2023 - 22 weeks pregnant*

(y/n’s pov)

Joe was currently away at an early morning practice, preparing for the Chief’s game tomorrow.

The team would be getting on a plane for Kansas City tonight, and Zac called an ‘emergency’ practice this morning.

Since Joe was away, I was doing some seriously needed deep cleaning in the house.

Tyson and Miles’s room would have to be last to be cleaned since they wouldn't be up for a while.

I will never take for granted the fact that the terrible twos don't seem to be a thing to the twins. They're closer to three and have remained their happy selves.

The reason I mention this is because when they do wake up, they'll happily help me clean their room without being asked.

My heart warmed when I walked into what will be our baby girl’s nursery once she's born and old enough to be moved out of Joe and I’s room.

The walls were painted a cream color with an accent wall of vintage floral wallpaper.

Joe was the one who approached me with the idea, and I loved it.

Her name had a vintage feel, so her nursery having the same vibe was perfect.

One thing about our baby girl is that she was already 100% a daddy’s girl.

She loved it when Joe talked to my stomach, as she would kick after every sentence that left his mouth.

Joe ate every bit of it up, already taking his girl-dad role very seriously. He was so involved in my pregnancy, making sure to be there for his wife and beloved baby girl.

He just loved her so much.

My thoughts made me smile to myself as I looked around her unfurnished room and absentmindedly rubbed my bump.

Soon, I snapped out of my thoughts and remembered my cleaning.

——

After getting Joe and I’s bedroom and bathroom cleaned, it was time to move onto the closet.

I saved it for last because I knew it was going to be a doozy.

With constant packages of clothing items arriving at the house for Joe’s game-day fits, there was always a huge stack of boxes in here.

Usually, after the stack reaches a certain height, Joe would take them out to the dumpster.

Lately, though, he's fallen behind on his duties, and the stack was huge.

After clearing that out, I started going through my side of the closet, knowing Joe wouldn't exactly be happy if I moved his stuff around.

I knew I'd find some gems, doing a deep clean in my closet, but I didn't expect to find my wedding dress.

It looked just as beautiful as I remembered and it took my breath away.

Joe and I’s wedding back in March of 2022 was an absolute dream. We were so happy, nothing could sour our moods.

We looked back at our wedding photos all of the time, watching the videos of our vows being one of our favorite things.

I remembered a video I'd seen on TikTok last night of a wife putting on her wedding dress to surprise her husband, and I immediately decided to do it.

That is if the baby bump and growing boobs allow this dress to fit me.

It wouldn't necessarily be a prank or the usual trends that I've tried in him, so it would be a good change.

——

A few hours later, Tyson and Miles had been awake for a while, and we all got their room cleaned.

Joe would be home soon because he told me what time practice ended before he left this morning.

That being said, I was now upstairs trying to slip my wedding dress on.

Thankfully, the bodice part of the dress didn't quite reach my belly, so it was perfectly hidden under the skirt. I was a little surprised that my growing chest was able to stay contained under the fabric since I'd had to buy bigger bras since getting pregnant.

I didn't even attempt to try to zip the back of the dress up, though.

Moments later I could hear my phone ringing in the bedroom, and I had to practically waddle my way over there to get it.

It was Joe calling, probably telling me that he was on his way.

“Hey, Joey.” - you

“Hey, Mama. Just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving practice right now. I should be home in a bit.” - Joe

“Oh okay, how was practice?” - you

“As good as practice can be, I guess.” - Joe chuckled

I laughed along with him before he started talking again.

“How’s your day been? The boys and baby girl doing good?” - Joe

“We’re perfect. Just miss you. Princess has been a little restless today, probably wanting to talk to her daddy.” - you

“I miss you guys too, Imma be home soon. I promise to be with you till I have to leave tonight.” - Joe

“Okay. I love you, Joe. Be safe.” - you

“I will be. I love you too, so much. See you soon, my love.” - Joe

“See you soon. Bye.” - you

“Bye, baby.” - Joe hung up

Now I just have to wait.

——

I sat on the couch to the best of my ability, waiting for Joe to get home when I heard the garage door opening.

Tyson and Miles jumped off of the couch to go greet their dad, and soon I could hear that deep voice coming from the mud room.

“Where's your momma at?” - Joe

“Couch.” - Miles

A few moments later Joe’s heavy footsteps got louder and his tall frame was in my view.

His eyes lit up, and he stopped in his tracks when he saw me. Joe’s mouth dropped open into a taken-aback huge grin.

“Baby… woah. You look... woah.” - Joe

I stood up and walked closer to him, his eyes never once leaving me.

“y/n, you look so beautiful. I don't even know what to say.” - Joe

Standing on my tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips, Joe wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Where’d your bump go?” - Joe laughed

I turned to the side and flattened my hands around it, causing Joe to laugh and reach for it.

Joe rubbed over my bump for a second before pulling his hand back to take in everything.

“I’m not even gonna lie though, I will need your help taking this thing off.” - you

“Wouldn't be the first time.” - Joe smirked

“Joseph Lee!” - you playfully hit his arm

“I’m not lying though!” - Joe

——

Later, after Joe helped me out of my dress, he gave me something that he had brought home but forgot to give me because he got distracted by me in my dress.

It was some Mexican food that he had picked up pm his way home from practice since I had told him this morning that I was craving it.

Now, we were sitting on the couch together as I ate.

“Thank you for this.” - you took a bite of your chimichanga

“You’re so welcome, Mama.” - Joe kissed your cheek

A few seconds of silence went by as Joe stole a bite of my chimichanga.

“Did my wedding dress look good on me still? After having twins and currently being pregnant, I don't even want to know how different it looks on me.” - you

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe giving me a stank face, and I couldn't help but laugh when I turned my head to face him.

“What’s that look for?” - you laughed

“You’re fucking with me, right? Like you're joking?” - Joe

“No?” - you

“y/n. No matter how many changes your body has gone through you are as beautiful as the girl I dated in high school, all through college, and the girl I said I do to. Wanna know why?” - Joe

“Why?” - you

“Because you're the same girl you were before you had our babies. And to be completely honest with you, those changes make you even more gorgeous than before. To me, you don't have any imperfections because I love every part of your body. Those little stretch marks you complain about? They are a reminder of your body growing to accommodate your babies. Your belly getting bigger? That's home to our princess. I say all that to say this. y/n you are the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I love you so much.” - Joe

Joe wiped the tears that were dripping down my cheeks. They were happy tears time ten.

“I didn't mean to make you cry on your chimichanga.” - Joe

I laughed and leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his skin against mine.

“They're happy tears, Joe, and thank you for the pep talk… I needed that.” - you

“I know you did, baby. Now finish your food, Imma talk to the baby.” - Joe leaned down and looked at you, asking for permission to lift your shirt

“Go ahead.” - you grinned

What would I do without him?

————————————————————————-

Authors note: more of an imagine than a blurb but whatevs

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[throneofsapphics]

loyal friends

poly!Ruhnlidia x Reader

Summary: “You look so pretty on your knees,” “At least I didn’t get arrested,” and “You look so good with my hand around your neck” with Ruhn and Lidia. 

Warnings: references to drinking/intoxication, sexual content, oral (f!receiving) minors dni

A/N: for this! I'm so obsessed with them.

You slipped through the door, shutting it quietly behind you, trying to hide your heavy breaths.  Somehow, you’d managed to avoid whoever was on patrol, but it was a close thing. Your heels were long gone, discarded behind some dumpster or another. It had taken you an hour longer than it should’ve to get home, covering your tracks as best as you could. 

Vandalizing hadn’t been on the agenda for the evening, but when that asshole insulted your friend it was all too easy for the three of you to find their home, and leave a nice little message behind. 

A tang of guilt hit you. Not for the sweet revenge, but for leaving them behind. They’d told you to run after you’d figured out you were caught. Sure, you’d all disguised yourselves from the camera’s, but the world knew who your mates were and how much of a shit storm it would cause if you had been caught in the act. Lidia and Ruhn were out late tonight, but your alcohol hazed mind couldn’t remember exactly what they were doing. Work, probably. 

Hot water washed the grime away, aided by furious scrubbing. After washing your hair, twice, you slipped into comfy clothes, fully prepared to spend the rest of your night on the couch, letting a mindless reality tv show calm your still thundering heart. 

Turning the volume up to an obnoxious level, your phone slipped from your hand. Cursing, you tried to shove it closer to you with your foot - only succeeding in sending it under the couch. Groaning, you slid off, kneeling in front of it - ass up in the air, arm reaching blindly to try and sweep it out. 

“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” a faintly amused female voice called. A familiar one. 

You cursed violently, you hadn’t even heard the door open, probably couldn’t hear over the noise. Noise that was now gone with a click of the remote. You slid back, shuffling yourself out and sat on your heels. 

First, you saw Ruhn’s boots, then snapped your head up to see him - hand outstretched, looking rather severe. 

“What is it?” you asked, placing your hand in his. He didn’t move. 

“Shame,” he muttered. “You look so pretty on your knees,” and tugged you up to your feet, his other hand gripping your shoulder to balance you. A shiver ran down your spine, his words making specific nerves in your body stand on end, but you’d save those for later - in case an apology was needed. 

“What is it?” You repeated, looking past him to Lidia. Her lips curved into a smile, but she jerked her chin towards Ruhn. 

“Two of your friends,” he started and your stomach dropped, “are currently in holding cells.” 

“What happened?” You tried to keep your voice from wavering. 

“There’s currently a giant dick painted on the home of a very wealthy investor,” a touch of amusement entered his voice, “and said investor is howling about a third ‘criminal’ escaping, demanding they’re brought in at once.” 

It was obvious both Ruhn and Lidia knew the identity of said criminal. 

“And do you have any suspects?” 

“Whoever it is, they’re good at hiding,” Lidia said, “almost like they know exactly how to avoid the camera’s.” 

“Good for them,” you shrugged. Ruhn’s hand from your shoulder, up the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, before dropping back to his side, his other hand releasing yours as well. You flopped back on the couch, phone forgotten for the meantime.

“I should take you in myself,” he glared at you half-heartedly. There was a hint of pride in his eyes. 

“With what evidence?” 

“At least tell me what he did,” Ruhn countered. 

“I wasn’t there,” you emphasized, ignoring his eye roll, “but theoretically, he could have said some very rude things about a friend of mine. Looks like the type.” 

“This asshole isn’t going to let it go.” 

“Tell him he’s hallucinating,” you offered, giving him your best grin. Lidia let out a soft laugh, golden hair falling over her shoulder. “At least I didn’t get arrested,” you threw as much honeyed innocence as you could into your voice, “that would’ve been a bigger mess. Theoretically”

He shrugged noncommittally, but he knew you were right. “You have some loyal friends.” 

“I wasn’t there, remember?”

He groaned, but you noticed some of the tension left his shoulders, and he collapsed back on the couch, arm hanging over the side, legs spread wide. His fingers played with his lip ring. You remembered what that lip ring could do, a shot of arousal running through your core. 

“Really?” Violet-blue eyes danced, mouth curving into a smirk, hand falling to rest on his thigh. 

“I can’t help it,” you shrugged. 

His eyes traced over your shoulder, but before you could follow there was heat behind you, Lidia’s body pressing into yours, one hand on your stomach, pressing you back against her, the other resting delicately around your neck. 

“You look so good with my hand around your neck,” her lips grazed over your ear, words soft and breathy. 

A slow breath, eyes closed, head tilted back, resting against her shoulder, pulse thrumming  against her fingers, her other hand trailing along your waist band, barely dipping into the skin below. 

“Please,” you breathed, and she chuckled. 

“Should we give him a show?” 

“Yes,” Ruhn answered for you, “absolutely.” 

Lidia’s hands dragged up your stomach, nails scratching lightly, taking your shirt with her. Each touch felt imbued with flame, the softness of her lips against your neck making your breath catch, the small whimpers involuntary. 

“Naughty,” Ruhn’s voice interrupted as your arms raised, letting Lidia toss the shirt over. You were bare beneath, as always at this time of night. You rolled your eyes, but twisted, catching Lidia in a kiss. 

Teeth nipped at your bottom lip, tongue swiping against to ask for entrance. 

Parted lips, heavy breaths, hands winding in hair, the world forgotten, you leaned into her, let yourself be fully embraced in her presence and all encompassing aura.

It wasn’t long before Ruhn gave up on his show, deciding to take a more active role. You chuckled as he pressed against your back, fingers sliding down the rest of the fabric covering your bottom half. 

Jeans rough against your bare skin, shadow laced fingers cooling the heated parts of your body, moans grew louder as they worked you in tandem. 

“Too. Many. Clothes,” you managed to force the words out, regretfully breaking your lips away from hers. 

“You’re naked, love,” she teased. 

You tugged at her shirt in response. Her eyes rolled, but she first pulled you - ignoring Ruhn’s discontented grunt, before flipping you over her shoulder in one smooth movement. You squeaked as she carted you off towards the bedroom. 

There, she finally let you tear the rest of her clothes off. Not literally, but they did fly across the room, Ruhn laughing as her shirt hit him in the face. 

“Yours off too,” you scowled at him. 

“Someone’s bossy today,” he tutted, but obliged.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” You commented as he undressed, examining the tattoos you already had memorized. 

“Yesterday.” 

Lidia huffed, pushing you back. “My patience is running out.” 

Her head found its way between your legs, bliss following. Each kitten lick, the finger slipping inside, the spot she pressed against was all perfection. 

You barely registered Ruhn behind you, your back against his chest, his fingers toyed with your nipples, focused on the goddess before you - golden hair falling over her shoulders, eyes filled with wicked triumph. 

[joshusten]

honeysuckle (guy/honey, redacted audios)

Guy is having not-so-wholesome thoughts about his recently turned roommate-to-lover.

NSFW CONTENT!! (minors dni pls!)

(suggestive, making out, dirty thoughts, implied sexual content at the end)

3.2k+ words [ao3 link] [masterlist]

[cw/notes: idk man guy is horny and theres a lot of horny stuff but it's not SUPER explicit (i think) and plsplsss im asking for feedback bc this is the first time writing something this suggestive hope u enjoy!! OH also as always theres probably grammatical errors and guy might be OOC]

A HUGEEE thank you to the wonderful @slushiepizza for all the amazing suggestions and support throughout writing this fic!! this rlly would not be finished without ur help thank you for ur service in providing quality guy/honey content SHAKING U RN ILY!!!

Guy is a daydreamer.

Ask anyone who knows him, from his grade school teachers to his apartment neighbors, and they can attest that Guy never seems to run out of topics to talk about. Never a dull moment, much less a dull idea to mull over when he’s around.

In fact, his imagination is something he prides himself in. After all, as an aspiring writer, it’s what gives the very soul of all of the stories he wants to share with the world—whether it’s the exciting plot of a potential novel he has been writing (and rewriting) all night throughout the week or an epic fantasy he was able to make up on the top of his head and narrate to the kids by the playground of the middle-school he makes deliveries to.

Guy is a daydreamer. 

And it might be the very trait that would be the root of his current predicament.

Slow hands, languid movements

“Does this feel good, Honey?”

Heavy breaths, sharp gasps

“You can get r-rougher, babe. I can take it…”

Warm bodies, warmer lips

“M-mhm, Guy…”

Fuck. Their lips…

“Guy?”

Fuck.

“Guy!”

Fuck.

“Hello? Earth to Guy? You with us, buddy?”

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit.

“Wh-wha-what? H-hi! Yeah, of course I am. I am here. On the earth. Present. With you guys,” Guy cleared his throat awkwardly after seeing the unconvinced, deadpan looks on his co-workers' faces. Rosa specifically had her brow raised in suspicion to which Guy responded with a nervous smile. “Uh, what’s up?”

“What’s up,” The woman repeated, “Is your constant staring into space! You almost burned the dough if it weren’t for me keeping an eye on you! I’m used to your head in another world but you’ve barely said a word for the past few hours!” The others nodded in agreement. 

Rosa's hard eyes softened, “Is everything okay with you? Something botherin’ you or what?”

Right. Dough. Pizza. He’s making pizza. He’s kneading dough. The flour clinging to his hands suddenly felt heavier, the scent of basil overwhelmed his nose and the chattering of the customers increased in volume but that meant that everything was starting to make sense. He took in his surroundings, which were quickly clearing up for him, to finally decipher that he was still in Max’s, in the kitchen and it was still his shift.

Definitely not with his recent roommate-to-lover and definitely not in their dimmed bedroom, straddling them on their bed with a delightfully sinful expression painted on their face as his shaky hands slowly creep up between their—

Oh my god.

The very thought of them already leaves Guy's legs feeling like jelly. These daydreams had been a problem for him for quite some time. It wasn't like it was a crime to get all hot and bothered over his partner! Yet, lately, an unexplainable sense of shame builds inside him whenever his mind wanders to more…impure scenarios with them. 

Because despite what anyone might think of him and how he jokes about it, he's a little scared of being intimate with someone—no—with Honey.

Oh fuck, someone asked him a question.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a lil’ tired, I guess.”

And he isn’t lying, really. The fatigue of making pizzas and serving tables was no joke and, with all the very interesting fantasies occupying his mind, his shift slightly just got more difficult to get through than what he was used to. (Thank god he's not on delivery duty right now. He's self-aware enough to know he would get into an accident with his current situation)

His co-workers still looked suspicious but accepted his answer nonetheless, hurriedly going back to their tasks to avoid the wrath of their manager. The man let out a sigh of relief as he resumed his own tasks for the day.

As his grueling shift came closer to an end, he was more than ready to take the apron off and get the absolute fuck out of that kitchen.

—

Guy might actually be the first person in all of Dahlia to dread coming home to an apartment that he shared alongside his (literal!) dream partner who was waiting for him after a long, tiring day at work.

Honey, who was all bundled up in a blanket on the couch, paused the show playing on the T.V. to face their boyfriend and properly greet him, “Hey, welcome home. How’s work?”

“It was shit. Did you eat already?”

He saw them already heading their way to their small kitchen, reaching for something in the refrigerator. “Yeah, I left some for you in the fridge. We can heat it up if you want?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I ate back at the restaurant. What are you watchin’?” But before he could get a reply, Guy’s body stiffened when he felt a light shock from where Honey had suddenly touched his upper arm. 

Light touches.

Heavy panting.

Hot air.

“Oh, f-fuck, Guy. Do that again, hon. Please. Don’t stop, don’t—”

“ —think I didn’t hear you, mister! What do you mean your day was shit?” If Honey had noticed their boyfriend flinching at the mere tap on his shoulder, they didn’t comment on it. 

“U-uhm,” He coughed and shrugged lamely to hide his reaction. “Just the usual stuff.” The man put down all his stuff on the nearby coffee table. “C-can I just lay on your chest for a while? If it’s okay with you.”

Despite Honey’s aloofness, they can recognize when their partner is truly in need (And who could say no when their boyfriend’s usual chaotic self sounds so adorable being shy?) The gentleness in their gaze was enough to calm Guy’s frazzled mind, even just for a bit, before sitting on the sofa and patting on the empty spot beside them, albeit looking quite unsure on how to comfort him.

“C’mere. Do…do you wanna talk about it?"

Guy simply shakes his head before letting himself crash onto the couch and into his beloved's (with the second "e" pronounced!) welcoming arms—or, at least, what welcoming might look on Honey. He can feel the rigidness of their posture, remembering how awkward they can be with physical touch, yet here they are, going out of their comfort zone just to make sure he feels better. 

It makes him guiltier to know why he was acting like this in the first place.

“Can you…talk about your day instead, Honey?” 

They rolled their eyes with a fond smile, “Fine, but don’t think I’m letting go of it that easily, m’kay?” 

As Honey recounts the events of their day (which honestly isn't much), their stiff demeanor eventually relaxed to the point where they were more comfortable with absentmindedly giving affection, unaware that they’d been playing with Guy's hair for the past few minutes. The gentle massages on his scalp were a much-needed distraction for his mind.

That is until he felt a sharp tug from Honey in an attempt to untangle their fingers between his messy locks.

Fistfuls of hair.

Skin on skin.

Arched backs.

"Fuck, keep doin’ that, Honey. Oh–” 

“—shit! Sorry about that. Did I pull too hard?” Honey was already moving their fingers away from his head before Guy quickly (a little too quickly) halted the movement. Guy guided Honey’s hand back to its original place on his head, squeezing ever so slightly.

“No! It's okay, Honey. Just…keep it there.”

Honey gives him a knowing smirk, “You are acting so weird, you know that?”

“Just indulge in a poor man’s wishes, will you?” Guy dramatically lamented, really wanting to avoid the conversation and go back to relaxing and getting some rest. 

“Whatever you say, man,” They replied, resuming from where they left off with their story. 

As much as Guy would love to listen, his focus started wandering elsewhere as his mind drifted to sleep. 

The ticks of the clock, the scent of Honey’s body wash, the number of their eyelashes.

The texture of Honey's soft blanket.

Messy sheets.

Desperate thrusts.

Sweat dripping.

"Oh god, G-Guy, I think–I think I'm g-gonna–"

"--come?"

"H-huh?" Guy hadn't realized how hard he was gripping the throw pillow on his lap. At this point, he’s going to expose himself one way or another if he keeps being out of it. He tried his best to compose himself, hiding his distress behind a laugh. "S-sorry, Honey. Could you repeat that?"

Honey did a face, softly chuckling for a bit, before repeating their question. "I said; 'I'm gonna go buy a gift for Ollie’s birthday tomorrow morning, do you wanna come? It’s your day off tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Of course. I’d love to, Honey!”

Honey stared for what felt like forever before making a face again, this time, looking like they had just been enlightened by something and letting out a snort that was so adorable, Guy almost forgot why he was avoiding their gaze.

"Pfft– Guy, you—" Honey said through their stifled giggles (that was a tell-tale sign of the belly laughs they only share with him and no one else). They never got to finish the sentence, trying but, ultimately interrupting themselves with their own laughter.

He smiled, happy to see them show this much emotion towards him when to others they tend to be more closed off (albeit, a little confused about what caused it so suddenly). “I'm what, Honey? Hey! I'm what? Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re—pfft!” 

Familiar playful slaps targeted his thighs with a faint sting he’s too far used to. He notices that their smile had their teeth showing, too busy laughing to cover it with their hand like they often do. 

Guy’s crumbling.

He knew his desires were seeping through the cracks and it took all of his willpower to resist tackling them then and there—to feel every inch of their body and give them every last bit of pleasure they rightfully deserved. But he can't. He shouldn't.

So, he opts for a kiss on the cheek instead. 

Something sweet enough to mask how hard his mind was reeling with overly aggressive affection. As he continued with his fleeting, featherlight attacks on Honey's face, his lips felt the smile that their mouth formed (accompanied by an out-of-breath “Guy, that tickles!”) and he found that pulling away was more difficult than he thought.

After a while of innocent pecks and bubbling snorts, Honey raised a hand to wipe a tear from their eye. They were looking directly at him now, eyes soft with their lips slightly parted and panting from laughing too hard.

Lips. Their lips.

“Guy, you good?”

A man can only have so much self-control before he breaks.

The next few moments felt like a blur. A hitched breath, a tightened grip. His lips hungrily meet theirs and the moan he immediately lets out was almost pathetic. But he couldn’t give a damn about anything other than the pleasurable weight grinding down on his crotch. 

They felt so good. Everything felt so fucking good. The spinning in his mind paired with the aching throb of his cock were all too much to handle that he can’t even tell if this was real or if it was the same fantasies that had been torturing him all day.

No. It’s real. It’s all real.

Despite the haze in his surroundings—despite all the noise—the only thing occupying Guy’s thoughts were the whimpers coming out of Honey that were better than anything he could have ever dreamed of. 

“Fuck,” He swore under his breath, the friction against his growing bulge breaking down any sense of sanity he had left. Guy squeezed their thigh a little harsher than intended, making Honey loudly moan out in surprise.

He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into their mouth, lapping up all the sounds he managed to coax out of them. Honey’s hands found their way to his hair, tugging like last time with more intent than before and it dragged out a needy whine from his throat muffled between their lips.

Unfortunately, the breathlessness he was experiencing isn't the same type he feels when he's around Honey and he remembered that humans do, in fact, need oxygen in their system. He pulled away from them for a quick breath, taking pleasure in how they desperately chased his lips with a soft whine, before immediately aiming at their jaw, sucking, licking, and biting skin as it trails down on their neck. 

Honey is quick to respond, their fingers ghosting the hem of his work uniform before sliding them up, keeping his squirming body steady by grabbing his waist with one hand as the other roams to his chest, the shirt riding up with it and they feel his heartbeat speed up against his ribcage.

The sensation leaves Guy lightheaded. He swore he could see stars, especially after their warm palms stroked past a particular spot he didn’t even know he was sensitive to. The action had him writhing under the weight on his lap and Honey’s sudden thrust against his clothed dick brought out a stuttered gasp from him with his hips bucking up involuntarily. 

“Shit, baby,” Honey whispered, the strain in their voice evident as they grind down harder just to hear Guy’s wanton moans one more time. “So fucking needy.”

Hot breaths.

Bare skin.

Intoxicating scents.

This felt like Deja vu.

Guy had seen this before. He dreamt of it so much that it felt like second nature for his body. During nights when his partner hadn’t been home yet and he was feeling oh so, lonely—so desperate. Nights when his imagination had gone truly wild, the same scenario that he had been replaying over and over again. The one where he would have them in a panting mess.

He vividly remembers what goes next. The movement is practiced—etched into his memory. Every bone, every nerve in his system practically has it memorized in its core. 

He pins them on the arm of their sofa, the air is hot and heavy. One final passionate kiss, one final slip of his tongue, one final grind between their legs, and his hands would reach down, down where they needed him the most to—

“A-ah, Guy, w-wait!” 

And just like that, Guy’s mind snaps back to reality. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.”

“No, no, I’m really sorry. I–” He hurries to back away, pushing off his body and sitting upright with an arm’s distance away from an equally disheveled Honey. Fuck, they looked so pretty with their lips swollen like that. His eyes guiltily avoided the abundance of purple marks he wasn't even aware he left on their neck. Shit, focus!  “I don’t know what came over me. I’m–”

“Guy, it’s okay, I like it!” Honey cuts him off, not allowing their boyfriend to give himself to blame for something that didn’t even need his apologies. “I like it a lot. I was just…worried. Ever since you came home you were acting kind of off and I don’t want you to go through with this when I feel like something’s bothering you.”

Honey reaches out to him with concerned eyes, which should probably be an indicator for Guy of how odd he has been acting as of late. Their fingers find his knuckles, gently tracing circles on them as they patiently wait for his response.

Guy never knew his heart could beat faster, given how…intimate their latest activities were, but here he is, out of breath and falling in love all over again.

“I-I know this is kinda weird and I’m being really weird and everything is weird right now but I…uhm. Well, I guess you were right about me being all bark but no bite after all, eh?” He cringes at the way his voice cracked at the end and clears his throat for the nth time today.

“Okay, what I’m trying to get to is that…I've…been thinking about you…in a not-so-wholesome way for a while now. And I know, I know, this isn't new. I've flirted with you before and you already said you were okay with it, even with the raunchier ones but I'm just…"

Guy nervously looks away to the side, his eyes downcast to avoid Honey's curious stare. "This feels like a whole new thing now that we’re actually together and it really means a lot to me. Us. You're actually one of the best things to ever come into my life and I don't want my lack of…keeping it in my pants…to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner."

The deafening silence that followed his vulnerable confession might possibly be one of the worst things he ever had to experience. Then, a sudden giggle tore through the tense atmosphere.

Honey was laughing again.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh but w-was that the thing that’s been bothering you?”

They moved closer to their boyfriend, that's currently sporting a comically betrayed look on his face. “I've noticed your hard-on already, Guy. And don’t worry, I've been…thinking about you like that too for a while now.”

Guy wished nothing more than to get swallowed by the ground beneath him.

“I–What the fu–YOU—!” Guy sputtered, not quite sure if he should feel relieved or embarrassed at the moment but one thing stuck to his thoughts, Honey felt the same.

“Honeeeey! You can't just say that and—I can’t believe you would—! Oh, you have no idea how much I've been through today!”

“I'm sorry!” But their shit-eating grin says otherwise and Guy can't help not to get mad anymore with that face. “Besides, it was kinda cute seeing you all flustered for once. Serves you right, you brat.”

“Oh wow, I’m the brat in this situation? You…torment me and now you degrade me with such scornful slander?” The man places a hand on his chest melodramatically. “I’m heartbroken, Honey…and still hard!”

"Hm…Well, then," Honey's half-lidded gaze directs itself to Guy's lips. The sultry tone of their voice tickles his brain in the best way possible. "Do you want me to—"

Guy lets out a surprised squeak as his back suddenly hits their sofa with a forceful 'thump!' Their hand is placed on the side of his head, fingers twisting around his curls. The other found its way on his thumping chest, carefully sliding downwards at an antagonizing pace.

"—lend you a hand? After all, I must’ve been quite the headache for you, in more ways than one." 

“Oh no,” Guy started, easily maneuvering their positions to have his partner on their back “No, no, no, you’ve been teasing me for far too long, Honey.”

“Let me," He drags his hips across theirs and he revels in the way Honey chokes on their breath. “Handle this. Is that alright with you, baby?” He wishes he could take a picture of this moment. Seeing them writhe under him was a sight he never wanted to forget.

Honey gulps before their lips form a nervously excited grin. Their pupils are blown wide in anticipation. "You better get to work then, Guy." 

Then, they slowly lean towards Guy to whisper their next words to his burning ears, “And don’t worry about being rough, hon. I can take it.”

Guy is a daydreamer.

But no daydream can ever compare to the reality he's going to be experiencing right now.

[gojos-fr-bae]

Surprise!

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Genre: angst to fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Cursing

Gojo Family AU

How is all of the above the same as the last post wth

Satoru gazed at you from across the dinner table as you poked at your meal. Your favorite food which you always asked him to bring for you, the holy grail, and you hadn’t even had a single bite. To say he was bewildered was an understatement. Your husband had watched you inhale kilos of the stuff and now you were looking at it as if it was the most disgusting substance on the planet. And it wasn’t even the first time.

Throughout the entire month, Gojo had noticed small differences in your behavior. You stopped drinking, slept more and have been more irritable.You’ve been leaving the house late in the day and staying out for hours. Worst of all, your behavior towards him also changed, and for the worst. You stopped greeting him at the door whenever he got home. You stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped taking showers with him, and it was starting to worry him.

“Sweets, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I already told you I’m fine so can you just let it go.”

“If you’re fine then what’s going on with you, you aren’t even eating”

“Because I’m not hungry, what, am I not allowed to have an appetite?”

You stood up from the table and began rushing out of the room but you couldn’t make it out before he grabbed your hand and turned you to face him, worry slowly beginning to morph into anger and frustration.

“Y/N please, stop pushing me out and talk to me.”

“About what?! Talk to you about fucking what!”

“I don’t know? Maybe about you’ve been ignoring me, acting weir-”

You didn’t hear the rest of his tangent as an insistent ringing impaired your hearing.The room began spinning and black spots began to cloud your vision. Your head was pounding as you lost your footing along with consciousness, your husband catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Hey, hey Y/N! No no no, please wake up” He picked you up and rushed you to the hospital as he panicked, praying to all that is good that you would be ok.

~

“Mr. Gojo?” The doctor called Satoru into his office, showed him to the seat across his desk and began to evaluate him on what was going on with you.

“Well other than what we went over with her dieting, there is nothing particularly wrong with her, as a matter of fact, it’s very normal considering her current condition.”

“Wait- what do you mean her current condition?”

“Well…you know” the doctor said, a smile fading at the confused look draped on Gojo’s face.

“Wait, are you really unaware?”

“Unaware of what?!”

“Oh- I’m sorry sir but if your wife hasn’t informed you about the current situation then it is really not my place to disclose that information to yo-”

“What do you mean it's not your place! You’re a doctor and she’s my wife. I have every right to know what’s going on!!” Gojo’s voice was raised as he had finally run out of patience. So there was something going on with you and you were hiding it from him.

“Well sir, it is usually quite a touchy subject for couples and when I asked your wife about it she seemed well aware of the situation so I think that is a conversation you should have with your wife.”

Gojo was nothing if not pissed the rest of the night and wasted no time interrogating you once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom.

“Y/N what the actual fuck is going on!”

“Gosh Satoru jus-”

“Don’t you dare give me that I’m fine you’re overreacting bullshit because you literally painted and the doctor kept going on about your “condition” like what the hell.”

“You really aren’t letting this go?” You asked, fatigue beginning to catch up with you as you sat down on the edge of the bed. Your husband knelt in front of you, taking your hand in his and looking up into your eyes.

“My love, I don’t think you understand how terrified I was when you were unconscious. I am so worried about you but everytime I try to speak to you, you push me out. I love you and I worry because I love you. Please, please just, talk to me.”

As you looked down at Gojo you noticed how he was shaking ever so slightly. You sighed in worry before a small smile graced your lips.

“Okay, how about this, we go to bed now yeah, and I’ll tell you tomorrow night.”

“Why not right now?” he whispered, looking like a sad puppy.

“Satoru please, I’m really not ready to tell you today but tomorrow, I promise I’ll tell you everything, ok?”

“Fine,” he sighed, before tackling you on the bed, “I’m not letting go though because you genuinely scared the ever living shit out of me” he groaned into your neck, making you laugh. Oh you love your man-child of a husband.

~

“WIFEYYYYY!” Gojo called from the doorway after arriving home from a late mission. It was 11pm and he immediately jogged to your shared bedroom, slamming the door open expecting to see his loving wife waiting for him, only to find the room empty with a gift box sitting on the bed. It was a plain white box with a big red bow sitting on top of it. He slowly picked it up and untied the bow, looking around the room and calling out your name one final  time before opening the box.

Satoru felt his heart quite literally stop beating as he gazed into the box. He shakily dipped one hand into it and picked the baby onesie that was neatly folded inside it.

“Well?” he heard your quiet voice ask behind him. He slowly spun on his heel, dropping the bocks but keeping a tight clutch on the onesie.

“Really?” his weak voice cracked as his hands shook and he looked up at you, eyes beginning to cloud with tears.

“Yeah, one month.” You said, feeling your eyes tearing up as well as your husband slowly made his way towards you.

“So I’m really going to be a dad?”

“Uh-huh”

“And you’ll be a mom?”

“No shit sherlock.” you chuckled as your husband wrapped his arms around you, placing his forehead against yours.

“So you’re really, truly, absolutely, positutely pregnant?”

“Yes Satoru, I am 100% pregnant, I promise.”

“Yay” He whispered, giving you the biggest, most toothy smile you have ever seen. He was so, so happy. So, happy.

“Surprise!

“Yay!” he squealed, he was so, SO happy.

tags?:@porridgesblog

The beginning of and era~

© gojos-fr-bae

[chaosheadspace]

Still looking for those food prompts? Playground dads 29 or 30

Hi, thank you for sending in a prompt! I loved revisiting the playground dads. 29 and 23 are: going on a fishing trip and eating the fish from it / making some smore's in front of the bonfire. (betaed by the awesome @ml-nolan!)

It's a clear summer night, the stars blinking in the sky except where the canopy of nearby trees blankets the small, cosy camp site. They're a little ways away from other campers, just enough that they can pretend to be alone. Dream actively refuses to remember what day it is, letting the days blend into each other instead, a kaleidoscope of sun and laughter and grilled food.

Dream used to hate camping, and if he is being honest, there are still large parts of it he detests. But Hob had listened to his every concern and complaint, and then had plied him with solutions to all of them, and Orpheus and Robin had begged for a whole week. So he'd finally given in.

And really, it's not so bad, not when Hob is with him, not when there's the biggest smile on Orpheus’s face every day, not when Robin wakes them up singing. Hob had bought two folding beds for them so he and Dream didn't have to sleep on the floor (number one on Dream's list of why camping is objectively the worst way to spend one's holidays). They brought dozens of small citronella candles with them, currently burning on two trays next to them to keep away the mosquitoes (the ones who dare to come near seem to favour Hob, anyways).

It is late, later than it's probably advisable for them to be up. Orpheus and Robyn are fast asleep on the air mattress they insisted on sleeping on, zipped into their new, matching sleeping bags. They've been asleep for hours, and Dream knows he and Hob will be woken early by one or both of them deflating the mattress by using it as a trampoline. Probably. But he can't bring himself to get up, not when the campfire paints Hob in flickering light, licks up his features until he is nothing but warm beauty.

Hob is currently expertly roasting a marshmallow, some crackers and chocolate waiting next to him. They have eaten three s’mores each already, the inside of Dream’s mouth sticky with sugar and chocolate.

“I’m sure they’d kill us if they knew,” Hob says with a smile, “but we gotta have some things for ourselves, don’t we?”

Dream hums, not lifting his head from Hob’s shoulder. “I know for a fact that you only got out half of it, so there will be some left for them.” Hob is a warm line against his side, and despite the fact that the campsite has perfectly fine showers, Dream has the impression that outdoor life makes Hob smell even better than he normally does.

“That predictable, am I?” Hob chuckles, turning the skewer so the marshmallow doesn’t get burned.

“In that regard, I am afraid you are.” Hob’s cheek under Dream’s lips is stubbly, and smells faintly of sunscreen. “I am glad you brought ample provisions, or we would not have had anything to eat today.” Hob is endeavouring to teach Dream to fish, which has proven to be unfruitful so far. Dream doesn’t complain, because there is little else he would prefer over sitting next to Hob, but his lack of success is getting a little frustrating.

“Hey now, there’s a supermarket down the street,” Hob protests. “Also, I suspect our lack of luck has something to do with two kids splashing about in the very same waters we’re trying to fish.” He takes the marshmallow off the fire and smears it onto a cracker before sandwiching it between chocolate and another cracker. He holds it out to Dream, who shakes his head, shrugs, and eats it in one bite. Then he puts an arm around Dream’s waist, pulls him closer, and kisses him. His lips are chapped and crumbly from the cracker, and the inside of his mouth tastes like chocolate. The soft chill of the night comes to rest on his skin except for where they’re touching, and Dream wishes they could stay here, like this, for eternity.

Then the quiet sound of their kissing is drowned out by shuffling, rustling fabric, and then the sound of a zipper and lastly, Robyn’s voice. “Dad, I have to—hey! Are you eating s’mores without us? Hey!”

Hob lets Dream go with a warm chuckle. “We are. But I think you can have some, too. As a treat. Because we’re on holiday.” He still hasn’t moved his arm on Dream’s waist, and he shuffles closer. “Go wake Orpheus?”

“‘M awake, I’m awake, I’m awake, I’m coming,” Orpheus chants from the tent and, from the sound of it, wrestles with his sleeping bag.

Hob laughs. “I think I'll go and help him,” he says quietly into Dream's ear, “and get the rest of the marshmallows while I'm at it.”

Warmth pools in Dream's chest, watching as Hob goes. He loves him so much.

Then he gestures Robyn over and reaches for the stick Hob put down earlier. “What do you say,” Dream asks, “do you want to try roasting one for yourself?”

[ghoulishlygrey]

Hammer Meets Steel Chapter Two

Chapter Two!

Find chapter one here <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Dammon x fem!reader

18+ Explicit, MDNI

Tags: semi-public sex, riding, fighter tav, human tav

Read it on ao3

Enjoy!

Word count: 4950

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You would not see Dammon again for some time, and the next time you did would be under much darker circumstances. 

The Shadow Curse had these lands in a cold grip, securely keeping most people from even considering stepping on the premises. But you and the refugees were desperate and that is what brought your paths back together as Jaheira’s vines crept away from your body. You were covered in grime and goblin gore after joining the Harpers in a fight against the mad drider who was leading you to the towers. The fight cost you an easy way into Moonrise but it also gained you new allies. And finally, it gave you an answer to a very uneasy question that had been bubbling in your mind these past few days; would you ever see Dammon again?

“Come, join me inside for a drink.” Jaheira says, motioning over her shoulder to the inn on the other side of the courtyard. 

“Of course,I just-” You say, head turning towards the sound of hammer meeting steel on the other side of the encampment. After days of being apart, you spot him, hammering away at a slab of metal on his makeshift forge. He hadn’t noticed you yet, mind clearly occupied as he threw himself into his work. 

“I just have some people to see first, if that’s alright.” You finish, turning back to Jaheira and crossing your arms over your chestplate. 

“Ah, of course.” She says, nodding and turning away from you . “Find me when you’re done.” 

“I will!” You call after her before turning towards your companions, all of which were eyeing you oddly. 

“What?” You say, a blush creeping its way up your face at the notion of being caught. 

“Who do you have to see?” Gale says, genuinely clueless. A couple of your companions had caught onto what happened after seeing a disheveled Dammon and you stumbling back into camp when everyone was leaving and the sun was beginning to paint the sky. Gale was not one of them.

“I think I know who.” Astarion says coldly, though a mischievous twinkle in his eye betrayed him. 

“As do I.” Shadowheart says, being the first one to approach you about that night. You had told her the truth when asked about it, the two of you had become close and it didn’t feel right lying about it. Had you known she would tease you about it whatever chance she got in the days that followed, maybe you wouldn’t have. 

“Just-” You start, words failing you and you pinch the bridge of your nose in defeat.

“I’m just gonna go talk to some people. You guys should go in without me.” You finish, avoiding eye contact. 

“If you insist.” Gale says, still confused but nonetheless walking past you and towards the main inn. 

Astarion follows, giving you a smirk as he passes you. That leaves you with Shadowheart, who just takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. 

“Do have fun.” She says, before letting you go and joining the other two. You take a deep breath, having friends was a hassle. 

You start to make your way towards him, sidestepping any busy Harper that almost bumps into you. Some of them said “excuse me” others just gave you the side-eye, clearly not yet trusting you. Hero of The Grove or not. 

Finally you make it to the little barn that Dammon had set up shop. He still hadn’t seen you, clearly taken with whatever project he was now busying himself with. He looked good, despite everything. Your heart leapt in your chest at the sight of him, even just hours in the Shadowfell made you crave the comfort of him. 

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door frame and leaning against it. The thought occurs to you too late; maybe you should’ve cleaned up before you approached him. But when he looks at you, it’s like he doesn’t notice your current state. His face lights up with recognition then a smile cracks his lips so wide, you’re taken aback. 

He says your name with the most adoration you’ve ever heard, stepping forward cautiously, as if not knowing if giving you a hug would be appropriate or not. You make that decision for him, carefully wrapping your armored arms around his middle, cheek resting against his rising and falling chest. He reciprocates, wrapping two strong arms around you in turn.

“My, aren’t you a mess.” He teases, leaning back to take in the state of you. You were thankful he was wearing his apron, otherwise you would’ve gotten his nice tunic all smeared with goblin and drider blood.  

You laugh, taking a second to smooth down your hair, you assumed it was probably wild right about now. He joins you, gently smoothing over your scalp with his large hands. 

“Still beautiful.” He murmurs, eyes traveling over your face. Finally, he meets your eyes and there’s a moment of silence; just the two of you looking at each other. Slowly, you inch your way towards his face, he smirks and does the same. Your hands skate up his chest, grabbing his collar and pulling him ever closer, so close your lips brush against each other’s just before-- 

“Ahem.” A little noise comes from the doorway and you’re both scrambling to step away from each other and returning your hands to your sides. It’s one of the Harpers, standing there awkwardly with his arms crossed over his chest. You didn’t recognize him, he wasn’t one in the group that you’d fought with. He was a human, pretty tall with brown eyes and hair to match. Handsome, but unremarkable. 

“I just wanted to come check on my bow, I can come back if it’s not ready.” He eventually says, when it’s clear neither you or Dammon were going to speak first. 

Dammon springs into step, ducking behind his forge and returning with a pristine looking bow, one that looked like it had never seen combat. 

“Well, would ya look at that?” The man says, taking the bow when Dammon offers it, “Looks brand new, doesn’t it?”

He shows it off to you, hand running along the string. 

“Very impressive.” You nod, mostly wanting this dude to get lost so you can pick up where you left off with Dammon. 

“You should’ve seen it before! ‘Twas broken nearly in half when I gave it to ‘im! Now look at it!” He beams at the bow in his hands before continuing,

“It’s my lucky bow, see. Never lost a fight with ‘er at my side.” He suddenly eyes you, up and down. It’s a gesture that leaves you with a chill shooting down your spine. Surely he wouldn’t dare hit on you, for the Gods’ sake, you were literally just caught kissing Dammon. 

“Looks like you’ve never lost a fight either,” He says with a smirk, holding out a hand for you to take, “Name’s Brendon, and you must be the Hero of The Grove everyone’s talking about. It’s a pleasure.”

See, normally that sentence would be perfectly normal, kind even. But the way he said it just made you want to call him a creep and knee him in the balls. Not to mention the way he was looking at you. You turned to Dammon and could immediately tell he clocked it too. He was angry, arms crossed, chest puffed up and his hands were balled into fists. You turn back to Brendon and take his hand, putting on your best polite face. Even if you did want to tell him to get lost, his people were currently hosting you and the tieflings. You couldn’t risk pissing the wrong person off.

You give him your name and try to retract your hand but he's folded his other one on top of yours. 

“What a lovely name.” He says, “I bet you look good out of that armor.” 

Before you can say anything, Dammon’s next to you, snatching your hand away from this Brendon guy and holding it in his own.

“She looks perfectly fine in the armor, fool. Now, I fixed the damned bow, now kindly leave my forge.” He snaps, squeezing your hand.

“Hells, you’re possessive. Don’t blame me for wanting a turn on that ride.” He gestures to you like you’re some sort of prize pony. 

“Not in a million years.” You scoff, rolling your eyes and planting your free hand on your hip. 

“Oh, so you’d take a chance on a bloody tiefling and not me? That’s pathetic.” Now he’s the one who’s scoffing and you’re just boiling. 

“Wow, not only a creep but a racist, too? I’m sure Jaheira would love to hear that one of her Harpers had such morals.” You threaten, more wanting him to leave you alone than anything else.

He blanches, falling for it. “Just forget I said anything, hero.” he spits that last word before turning on his heels and fleeing the forge. 

You huff a sigh of relief before beginning to turn towards Dammon, 

“Now, where were w-” but before you can finish your sentence, you’re taken aback by the state of him. He’s furious, but more than that he looks defeated. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, heart sinking to your stomach when he lets your hand go and turns away from you. 

“People are just going to keep making comments like that. Why’s someone like you with a…” He pauses, gaze slipping from yours, “... blacksmith like me.”

Your heart breaks at his insinuation. You don’t have to ask what he means, because you know. He thinks he isn’t good enough for you, and what’s more, this clearly isn’t the first time he’s having those thoughts. 

“Dammon,” You shuck off your gloves before gently grabbing his face and making him look at you. 

“You’re the sword I protect myself with, and the man I yearn for in every waking moment, just to see you again in my dreams. I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my life then when I saw you today. I don’t care what anyone says or thinks, you’re enough for me… am I enough for you?” 

He gathers your hands from his face and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

He says your name carefully, “You’re everything to me. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. That night we shared together meant more to me than you could ever know.”

“Show me,” you hear yourself saying, almost a whisper,  “Show me how much it meant to you.”

He takes a second, just looking at your face before he takes it in his hands and brings your lips to his. 

The kiss is automatically hungry, taking everything you could give him with his lips alone. 

His tongue parts your lips and explores your mouth gently, licking along your teeth and tangling with your own tongue.

His hands migrate from your face and down to your waist, holding you delicately, as if he could break you. He moves his mouth from yours, leaving you gasping for air as he makes his way down the column of your throat, kissing along your pulse point. His hands go to the buckles of your armor around your shoulders and…

…and someone drops something outside, making you suddenly aware that anyone could walk by and spot the two of you. Not that you were ashamed, it would just be… awkward. To say the least. 

“Dammon,” You start, grabbing his face and leading him away from your neck. 

“What? Is something wrong?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

“No nothing’s wrong, we are just very much in public and anyone walking by could see us.” You smile at him, connecting your lips for a brief moment before pulling away completely.

“But you’re right, I should get out of this armor. Jaheira wants me to have a drink with her.” You say, resuming where he left off and unbuckling your shoulder buckles.

He goes to your back, carefully helping you unbuckle the rest of your armor until it’s a pile in the corner of his workshop. You’re left in your civilian clothes, a simple tunic and pants. 

“You can keep it here until you need it.” He says, hands resting on your hips. You turn in his grip, planting your own hands on his chest.

“How kind.” You tease, planting a kiss to his nose before turning and stepping away from him. 

“Is there,” You continue, holding your arms in a self-hugging gesture, “Anywhere we could, I dunno, be alone?”

“I mean there’s a beach, down and under the inn but it’s not protected by the spell.” He says, hands going to his own hips. 

“Well, we could bring a torch, or three.” You smile at him, a beach without a nautiloid ship crash scene? Count you in. Even if it was in this ghastly cursed place. 

“I’ll meet you down there.” He says, “Wouldn’t want to keep Jaheira waiting for too long.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You wave, turning to leave the makeshift forge. He catches your wrist before you can fully leave and he’s pulling you into the shadows. 

“Dammon! Wha-?” But before you can finish your sentence his lips are on yours, passionate and sweet.

You go to kiss him back but he’s gone as soon as he comes, hammering away at the slab of metal on his forge. 

“Wh-” You start, blinking and confused at what just happened. 

“Go.” He chuckles, watching you with an amused smile.

You leave without another word, walking back to the main inn with a pink dusting over your nose and cheeks. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you approach the beach, you can see Dammon waiting, bottle in hand and a blanket on the sand. He had ditched his apron, left only in his laid back civilian clothes. Three torches are posted in the ground around the blanket, securely keeping out any stray shadows and foes. Jaheira had tasked you with talking to the very cleric who made the protection spell, but you decided to go to Dammon first, not wishing to keep him waiting any longer. 

“This feels familiar.” You say, as you approach, motioning to the blanket on the ground. The night you two had shared still fresh in your mind, lots had happened in the time from then and now. You couldn’t wait to tell him all about it. 

“I thought it was better than just sitting on the sand.” He gives you a sheepish smile. 

“Much better.” You conclude, walking over through said sand to get to him. 

“I uh, got this.” Dammon holds up the ale, gaze shifting awkwardly between you and the ground.

“Snagged it before Rolan could drink it all.” He adds, eyes becoming sad for his fellow tiefling. 

You go to him, your expression matching his.

“I’ll get them back.” You say, taking his hands in yours, “I promise.” 

“If anyone could, it’s you.” He says, lifting your knuckles to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to them. 

“Your confidence is appreciated.” You say, watching as he kisses your hands. You couldn’t lie, you were feeling a little nervous about what was to come. You had never faced a foe such as Ketheric Thorm, not even close. His immortality was enough to put you on edge, the prospect of finding his weakness was staggering to you; you weren’t even sure where to start.

“Hey,” His voice pulls you from your head and into his eyes, worried as they gaze upon you. 

“Where’d you go?” He asks, hands still holding yours as he runs his thumb over your fingers. 

“Just thinking about what’s to come.” You admit, honestly. 

“Mmmm,” He hums, thoughtfully, dropping your hands in order to wrap his arms around you. His chin rests on your head and you return in kind, your arms wrapping around his waist. 

“Just be here with me tonight, everything else can wait.” He says into your hair, pressing a kiss to your scalp. 

You nod, more than willing to lose yourself in him tonight. The distraction was welcome.

He pulls away from you, leading you to the blanket by your hand. You follow happily, allowing him to lead you to the little safe haven he had created for you. 

“So,” He sits down, popping the cork on his bottle of ale, “What’ve you been up to since the last time I saw you?”

Oh, where to start? You had done so much since you’d last seen him. 

“Oh! Remember Auntie Ethel?” You say, hugging your knees to your chest and taking the bottle when he offers it to you.

“The older woman selling ‘potions and lotions’ at the grove? Rings a bell, why?” 

“Turns out she’s a hag, had a girl named Mayrina in her clutches because she wanted her baby. Gods know what she wanted with it.” You say, taking your first swig, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Wow, I never would’ve known, she always seemed so nice.” He says, leaning back on his palms.

“That’s how they get you.” You chuckle, taking a gentle jab at his abdomen. He jerks forward, laughing as he swats you away. “So you took her down? How’d that go?” He asks, gently taking the bottle from you before taking a drink.

“It was annoying, she kept casting illusions. Tried to kill Mayrina too by setting her cage on fire, but Shadowheart dealt with that.” You explain.

“I won’t pretend to know anything about illusion magic but it sounds like she was being difficult.” He says, eyes scanning the waterline before landing on you.

“You could say that. When we were about to beat her, she gave us an offer. A tempting one.”

“Did you take it?” He asks.

“Hells no. She was too dangerous to keep alive. I couldn’t risk her hurting more innocent people just for more strength or wisdom.” 

“Sounds like you.” He says, taking another swig before handing the bottle back to you. You take it, taking another drink before setting upright in the sand. The alcohol was making you warm, dusting your face and shoulders in a pink glow. 

“Yeah well, I can’t let innocents suffer. No matter how hard Astarion tries to make me.” You say, turning towards Dammon.

“Ah yes, he’s the pale elf in your group? The one with the white hair?” He asks. 

“That’s the one. He’s a bit of a trouble maker but he has his charms.” You admit, thinking of all the times he had disapproved of your heroic actions. 

“Not too charming I hope.” He says, giving you a cheeky look. 

“No, not too charming.” You move your hand to go over his, thumb rubbing his knuckles gently.

“So, what other adventures have you been on?” He asks, eyes drifting to your connected hands before smiling. 

You proceed to tell him everything, from harpies to The Underdark, you spill it all. He nods along the whole way, eyes wide at the tales you spun. He would only stop you to ask questions in awe, he was truly taken aback by your bravery and spirit, a fact that made your skin tingle and thighs rub together. 

“That is… quite the tale of adventure.” He says, gaze shifting from you to the stagnant ocean. “I don’t know how you do it.” He says eventually, still staring at the non-existent waves. 

“Do what?” You ask, looking at him.

“All that… bravery stuff. I can craft a damn good sword but never was the type to learn how to swing one.” He says, finally looking back at you.

“Well, it’s not for everybody.” You say, matter-of-factly. 

“I just don’t know how you’re not scared all the time.” 

“You don’t think I get scared? I’m terrified of this whole thing. The Absolute, Ketheric Thorm, all of it.” You admit, honestly. Your fingers move to pick at the skin of your thumb.

“Are you?” He asks, hand coming over yours to still your bad habit. “I would’ve never guessed. You have a confidence about you that’s so mesmerizing.”

“It’s all a show,” You say, rather quietly, “I feel like I have to be the backbone of the group, as their leader.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” He says, eyes finding yours, “You can be honest.”

You take a deep breath, “The truth is that I have no idea how I’m going to pull all of this off. This threat is bigger than anything I’ve ever faced.”

He puts his arm around you, squeezing gently. 

“And I’m so tired.” Your eyes start to water, and you try to blink it away but a tear pops out and rolls down your cheek. “So, so tired. I’m tired of fighting and I want to stop but I know I can’t because everyone’s counting on me. But in reality, I never asked for any of this.”

He nods at what you’re saying, taking in your confession. 

“That’s realistic and valid.” He says eventually, the arm around you rubbing your opposite shoulder. 

“You’re feeling what anyone else would feel in your shoes.” He adds, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I suppose.” You say, leaning into his touch.

“I mean it! If someone wasn’t nervous for what’s to come I’d say they’re insane.” 

“That’s probably true.” You admit.

“It’s very true.” He smiles down at you, “Trust me on that one.”

“Fine.” You say, a little smile of your own making its way onto your face. You sniffle, he takes a hand to wipe your tear stained cheek. 

Your eyes meet and his hand hovers over your face, he caresses your cheek gently. His eyes glance down at your lips and he hesitates. 

“Go ahead.” You whisper.

“Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate, crashing into your lips with a force that takes you by surprise.

Your tongue swipes the seam of his lips and he’s pulling you onto his lap and allowing access to his mouth. 

The kiss is passionate, sloppy and open-mouthed. It’s more tongue than anything else and you moan into it, feeling the tent he’s pitched in his pants against your clothed core. 

You pull back, meeting his eyes to find his pupils blown wide in lust. His eyes are so beautiful, an electric blue with a ring of orange around said pupils. Fire and water, gorgeous and dangerous. 

“People will hear us.” He states, grabbing your hips nonetheless and grinding his pelvis upwards to meet yours. 

This was true, even now you could hear the murmurs of conversation not too far away, anyone taking a stroll down the dock or looking over the beach from one of the balconies would be able to see and hear anything you two were up to. The mischievous twinkle in your eye signifies the reality of the situation; you don’t care.

“We’ll just be really really quiet.” You say, head dipping to kiss along the column of his throat. 

“Are you capable of that? Judging by our last trist, ‘quiet’ doesn’t seem like a word in your vocabulary.” He teases, referencing to the almost rhythmic chanting of praises, his name, and just downright lewd moaning you pulled the last and first time the two of you were intimate. 

You nip his neck at that, before immediately smoothing over it with your tongue. 

“For your information I can be very quiet. It’s a useful skill when you’re pickpocketing somebody.” You joke, pulling away from his neck to look him in the eye. 

“A sneaky thief are you?” He asks, also joking. 

“How else do you think I can afford your armor?” You say, grinding down on him once more.

“Ah~! My wares a-aren’t that expensive.” The grip on your hips tightened, he was becoming more and more undone just by this premature dry-humping. You ached to take him out of his pants and engulf him with your cunt.

“Hopefully you’d be accepting of other means of compensation?” You ask, hands sliding down his chest and to the ties of his trousers. 

“Most definitely.” He replies, eyes trained on the way your hands gently tug his pants down just enough to free his cock. You spit on your hand, giving it a few experimental strokes, eyes gauging his reaction. When you’re met with soft moans and his eyes fluttering shut, you know you’re doing something right. Your finger goes to the head, spreading the precum around the tip before continuing the languid strokes down his shaft.

Your hands are soft as they rub him, the feeling so heavenly that Dammon has to cover his mouth with a hand to quiet his growing in volume moans. 

After a few moments of this attention, his hand comes over yours to still your motions. 

“No good?” You ask, taking your hand away.

“Too good. Won’t last long if you keep going like that.” He says, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. 

You nod before standing up, he leans back on his palms to watch you. You kick the boots from your feet before you slowly, painfully slow if you asked Dammon, slide your own trousers down your legs. Next to go is your underwear, already soaked from the grinding you were pulling off earlier. 

You climb back on top, wasting no time as you slowly sink town on his cock, inch by glorious inch. 

The sounds from both your mouths are downright lewd until finally, you bottomed out, pelvis meeting pelvis. 

You took the moment it took to adjust to him by connecting your lips once again. It’s all teeth clanking and tongues meeting in the middle as you slowly rise, his cock almost falling out of you before you sink down again. You swallow his grunt and do your best to choke back your own moan, the promise to keep silent still present in the back of your mind. Apparently you aren’t doing a very good job as his hand comes over your mouth to silence your cries and moans. 

Before long he’s thrusting upwards to keep pace with you, and you can feel your orgasm building on the horizon. A few more rolls of the hips and you’re so close, the tears in your eyes are dangerously close to spilling and his name is hot on your tongue.

“Dammon, I-I’m gonna cum.” You gasp against his hand, just audible enough for him to catch it. 

“Do it, sweet girl, I’ve got you.” 

His fingers come down to circle your clit, flinging you towards your finish at an accelerated pace. 

You come with a cry, and it was right about then you were glad to have his hand over your mouth. Without its muffling effect, you were sure somebody would’ve heard you. 

The fluttering of your walls around him almost makes him cum right there and then, you feel divine around him, so warm, soft, and made for him. 

You collapse against his chest and he pounds into you a few more times, arms going around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. 

“Where do you want me to cum?” He asks, his hips stilling. 

“Inside me. It’s safe.” You groan against him, littering his neck with soft kisses and licks. You were under a contraception spell after a very awkward conversation with Gale. 

He nods before pumping a few more times and spilling inside you. The warmth of his seed sends a chill down your spine as he fucks himself through it. 

Eventually, he gives you the okay to roll off of him. You collapse beside him, your trembling thighs not yet ready to stand and put on your trousers. He tucks himself back into his pants and does up his laces, before turning to look at you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You’re only saying that because we fucked.” You state, head turning from him to look at the cursed sky. 

“Not true, I’m taken aback by your beauty each time I see you.” 

“Even when I’m covered in goblin guts or shadow gunk?” You ask, eyes sliding back to his face as he peers down at you.

“Yes, even then.” He replies, moving to lay down beside you. He pulls you close, and you rest your head on his chest. He kisses your forehead.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just basking in each other's company before the distant sound of voices pulls you back to reality. It was time to leave the beach, say goodbye to Dammon for the time being, see the cleric, and march on with your journey.

“We should head back.” You say, sitting up and looking back at Dammon.

He draws random shapes on your back as he stares up at you, not moving.

“Wish you didn’t have to go.” He says as you stand up and retrieve your pants and underwear. 

You slide your underwear on before tugging your snug trousers up your legs. 

“Me too.” You admit, holding a hand out for him to take. 

He does, and you help hoist him up. 

One last kiss and you’re off, walking back to the main inn separately as to avoid suspicion. You didn’t mind being seen romantically with Dammon, in fact you were proud to call him yours. You just didn’t want people to know you just fucked on the cursed beach.

You could still feel him as you walked through the doorway, and you had the feeling you’d be sore for a while and you loved it. Just a little reminder of the time you shared together. 

Until we meet again. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A note: Thanks for reading! I currently have one other BG3 story on my profile about Gale so if you're interested be sure to check it out! This was a quick little story but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist: (Comment if you'd like to be on it!)

@sprite-real

[violet-lazer]

First Kisses : Papal Edition - Secondo

Content / Warnings : Secondo/Reader, Mature (Language, Suggestiveness), Gender-Neutral Reader, 1.5k words. Thanks, please enjoy! (AO3)

Your first kiss with Secondo.

With a good amount of trepidation coursing through your veins, you lift your hand to the door of Secondo’s office and give two firm knocks, attempting to ignore the knot in your stomach as you await a response. After a moment or two, his voice rings sharp and clear through the wood-panelled door.

“Enter.”

You gather yourself and push open the door, taking a few short steps into the room. Secondo, seated at his desk, clearly in the middle of some paperwork, lifts his head to meet your gaze. Placing his pen down, he steeples his fingers and leans forward slightly as he addresses you.

“Ah. Welcome. Do you know why I have summoned you?”

“No, Papa,” you lie.

Even underneath his paint, you see him quirk an eyebrow. He hums, reaching into a drawer, retrieving his phone and placing it on the surface of the desk, screen facing you. He beckons you to come closer, and you reluctantly oblige. Reluctantly, because you know you’re facing your own oblivion in bright illuminated text. Since last night you’ve been living in desperate, foolish hope that what is currently happening might not happen. As you lean in close to assess the damage, a small, involuntary groan escapes you. You’re looking, as you knew you would be, at the message thread between you and Secondo on his personal, private number.

This was Terzo’s fault. You’ve been known to blame many of your personal problems on Terzo, but this one was indisputable. 

“Personally,” he’d said, leaning over to purr into your ear as the two of you watched Secondo conduct mass, “I think you should tell him.” 

From your latecomers’ vantage point at the back of the chapel, you’d torn your eyes from the altar, from Secondo, and looked at Terzo incredulously. Oh, here we go. Terzo is doling out romantic advice again. Perfect.

“I don’t want to do that,” you’d said. You don’t. You do. 

Terzo had rolled his eyes at this, and tutted condescendingly.

“Have it your way. I would advise doing something to halt your descent into madness, though. When I am battling my feelings-”

“What feelings?”

“When I am battling my feelings,” he continues, “Here is what I do. I draft a little paragraph on my phone. I go into excruciating detail about my wants and desires. Let it all out, you know. I imagine sending it to them. And then I delete it. It is almost as good as an honest conversation.”

“Right,” you’d said dismissively, fixing your attention on Secondo at the altar once again and ignoring your quickening heartbeat. What a silly idea.

And there you were just a few hours later, lying on your bed, phone aloft in front of your face, typing furiously in the text box below Secondo’s name. The content of the messages between the two of you before tonight had been consummately professional- indeed, he’d only furnished you with his number last week due to the number of errands you’d been volunteering to run for him of late. But what you were writing here was the absolute antithesis of professional. You’d paused to assess your work. Utter filth. A culmination of every idle thought, every active fantasy you’d had about the man in the months since you’d first laid eyes on him. 

You wonder how he’d respond if he could see this, if he only knew. Would it take him completely by surprise? You’ve been so, so well-behaved around him. It’s been nigh impossible for you to figure out how you’d even approach the idea of flirting with Secondo, and the embarrassment of being knocked back may just destroy you. So you’ve simply not bothered to try. But Lucifer, what you’ve thought. 

Satisfied, you’d pressed backspace, holding your finger down and watching your most depraved dreams disappear before your very eyes-

And then you’d dropped your phone on your face before you’d finished, hitting you square on the nose and making your eyes water. Scrambling to pick it up, you’d turned it over to see something that made your heart drop out of your arse. You hadn’t finished deleting. And you’d pressed send. Possibly with your nose, which was impressive.

Immediately, without even registering how much of your message had made it to Secondo, you’d done the only logical thing and turned your phone off in a panic. When in doubt, deny. Perfect strategy. Hey, maybe you’d even get away with it.

As you look at Secondo’s screen, it becomes apparent you haven’t gotten away with it. Until about twenty seconds ago you’d been clinging onto a vague hope that the letter of summoning that had been pushed under your door this morning was concerning…literally anything else. Alas. Your crime is staring you in the face.

More specifically, what is staring you in the face is your own words. You suppose it could have been a lot worse, really. Most of the evidence was gone, and what remained-

Papa, I need to tell you how much I want you to p

“When I gave you my number,” Secondo says, dragging your attention away from the screen and back to his stare, “it was for business, not pleasure.”

“I know, Papa. I’m sorry.” 

Even if you could play it off as the start of a message that wasn’t about what you wanted Secondo to do to you, you absolutely can’t excuse the fact that you’d sent it at half past eleven at night. Absolutely inappropriate for a work-related enquiry.

Secondo barely acknowledges your apology, merely continuing to hold your gaze. You fall into an uncomfortable silence.

You reckon you could make a clean exit if you vaulted out of the window. Enthusiastic sprint, hand on the windowsill, over and out. Secondo’s office is only on the second floor, you’d probably be alright. It would be preferable to this.

After what feels like an eternity, Secondo speaks again.

“Well?”

“...Well?” you repeat slowly, somewhat at a loss.

He leans back slightly in his chair, exuding nothing but sheer, relaxed confidence.

“Well? Does that sentence have an ending?”

It does. It has a very creative ending. Is he…asking to hear it? The thought simultaneously thrills you and terrifies you. There’s not a chance you can repeat what you wrote so unashamedly last night, not to his face. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

You nod. It feels less committal. Secondo tilts his head just a fraction.

“It seemed very important. If you want something, you should be direct about it. Here, I will go first. I want you to tell me the ending to your sentence. And I want you to be honest.”

Ah, fuck. At present, you don’t think you have the capacity to lie. All you can think about is…

“It said,” you begin before you can help it, “I need to tell you how much…I want you to push me against a wall and kiss me.”

You’ve done it now. There’s a wave of adrenaline crashing over you, a mix of nerves and sheer exhilaration, and your hands are trembling. You realise you’re holding your breath. Secondo’s response causes you to exhale sharply. 

“And is that a sentiment you stand by this morning?”

“Yes.” 

“Close the door.”

Without thinking, you obey, turning to retrace your steps. As you approach the door you hear the scrape of Secondo’s chair on the floor; when you push on the heavy wood you count footsteps behind you. The door shuts. You turn. Secondo is right behind you, and still he barely slows his pace as he closes the last remaining distance between you. You let him back you up against the door, and in an instant his mouth is on yours. Secondo kisses you fiercely, tongue pushing into your mouth, his body pressed hard against you. You kiss him just as relentlessly, sinking back against the door, desperate to feel Secondo’s weight pinning you where you stand. Gloved hands find your hips.

Eventually, you part, breathless. Secondo’s eyes are ablaze as he looks down upon you, and it might be the delirium talking but you could swear he has the faintest suggestion of a smile playing across his lips. He leans in, giving you one gentle, final kiss. Then, he shifts, taking a step backwards and releasing his hold on you. You miss the pressure. 

“I would say it is worth being direct, hm?” he says. “Next time I expect you to be more forthright.”

“Next time?” you say, still bracing yourself against the door. There’s a chance your legs might still give out. Secondo hums.

“I will permit you to contact me outside business hours,” he says. “As long as you are confident in your desires. As long as you are…explicit.”

He reaches past you to grasp the doorknob, waiting patiently for you to peel yourself off the door before easing it open. Politely, he gestures to the corridor beyond.

“You are dismissed.”

You nod shakily. The past ten minutes have been something of an adventure. As you cross the threshold of Secondo’s office, you hear his voice, soft, behind you.

“I look forward to your next message.”

So do you. As you make your way back to your room, you pull out your phone and finally turn it back on. You’ll show him just how explicit you can be.

[chainkeepustogetherr]

BROKEN DOWN N’ HUNGRY, JEFF BUCKLEY ONESHOT

synopsis: in which, it simply isn’t too late to pay your ex-lover a surprising visit.

genre: angst i think? lil bit of fluff as-well!

IT HAD PRECISELY only been a matter of weeks, but it sure as hell felt like months since you and your now ex lover amicably decided to end things. Needless to say, you regretted it almost simultaneously. The lack of warmth on the left side of the bed every morning seemed to materialise it.

You woke up each morning with a sense of misery, almost emptiness within each pass of sunrise, day in and day out.

To make matters worse, the weather soon became rather drowsy and depression enduring, which seemingly added to your sense of blues, considering rainy days tended to be you & Jeff’s favourite kind of days to spend together, often humbly wrapped up within each other, simply devouring every savouring moment you two would spend together.

Looking out the small window located on your door, you observe the hues of grey and black painted on the clouds outside, delicate falls of rain cascading down below those very clouds. You stay seated and ponder on the fact that maybe you both were simply just too young to keep your love from going wrong.

You begin to wonder where Jeff is and how he's doing, if he could be missing you anywhere near as you are him. You'd heard through the grape vine that he'd been back out around town, seemingly carried away in his own world having his fun, a stark opposite of yourself who seems to spend most of her days pondering on the rather daunting & thought inducing would've, could've, should'ves this situation poses.

You wonder, what would happen if you simply returned? If you knocked on his door, what would come of it? Would a sense of shame wash over you as you realize he simply doesn't care anymore? Or is it not too late to rekindle things?

Although, little do you know, Jeff has been experiencing the exact same in return. Although he has been seemingly out and about, he often spends most mornings discomforted due to your absence. He spends most of his nights in despair, constantly tossing and turning due to the lack of sleep he faces. He imagines your silhouette smiling softly against him, the scent of comfort and vanilla overwhelming his senses. The fantasy constantly brings him to the verge of tears, simply wishing he had you with him. He feels as if he’s broken down and hungry for your love, yet feeling as though theres no real way to feed it. He ponders, wondering it he will ever feel the bliss of your sweet return.

It feels as if you've been gleaming out the window, looking for some form of metaphorical answer to your unresolved queries for hours and hours on end, but in reality, its only been about half an our or so. You come to the conclusion theres simply not much you can do, considering you remain unsure of if you're willing to deal with any negative consequences if you were to knock on Jeff's door, the humiliation seems too much for your currently sheer broken heart.

You decide to simply go for a drive, hopelessly leading to no where in particular in some form of effort to clear your head of any trace of Jeff. Yet, you feel yourself driving through a rather familiar road, though your mind doesn't seem to register what exactly you're doing & where exactly you’re travelling to.

Within minutes, you pull up to the familiar house that you've spent hours upon hours in, finally realising just where you are. You stay seated in the car for several seconds, realising you had no exact plan on what to do, nor say.

“Fuck it" you whisper under your breath, deciding to simply wing it and air out whatever thoughts previously on your mind earlier in the evening.

You slowly step up the stairs of Jeff's home, letting out a small unsteady breath you weren't aware you were holding in. Knocking three times, you begin to feel a swarm of anxiety take over your stomach, comprehending the fact that this could go extremely right, or extremely wrong.

The door steadily opens, a disoriented Jeff stands before you, a sense of weariness and lack of sleep apparent within his chocolate tinted frames.

His mouth slightly agapes open, his eyes widening slightly in a display of shock, it seemed. “Oh uhm... hello" he speaks, rather softly, yet cautiously.

“Can we talk?.. please?" you say, attempting to hinder the urge to formulate tears from cascading down your face.

“Yeah, yeah of course, come in, the place is a bit of a mess" he replies, a slight hint of embarrassment presented in his voice.

Though you simply nod in silence, unable to find the correct words to say.

"Do you uh, want a tea or a drink? or anything?" he asks, attempting to find a trace of emotion within your face, hoping and praying he isn't dreaming this current moment, due to his lack of sleep.

“No, I'm okay, thank you" you say.

"I think i understand why youre here, but i think i need to hear the words and phrases come out of your mouth, n’ not give into the thoughts that my mind is practically screaming right now " he says, anxiously laughing towards the end of his sentence.

"Yeah, well i just" you pause, attempting to find the right phrase to say without attempting to come off in a hasty manner. "Im just, having a real hard time with this, you know? I really, like really fuckin' miss you and i, just don't know what to do about it anymore”you speak, holding your head within the palms of your hands to hide any trace of emotion painted within it.

“I know i shouldn't come here and i know i should just let it go but i cant. I feel like pure shit everyday, especially when everyones telling me you're doing fine without me n’ i'm sitting in bed, unable to pin point what exactly went wrong" you continue, praying to god you haven't stated your emotions too strong.

A strong, rather unsolicited pause soon follows, allowing you to contain your thoughts in some sense of the word. Though within each growing second, the silence begins to haunt you in a manner, causing your stomach to undergo several different twists and turns, in a similar sense to a rollercoaster of the sorts.

“Don’t believe all the bullshit stories people feed you, okay? Look at my eyes, i look a mess, no? Like i haven’t slept in days?” he rhetorically speaks, not exactly anticipating a response. “I spend my nights awake reminiscing on the times we shared, reminiscing on you. I spend my nights writing endless amounts of poetry, journal entries and songs about you, and god, when i finally do get an ounce of sleep within my system, my dreams always revolve around you in one shape or another” he explains faintly, feelints of passion, yet great sadness oozing from within his tone.

“I consistently think about us and how much i regret the decision we made, its like it fucking haunts me, n/n” he furthermore continues as minor formations of tears begin to brim within the corner of his eyes.

“I really, really, truly did and do love you, you know? Honestly, i believe a fragment of me always will, no matter how close or far set we are apart” he formulates, withholding a strong gaze.

You bite down on your now shaky lip, both attempting and hoping to suppress any tears of your own from manifesting.

Though, a strong sense of relief soon overcomes all five of your senses, a feeling of existential bliss soon following as you ground yourself down to reality, realising Jeff’s words are true and arent a figment of your imagination somehow.

“God, i love you too, Jeff. You’re ‘boutta make me cry, asshole” you playfully jester, wiping away the newly devised tears.

“C’mere sweetheart, wouldn’t want that, would we?” he retorts, inching closer towards you, soon following by wrapping his delicate arms loosely around your frame in a tender manner.

“We’ll sort all this out in due time, okay? No rush, it’ll eventually unfold. I love you too much to let you go this easily, to let this go too easily” he enunciates, though the volume becoming slightly muffled due to his cheek being positioned in a scrunched manner alongside the tip of your hairline.

He furthermore places a delicate kiss along your shoulder, the feeling causing several fragments of goosebumps to arise upon your skin levels as you nod in response to his prior confession. The warmth of his kiss upon your body, the delicacy of his embrace and the scent of him sending a dizzying effect to your mind-frame, the only thoughts occupying your mind being ones of relief, bliss almost. You truly missed the raven haired, chocolate eyed boy beyond belief, beyond words could truly and coherently verbalise.

[anons-has-hlvrai-aus]

The Metamorphosis of Gordon Freeman [Chapter 1]

An Aftermath

Next Chapter

Summary: Gordon finds out four years too late that not wearing your helmet into a chamber filled with otherworldly radiation is going to have some strange effects on the human body. Luckily for him, there’s somebody that can help him accommodate to his new alien powers…unluckily for him, that somebody happens to be a certain former security guard that can’t seem to stay dead.

Chapter Summary: Gordon receives an unwanted visit from somebody he hasn’t seen in a long time.

Word Count: 4,406

Notes: So originally this chapter was much longer, and included Movie Night, but I realized it was getting REALLY long and I thought the initial conversation between Gordon and Benrey acted as a good introduction of things to come. The start of things getting jostled up in Gordon’s life.

Black Mesa had been busy for a while when it came to Xen. The details were of a need-to-know basis, and not everybody in Black Mesa had those qualifications, but that didn’t change the fact that the survey team’s most recent yield of specimens came with an unexpected addition.

Could they call it a man?

It looked like a man.

Correction, it almost looked like a man: average height, a slightly notable stomach, some dark and greasy hair…perfectly normal from a glance.

This wasn’t a normal man.

Normal men don’t bare razor sharp teeth.

Normal men didn’t tank loads of bullets with anything less than a few bruises.

Normal men didn’t come back from the dead.

Normal men don’t spew orbs of color from their snarling mouth.

Normal men don’t have scleras the color of honey and irises that were some sort of horrible color out of space.

Normal men don’t scale walls and ceilings completely nude, their eyes, fingertips, feet mysteriously concealed by shadows with no discernible source.

This wasn’t a normal man.

This wasn’t even a human, masculine or otherwise.

This was something else.

This was something unworldly.

This was something familiar to Black Mesa, despite the shape it currently took.

This was something Black Mesa’s scientists hadn’t seen for a long, long time, and they were going to take advantage of that.

-

SUBJECT: Gordon Freeman, PhD.

CURRENT LOCATION:

Random County Middle School

Poastgame, New Mexico

TIME: Containment Failure + 1491 days, 5 hours

EMPLOYMENT STATUS: It’s complicated

-

Gordon sat in front of a desk, a stern, withered figure staring back at him from the opposite side. Both were obnoxiously business casual, although his interviewer clearly had something a bit out of date. He grinned at the older gentleman, who simply maintained his analytical glare.

“You say you want to be a… science teacher… Dr. Freeman?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s why I’m uh… that’s why I applied for the job here, yeah.” He nodded.

“It says here you graduated from MIT, very impressive.”

“Thank you” spills from Gordon’s lips without a second thought, his scrutinizing assessor briefly redirects his gaze from the paper back to him. It feels like an eternity before he switches focus once more.

“I am very curious about your previous employment, as well as the noticeable gap in your resume.”

Shit. Fuck. Damnit.

What could he even bring up as an excuse that didn’t break his confidentiality agreement?

There was so much shit that went on in Black Mesa: the shady business practices were just the start, the blatant coverup of alien lifeforms wasn’t exactly a reasonable excuse either, nor the multitudes of identical human men that were apparently illegal and wanted by the state of New Mexico, and he was pretty sure so much as whispering about the experiment that destroyed his workplace would paint a target on his back. Again. And he really didn’t need a repeat of last year’s ‘Ed Balls Day Celebration’.

That wasn’t even mentioning the complete disregard for OSHA safety regulations (he didn’t care if Tommy said it had been up to code, it most certainly was NOT in his eyes), the medical malpractice (he was pretty sure what happened in the mixology department counted as this, but he really didn’t want to throw Darnold under the bus considering how nice and genuinely helpful the guy was), the clear disregard of human decency that was the accursed laundry room and it’s wretched coin-guzzling dryers, the-

“Doctor Freeman, I am waiting for you to answer my question.”

Gordon stuttered, suddenly his train of thought failed to provide any sort of plausible answer. He deployed his most reliable excuse. “I’m uh, I’m kinda not supposed to say anything? Kinda supposed to keep quiet about what happened to the place. As for the gap… well…” Most people don’t like it when you tell them the reason you have a gap in your employment is because you spent two years attempting to mentally recover from the trauma of your last workplace, and even more people dislike when you tell them the rest of your gap has been from you trying to get a job and then failing, because the idea of anybody having such a long gap in employment is an enigma to anybody trying to hire, at least as far as Poastgame, New Mexico was concerned. Still, he couldn’t exactly lie about what he’d been doing for the past four years, so he told them exactly what was up with the gap in his resume.

As expected, it did not please the other man in the slightest.

Gordon looked deflated by the end of the interview, looking much like one of the numerous tweens currently outside the office, waiting to hear about their grade-school criminal records.

“Doctor Freeman,” the interviewer started, “this is a middle school, as you are clearly aware. You, good Doctor, are an MIT graduate. As far as I’m concerned, this job is way below your paygrade, and even if it weren’t-“

Gordon zoned out, replaying the interview in his head. He was doing everything right: the right clothes, a nice resume, being totally honest with the guy, didn’t accidentally swear like he did at his previous interview…What sort of arbitrary rules could he have been forgetting?

For a guy that had once ragged on his former co-workers, both living and deceased, about not being able to act like normal people, he was starting to feel like maybe he was a hypocrite with how much he struggled to follow basic etiquette.

Surely, the Resonance Cascade hadn’t ruined his social skills that much in just a week, but who was he to judge? This was the same guy that got nervous about making phone calls (It’s not even that hard! It’s talking to people! You love to talk to people!). Even then, he probably shouldn’t judge, Tommy got nervous about phone calls too, but Tommy seemed a bit more justified given his tendency to change his words mid-sentence.

If there was any factor of justification for Gordon’s awkwardness (and this was a pretty big one that even HE forgot about sometimes), then it was the additional matter that he was a video game character, one whose entire personality and backstory had been sculpted together by some person bumbling around their room in a VR headset for several hours. Now that the video game was over, Gordon had to rely on what was “taught” to him by the player, and that was more than enough to make him feel like a badly rolled DND character. He couldn’t even air his grievances to the Player, they had left not long after exporting their save file to whatever server was housing the Post Game. He did have an opportunity to talk to them, once, but trying to remember too many details of the conversation hurt his head; if he had any chance to tweak or change himself, it was that conversation, and clearly he had wasted it.

So, yeah, Gordon didn’t have an excuse. He was kinda stuck being the prime antithesis of a normal person, it seemed.

He nodded at the interviewer when he seemed to finish his speal, shook the man’s sweaty hand, and gave his empty thanks for the “opportunity” to speak to the man at all before making the drive back home. He couldn’t recall the details between when he left the school and when he got home, his memories always got fuzzy when he was driving by himself. He had enough video game knowledge to suspect it was Fast Travel. For a moment, he wondered if it was possible to turn off, but knowing his luck his attempt to do so would just end up turning his prosthetic arm back into a mini-gun, and then he’d have to figure out how to switch it back to normal.

He should have just asked the rest of the Science Team about the car thing years ago, but he had been putting it off after he decided it was preferable to being left to stew in his thoughts for the entire drive. And now he was suffering the consequences of his inaction, wondering only now if he could toggle Fast Travel and Mini-Gun Hand. Hell, maybe he had the power to toggle game difficulty this entire time and he wasn’t utilizing it, he would really like to switch Job Hunting to “easy mode.”

Whatever. Too late to find out now.

Gordon didn’t really need a job, anyways, given the hush money and all, he just needed some form of normalcy to keep himself from focusing on the events that got him here, thinking about that stuff for too long got him stressed, and bad things tended to happen when Gordon got stressed.

Needless to say, he was pretty sure the horrid little man sitting in the middle of his lawn was not a good omen of things to come, both for his stress levels and his attempts at normalcy.

He let out a long, irritated sound, similar to when one needed to be vocal about an upset stomach, and stepped out of the car. Benrey didn’t seem to notice Gordon quite yet, but he knew better than to let the smaller man be left unattended outside. He could call the police but… he’d really rather not on principle alone. He and the Science Team had all agreed that in case of emergencies, they would call each other first (against Gordon’s better judgment), and then either an ambulance or the fire department second.

Benrey… technically wasn’t an emergency right now. He was just a minor annoyance at best, and if for some reason the man did escalate into a greater problem, Gordon had the benefit of it being movie night at his place tonight. If something went wrong, and he couldn’t contact the Science Team for whatever reason, they would know, and they would raise hell at whatever was causing the problem, because at this point not even a second Resonance Cascade (god hope no such a thing occurs) would be able to stop those people from executing their weekly plans after four years of proper bonding time.

Gordon moved between his house and Benrey, keeping a good distance as he did so before engaging in any sort of conversation. He wanted to be as close to the front door as possible in case the non-human gave chase…not that it meant much since Benrey could noclip, but the idea of safety gave him comfort, even if it wasn’t ensured.

“What are you doing here?” He asked a bit too casually. He was sure his voice would better convey the confusion and dread he was feeling once his brain snapped out of what he could only best describe as a new stage of grief dedicated solely for rediscovering somebody who really should have stayed dead.

Bafflement, he was pretty sure what he was experiencing was bafflement. He wasn’t sure why, though. He’d seen Benrey come back from the dead quite a few times, but that all been four years and 31 days ago (and still counting). At that point you can’t help but reasonably assume somebody like that is going to stay dead this time, but apparently that was not the case for Benrey. That also wasn’t surprising, when he thought about it; the cheapest way to create a threat in a sequel is to just bring back the final boss from the first game.

Oh god, was Benrey going to be his Dr. Wily? Was Gordon going to be stuck defeating the same creep over and over and over again for the next 30-something years? He couldn’t do that, his body still hadn’t recovered from the first time he fought Benrey.

The other man tilted his head slightly to Gordon, as if wanting to acknowledge him but not quite processing he was there. “mm…ding dong…” He poked at Gordon’s thrift store garden gnome, its cheeky smile and unbroken gaze were something Gordon had looked deeply into a few times too many since he got it. He wanted to think the longing it exuded wasn’t just his imagination, but he had accepted by now that it was probably his lonely mind playing tricks on him. He was more willing to accept this as imaginary compared to the skeletons.

“Hey,” Gordon spoke up, “Hey man, I asked you a question.”

“…what?” Benrey looked around again, less sluggish than before, this time locking eyes with Gordon. The smaller man’s face was almost an inverse of the gnome’s, they shared the same vacant stare, but the rest of his expression gave him a more pensive look.

Unlike the gnome, however, Benrey’s face could actually change, albeit subtly, such was the case when it morphed into a small smile upon recognizing Gordon. “Yooo! What’s up! Been a while, man. Been like…” He stared directly at the sun, or at least appeared to do so, his eyes squinting not from the glare but from his trying to process something. “…four years, and a month! That one month is pretty, uh, important.”

Gordon exhaled slowly. It sounded like one of those terrible, pig-shaped noise makers Tommy and Dr. Coomer had bought at the Dollar Store last week. “Whyyyyyy? Why now? Why are you-?” He felt a familiar anger boil over, and suddenly his tone and body language had gone from exhausted to brimming with rage. The edges of his vision went slightly red. “Okay! Okay, I’m going to disregard the fact that you can apparently tell how long it’s been since you last harassed me simply by looking at the position of the stars in broad-fucking-daylight, WHY, OF ALL TIMES, ARE YOU BACK? RIGHT FUCKING NOW?!?!”

He could swear he saw Benrey flinch slightly at his outburst, but he wasn’t sure. The man almost immediately responded with his usual calm.

“I told you man, that one month was important. I got, uh, my PS+ renewed. Played the whole time.”

Okay, that…sorta explained where he’d been for the past month, at least.

“Let me guess, Heavenly Sword?”

“Yeah!!!”

Gordon had the displeasure of witnessing the familiar sight of Sweet Voice spewing from Benrey’s lips. The man’s joy seemed to overflow at him remembering such a basic detail from his nonsensical monologue.

“It was so fun!” Benrey continued. “I got to play on a full server, throwing frags and shit at other people, really great cool stuff.”

The red faded from his vision. Despite wanting to so badly…Gordon simply could not stay mad at him. He was just sitting there, in the grass, blabbering on about Heavenly Sword like an excited child. Damnit, the man was even fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while he talked. Was Benrey even a threat, now? Did four years of whatever he was doing mellow him out?

Gordon’s brows furrowed, he should have been focused on the how and why of Benrey being in his front lawn like a sad dog, but for some reason his mind was derailed to the point of fascination by Benrey’s Adventures in Free PlayStation Plus.

“So you got PS Plus, were you, were you just doing that for four years? Were you just gaming the entire time?”

“Nah man, I was…sleep.”

“For four years? You slept for four entire years?”

“Yeah I got really tired after the uh, the heist. So I had a big sleep. I woke up though. That was kinda sucks.” That checked out, considering what happened after they had their heist in another world, but now Gordon was concerned about how Benrey remembered the heist; nobody was supposed to remember the heist except for Gordon, he vaguely recalls that he and the Player agreed to the Science Team forgetting the heist. Tommy kinda remembered, but only the parts where he had asbestos poisoning. Well, he supposed since Benrey didn’t count as a member of the Science Team, maybe him remembering wasn’t a problem, for now.

“They gave me one month of PS Plus after I woke up and came back. I like video games…can’t play video games in the other place though, so I agreed to the free month.” Benrey continued. He nodded and shook his head while explaining his story, always at the appropriate times where a head movement seemed necessary, almost like it was practiced.

“So you…” Gordon continued the conversation, trying to feel out if maybe he was being led into a false sense of security. “You played Heavenly Sword for a whole month without eating or sleeping?”

“Yea-no?? I ate…pigeons and…” He looked directly at Gordon, he was processing something again, “…tree rats.”

“Squirrels?”

“Yeah those.” His scrunched face changed to a neutral-looking smile.

He had seen Benrey eat pigeons back in Black Mesa, so he wasn’t too surprised the man had eaten squirrels; it seemed like a logical next step. It made sense, Gordon was pretty sure a diet consisting solely of cheese puffs and 7Up (he was pretty sure that’s what gamers ate) could kill even the hardiest of immortals.

Actually, Benrey didn’t mention eating any sort of fruit just now, did he just leave them out on purpose or, was he some sort of obligate carnivore? He probably should have focused on that more than on what he asked next.

“You cooked those before you ate them, right?”

“No. Sorry, I don’t have uh…microbe-wave.”

Gordon just stared at him. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.

“Tastes better with the hair on ‘em anyways.”

“I’m not a medical doctor, but I’m pretty sure…that you’re gonna get a disease…” Gordon tried to choose his next words carefully. He really, really tried. But his brain was fried from the interview and the exhaustion was starting to catch up. “…Salmonella. You’re gonna get salmonella if you keep eating raw meat like that.”

It was Benrey’s turn to stare again.

“Oh, who am I fucking kidding?” Gordon threw his hands in the air, “You’re some sort of thing from another world, the bacteria probably just goes right through you!”

“There are…” Benrey paused, his face morphed into a mischievous, shark-toothed grin. “…yo there’s Bakugan in my meat?”

He laughed. Gordon laughed and laughed and laughed until he fell over drunk from the shock of Benrey’s statement, and then laughed until the tap ran dry and he was sober enough to wheeze a response. “No! That’s not-Benrey that’s not what I said at all. I expect that kind of joke from Tommy! Oh my god…”

All of the neighbors peaked over or around to see the commotion at this point. Gordon didn’t feel any need to acknowledge them any as he shakily pushed himself upright, they were used to the bullshit that followed him around by this point, they were just really nosy. They were gone as quickly as they arrived, by which point he was now sitting on the opposite side of his gnome. “Do…Do you wanna like…come inside or something, man?”

“No, I don’t like the color beige.”

In his hysterical drunkenness, Gordon had almost been willing to invite Benrey into his refuge, but the hospitality had now been lost.

He was seeing red again. “How did you know my walls were-? Did you noclip into my house?!” He took his glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Fucking-! I keep getting fucking distracted! Dude!!!!”

Benrey watched Gordon gesture wildly with the hand not carrying his glasses around, directing every movement towards him.

“Why are you HERE?!” He screamed.

Benrey looked at the ground. “That’s uh, private information.” Slowly his head drifted towards Gordon again, he could faintly see the man’s creepy eyes follow the seams of his suit. “…Yo, we dressing up for movie night tonight?”

Gordon stiffened, standing back up. “How do you know about movie night?”

If Benrey knew about movie night, then either somebody told him, or…

“Tommy told me.” Benrey answered quickly, “Well, uh…he told his dad, and his dad told me. Mister Coolguy, Mister Govern-Mant, he got me the free month of PS Plus.”

Benrey fidgeted with the hem of his shirt again, sort of messing with it like he was messing around with a game controller while his mouth bubbled Sweet Voice and word salad.

“Like…he said he was going to buy more when it ran out, and now it’s been a month and my PS Plus ran out…twenty minutes ago.”

“We’ve been talking for about five minutes or something,” Gordon looked at his wrists. There wasn’t a watch on either of them, but it felt important to visually convey the flow of time. “So you’re telling me that your PS Plus ran out fifteen minutes before you got here, and you couldn’t wait another five or so for Mister Coolatta, for Tommy’s dad to renew it again? The PlayStation has games that aren’t multiplayer, you couldn’t play any of those for a while?”

Benrey averted his gaze. “I could but…”

He waited, but Benrey didn’t continue his statement. He was starting to consider the possibility that Benrey was lying out of his ass right now and that he had simply stolen enough information from the Science Team to keep Gordon preoccupied while they all died a slow, painful and permanent death before killing Gordon himself. He waited another two minutes before breaking the silence, hoping maybe that Benrey didn’t know that Gordon knew what he was planning. “But what? Why won’t you play single player games?”

Benrey looked at the ground again. “…I’d like to go inside the house now please?”

“Uh-?”

“WAIT! Can we go to my house instead? Pretty please?” He asked in earnest, pulling off a fucked-up alien version of ‘sad anime eyes’.

Well, if Benrey really was distracting Gordon to leave the Science Team dying somewhere, he did a scarily good job at hiding that fact. He must have been trying to get him into a secondary location to finish the job.

Hastily, Gordon tried to come up with an excuse while he put his glasses back on.

“Uh, sorry man. I wish I could, but uh, the guys are gonna be here in about…an hour, and I still need to change into some normal clothes and figure out what we’re eating for movie night. So-“ He twisted away from Benrey pulling something out and trying to force it into his line of sight, reminding Gordon of his various intrusive thoughts of being kidnapped in the past few years.

Benrey frowned. “Bro it’s paper.” He shook the parchment around for demonstration.

Through a partially-covered mouth, Gordon asked “Can you please not shove paper in my face?”

Benrey responded by wobbling the paper more until Gordon finally accepted it.

“Fine, what is this?”

“Mm…list. Food list.”

“Food list?”

“Food list.”

The paper that the list was written on had been improperly torn from a spiral notebook; you could easily see where the lower half of the page was simply ripped instead of following the tear-away lines. The handwriting on it, by contrast, looked incredibly clean, almost like it was typed out aside from a few blemishes of human error like scribbles over spelling mistakes or a long line from where somebody had made an order and then at the last minute asked for something completely different, much to the chagrin of the transcriber.

“…This is really nice handwriting.” Gordon admitted.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, prompting him to look over his messages.

One of them was an unflattering picture of him from a few minutes ago, dying of laughter in his front yard, sent by his neighbors from across the street to the neighborhood group chat.

‘This idiot can’t even comprehend the true form of Gnome Chompski’s attack. XD Ignore the guy in the back dunno who he is.’

Thanks Gina and Colette, very cool.

The other message was from Bubby, so maybe the rest of the Science Team wasn’t dead after all. At the very least, Bubby wasn’t dead.

‘You’d better be goddamn home by now. I’m changing my order again. I want a Sausage Melt, and I want my hash browns smothered and diced. Also, Harold wanted to make sure you added pecans to his chocolate chip waffles. If you forget those nuts again and he cries, I WILL make it your problem.’

“Did Bubby change his order again?” Benrey asked, his expression dead serious. He didn’t wait for an answer, apparently he could just tell from Gordon’s expression and considered that enough to snatch the paper from his hands and scratch out one of the orders with a pen he pulled out from hammerspace. “This fuckin’ guy, I can’t believe it. This is the THIRD time man.”

“I think I can handle the orders from here.” Gordon said. He got the list back without much of a fight, which was preferable to getting into a tug-of-war over a piece of paper.

“I will…see you later?” He slowly backed away from Benrey to get inside his house, tripping as the terrain switched from grass to concrete beneath his feet. “I’m going to go inside now and…do the stuff I said I needed to do!” His hand clutched the door knob, and immediately Gordon turned around to wiggle it open. His face paled with realization that his initial plans to bolt at the first sign of a threat would not have worked anyways, not solely because Benrey could noclip through objects, but also because Gordon would not have had the time to unlock his front door before Benrey did…whatever the fuck he had planned.

Just like in the horror movies.

Shit.

Gordon was a fucking horror movie protagonist and he wasn’t even one of the long-lasting ones. He was the final girl from the first movie that they kill off at the start of the second to make a point.

“Hey man, you dropped this.”

A key ring appeared in his peripheral vision. Gordon strained his eyes to meet Benrey’s line of sight, the man had that deceptively innocent smile from before as he held the keys out like a joy-buzzer.

He took his keys back with the speed and grace of a claw machine, unlocked the door, and just stared longingly at the interior for a minute.

“Inside? Inside for Benrey?”

“Yeah, sure thing man…” Gordon sighed and walked inside, letting Benrey follow behind. If he was going to die, might as well get comfortable first.

[firewoodwander]

I'm embarrassingly late, but if you're still having fun with the mistletoe prompts, I'd like to request Quiet with Fives/Tup <3

Mistletoe prompts

9. Quiet

Merry Christmas my friend!!

Coruscant never sleeps, but in this moment Fives feels like it might be holding one collective breath.

The view from their window isn’t much: the blocks of flats opposite, much the same as their own, and at night the reflections of some xenon lights off the bars below and holoboards lining the adjacent throughway. Tonight, though, the foot traffic is slowing, so the ambient chatter and bubble of the city has ebbed to a murmur.

There’s a widely-celebrated natborn holiday tomorrow and many of the flats and shops and establishments have festooned themselves with appropriate decoration. Fives had sourced some colourful lights for their own place, delighted by the cheerful look of them, and Tup had insisted on having some of the glittery tat to hang about the place, too.

They don’t know much of what it’s about, but the decorations look nice, and the younglings in the opposite unit like to peer out behind their curtains to watch the lights before their bedtimes. If nothing else, it’s good for morale

Tup had assured him some time ago that he was on his way home and most definitely hadn’t gotten lost. Fives may not be totally convinced, because Coruscant is a maze of a warren and the only place he will go without a navi to hand is the local corner shop, but he trusts Tup. So, he has a timer counting down to an hour before he’ll send out a search party.

The timer only reaches twenty-nine minutes elapsed by the time Tup activates the door lock and lets himself in.

“Hey,” he calls. “I’m back.”

“In one piece,” Fives replies, already in the entrance to greet him. “I’ll admit, for a moment you had me worried—”

Tup snaps out a fist to punch him in the shoulder. “It was one time,” he bemoans. “One time!”

“The greatest indicator of a repeat offense is a first incident.”

“Those jokes weren’t funny when Echo first came up with them.”

“Ah,” Fives says, grinning as he watches Tup roll his eyes and hang up his coat, “but they aren’t wrong.”

“Of course not,” Tup agrees. He reaches into one of the many bags he’s dumped in the hall and comes up with a fist full of plant and a roll of tape. “Here, I think you’ll find this more interesting. Help me stick it to the door frame.”

“That better not take the paint off,” Fives grumbles, but he does as he’s told. (It’s almost thrilling to think about how millions of credits’ worth of kaminoan engineering is currently being used as a glorified tape dispenser. Even if it hadn’t been Tup asking, doing so would be worth it just for that.)

“Perfect,” Tup declares. He steps back and surveys his work with a satisfied smile. “Don’t you think?”

“Lovely,” Fives agrees. “What is it?”

“The seller told me it’s a Mid-Rim tradition. Two people standing under this plant have to kiss, otherwise it’s bad luck.”

Fives frowns. “And is it good luck if they do?”

Tup smiles more and steps under it, turning around and pulling Fives with him. “I don’t know, but you have to kiss me now. Who knows what’ll happen?”

Smiling with him, Fives makes a show of consideration between Tup and the plant. “I don’t know… Maybe I’m willing to make the sacrifice…”

Tup’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Hey!”

“For science, you know? Gotta test the theory, see if it has any credibility to it.”

“Or you could just kiss me.”

Tup doesn’t usually pull it out, but he is very, oddly good at using the power of his pout to get his way. Notably, this doesn’t work on anyone except Fives and Dogma and occasionally Rex; this has yet to be pointed out to any of them, and likely never will.

Fives snorts and leans in to bump their foreheads together amiably. “Of course,” he capitulates. “We’re always better off safe than sorry.”

“Not because I’m your wonderful partner, or anything.”

“Or anything.”

Kissing Tup is and has always been the only feeling Fives could possibly call home. Not their flat, though cozy and rightfully theirs. Not Coruscant. Certainly not Kamino. Tup, and everything that he is, and the way he chooses to share every part of himself with Fives: that is home.

His lips are soft and familiar and delightful against Fives’ own. He kisses like he means to stay here forever, and Fives is willing to let him, kissing back with full intentions to keep doing this until the day he dies.

The warmth of holding Tup close, strange decorations and holidays and Mid-Rim plants aside, is the only thing Fives never ever wants to see change.

“Hm,” Tup murmurs, pulling back and murmuring against Fives’ mouth. “Here’s hoping for some good luck coming our way.”

“I think I can see some coming very soon indeed,” Fives says. He begins to walk Tup backwards, away from the door and the outside world and towards their bedroom. “Very, very soon.”

Tup cackles and forces Fives to drag him the whole way there. He yells when Fives tries to shoulder lift him and tackles him to the floor instead, thoroughly derailing Fives’ well-planned operation. But get there they do, eventually, and Tup is still laughing, so Fives knows all must be good in their tiny, quiet corner of the galaxy.

[youdontloveme-yet]

It seems people around here need a bit of an insight on the events that are happening in the Middle East currently. (btw, there has been a devastating earthquake in Afghanistan, which also needs attention) I will compile what my friend has said since this genocide started and what they're basically being forced to live through. Excuse me, survive through.

07.10.23: First thing my friend sent me in the morning was this:

Saying the bombings have not stopped since 6am, while he texted me this photo at 8am. He said there're bombs and rockets flying in different directions from all over Gaza. Be it by Hamas or IDF doesn't matter. Our conversation continues to me witnessing a 22 year old man breaking down, wishing this was just a bad dream. A little while later as I bombard him with questions about the situation and what they're saying on the news and whatnot he simply said:

When I asked if there are any protocols for civilians:

As the day went on and I had to function like an actual person and go to work, in the evening I asked if his family has emergency plans.

And asked for shelters.

He joked about the situation. We joked about the situation. You know, to keep the normalcy rather than making it worse for everybody. He didn't sleep that night. I couldn't stop crying through the entire day and night.

08.10.23: First thing is the morning is to see if he's okay. Still alive, still joking about it. I asked about the bombing and he tells me they've been going on every few minutes through the entire night. We continue speaking through the entire day, as I cannot stop shaking nor crying, because I am absolutely fucking useless and helpless.

Is what comes out as he is barely holding up, amidst joking around. He still asks me about my day, why I am scheduling therapy, if I have eaten anything and so on. Regardless the fact that he is now in an active warzone with very big prospects of him dying. So, I think you can paint a picture of the type of person he is. I try to keep our conversations light and normal, as they usually are, so as he doesn't lose his mind. He send me pictures of his cat and growing a stress beard. We joke around and keep up the normalcy as much as possible. We go back and forth with how he will not get rid of me especially in this situation. With him constantly telling me it's not worth it and how I'll only get hurt. As you can imagine I legit do not care, since I will stick with him 'till the very end. We continue going in circles with why I shouldn't get attached or how he's happy to see my ugly mug, some innuendos being throw around and whatnot. Every night I tell him to stay safe as if he has any power over it. In the evening I ask if he needs some distraction, either to talk or play games. He played a few games with the rest of the server, you know, to keep his sanity. I keep sending memes and stupid shit to keep it light. We got to the point where we started talking about books, so I ask him for his favourite:

I unfortunately literally passed out after our book conversation, as I was fatigued from crying and shaking all day.

09.10.23: In the morning he tells me he is alive and doing okay-ish. After which we continue with the back and forth of "it's a waste of time to stress about me". I ask about his family, how I'll love and support him even if he commits war crimes and whatnot. To which he continues to answer with stuff like this:

Well, we both know is a bit too late to not get attached. :)

There is something so viscerally horrifying when a big, strong man tells you he is scared. There is something so incredibly painful, when the person you've grown attached to tells you he is scared. I cannot even start to explain how my heart sunk and the most abusive and profound sadness nested itself in my chest. I woke up every hour during that night, even though I smoked enough weed to keep me asleep for a week. And I woke up in terror every fucking hour of the night.

10.10.23: He's alive and well. As well as someone can be in his situation. Hadn't slept all night, but is alive. We continue our usual banter and jokes through the day. Later he apologizes for forgetting that I am going to therapy. We talk about flowers, because he loves flowers and we both need distraction. As we keep talking he casually throws in how he finally has his meds. Which to me is weird, because he hadn't mentioned any pills before. And this is how I learn he is on anti-depressants since his brother killed himself the previous year. He hadn't told anyone else. I will here remind that he is not even 22 yet and has gone through absolute shit. By absolute shit I mean the worst things imaginable. For example, he shared in the server how he witnessed a rocket split a person in half, nearly killing his brother when he was only 14 years old. Later on I had the small victory of making him laugh, while bombs were still raining on them. We even played a game that night. Then the horrors continued:

I left him to his own vices for that time, as I knew anything I'd say would make it only worse. When I spoke to him next he had calmed down, even tho he was battling his demons. Even made him smirk with a pun. And the dread came back in full power after.

So, as you can imagine, knowing that the person you most deeply care about doesn't want to exist is absolutely and irrevocably devastating. I do not recall if this was the same night, when he told us they started using white phosphorus rockets, but it might as well have been the same night. I would like to remind here that white phosphorus is banned as a weapon and is allowed only to use for smoke screen. While in this case they were launching rockets full of it towards houses and entire neighbourhoods. The whole idea behind it is that if a person doesn't die from an entire building collapsing, they will either suffocate or literally melt due to the phosphorus. Which automatically means that they cannot identify victims or have claims that a child has been killed. It is a very old tactic used in the majority of devastating wars.

So, here I will ask all the zionists and racists, how can a person like this be dubbed a terrorist? How can a person, who cares more about my well-being, while being actively under siege, a fucking terrorist? With what consciousness do you call all Palestinians terrorists? What goes through your silly little minds to support Israel in slaughtering such people?? Palestine is 2mil people, 55% of which are children. The average age in the country is 18. And people still dare to say that they are animals, subhuman and terrorists. You have no actual evaluation of what is right and wrong, if you cannot get it through your thick skulls that Hamas is but a fraction of Palestine, while the rest 90+ percent of people are just like you and me. Have you no empathy for those who have been subjected to severe ethnic cleansing for 80 fucking years? Because you all had sympathy for Ukraine when Russia attacked, but when it is not white fucking people, it is not a genocide, it's the colonial state of Israel defending themselves.

I will end this here for now, as I have to pretend to be a functioning person and work. I will continue this when I can.

Peace and may your Gods save your souls when karma comes for you. Everyone else, stay safe :)

[weridpersonhelp]

Red Phone [7]

Previus - Next?

master list!

warning: slightly scary, first-time horror writer, stalking, confusion, gramma and spell mistakes, screaming, getting up a horrible hour of night, neurodivergent reader, slow burnish? , x reader, children, puppets, curse langue, music, be ready for cringe!

Ring-ring- ring- “Hello?”

“Hey is this Y/n?” Wally asks, I couldn’t help but chuckle at this guy’s stutter.

“The one and only,”

“Hello! Um, how was your day?”

“Good what about yours?”

“It was also good, though I didn’t do much I went to the store to get some more apples. Howdy had a sale, but he limited what I could buy.

“Oh, and why’s that?” “I may or may not like apples a little too much?” I raise an eyebrow at this but end up chuckling instead.

“Wait how many did you buy?” Wally was quite for a minute, leaving me suspect more than the usual.

“20.”

“You bought 20 apples?”

“Yes,”

“Are you going to make something with them?” I ask pushing myself on the bench now, I didn’t want my feet getting hurt. I was very curious of why he would by so many apples, that would last my family a while even made apples pie every day.

“No, I don’t really eat them.”

“Then why did you buy so many?”

“I like to just stare at them? I know it’s weird, but there just so shiny. They look very pretty; the red ones are my favourite honestly. But the green one’s are still alright, their also fun to draw and paint.”

“How long have you had this obsession with apples for?”

“Ever since I could remember? I know it’s weird but-“

…

“I know it’s weird but-“wally was cut off by the girls chuckles, he was currently in his Pj’s in his special red chair next to this phone. It was the only one that he could call her on, it was late at night for him so he had to remember to remain quite. But he was worried that she would consider his obsession with Apples weird.

“No, I don’t think it’s that weird, people can have things like that. I know I hyper fixate on Lego’s or movies!”

“What type of movies do you like?”

“I’m a sucker for romance and Comedy! But I do love a good horror!” Wally chuckles and pushes back his hair a little.

“those are complete different genre’s! how do you even watch a horror?”  y/n gasps dramatically at him.

“Horrors are good! You need to give them a try okay! they’re not that bad.” She defends herself, Wally chuckles at how defensive she was over her precious movie genre.

“What’s your favourite then? Mr I’m too good for Horror’s”

“Hey now! I never said I was too good for them!”

“Oh? Then what’s so bad with them?”

“I never said they where bad, I just said how do you watch them! Their so creepy! My favourite genre is action and western! Though I also love myself a romance movie.”

“Ooh so your scared of them, are you? That it. And you’re a cowboy’s kind of guy huh?”

“Always have been, isn’t it cool how they ride their horses off into the sunset? With their true love.”

“Mmm, I guess, I never really watch many cowboy movies.”

“My favourite would have to be big jack! It’s good you should watch it sometime!” Wally suggests.

“Hmmm I’ve never heard of that movie before, I’ll have to watch it.” Just at the suggestion of her watching his favourite movie, just because he said it was his favourite movie. He kicks his feet a little out of excitement, what was going on with him? He never acts this way. Julie and Frank sometimes act this way! But not him! he was always to cool one! The calm, collected, charmer of the group!

“You’ll like it I promise!”

“I hope so, anyways. You never told me how old you where, or what you wanted to ask my- I mean Harrison and Maggie.” Wally eyes widen, what the heck was he meant to tell her? He was in puppet years 20, but in human years? Who knew! Hell, he didn’t even know what decade it was over their he could be 30! No maybe even 100! And what would he say about the question as well?

‘Oh yes! I just wanted to know if he we could complete the spell? To make us alive so we could continue the show! And why they were trapped in this world? Before all of this, they where in this world, but then Harrison completed a spell. One that made them come to life there was more to the story, but how the heck was he just going to info dump you like that? How could he?

He might scare you away, and he loves talking to you so far! Love it a strong but it truly it what he think this feeling was. a love of a friend? He wanted to get to know you more before he would say anything. Hell maybe even some how, some way bring you into his world? He didn’t know how it would work or how but it was something in his imagination.

“Wally you there?”

“Oh yes! Sorry I just dropped the phone HAHA! Um I’m 20, how old are you?”

“18 turning 19 soon”.

“Oh, when’s your birthday?” Wally asks, he was very glad you forgot the other question or had moved on from it.

“(date and  month of birth) 1996! What about yours?”

… Wally didn’t have a birthday. Well, the year of his birth doesn’t count, but what would his birthday be?

“Oh I don’t really celebrate my birthday-““WHAT! YOU DON’T CELEBRATE YOUR BIRTHDAY?!” Wally pulls the phone away from his face as she shouts into the phone.  

“No?” what he said was meant to be a statement, but really sounded like a question.

“I mean do what you want to do, but have you ever celebrated your birthday? Like in your life?” She asks more calmly, Wally pauses thinking back, they didn’t real do Birthdays here, no one had one. They Did Christmas, Halloween and easter! Heck even Saint Patrick’s Day. But never birthdays.

“No?” he whispers into the phone, it stayed quiet. The house was quiet, Home was asleep. So, Wally did not want to wake her up. Otherwise, he would have been sent to bed.

“Dam, Is it your religion?”

“What? Oh no! I just never have? Hehe sorry if that’s a little weird-“ “No it’s not weird! I just, well it just surprised me sorry.”

“Why are you apologising? you did nothing wrong.” Wally tries to comfort her. He honestly had no idea what he was doing though.

“I don’t know>” silence filled the call again. The air filled with so much tension you could cut it like a birthday cake. They both wanted to say something but what?  Wally wants to say something, but what? He didn’t have much he could talk about with her; I mean it was different from talking with the neighbours.

“So, your 20 and own a house?”

“Oh! Yes, it’s small but nice a house. It has a decent yard.”

“that’s nice, I’m surprised you where able to get a house in this economy!”

“well I inherited it, from a great grandma?” Wally was lying, he knew it was never good to lie. But a little white lie wouldn’t do too much harm do?

“did you know her?”

Son of a-

“No, not really! But I kept the house the same. Nothing really changed haha!” He says he hears the girl chuckle a little, but then a small yawn escapes her lips.

“sorry, I’m just a little tired.”

“no it’s no problem. You should probably head to bed, you got plans tomorrow?”

“mum’s making me go shopping with my baby brother, so I’m most likely Going to be warn out. But I’ll tell you if anything interesting happens?” Wally smile grew, she was the one who wanted to call again. And he was very happy she was enjoying it so much she wanted to call again, maybe a little too happy?

“sure, would you like me to call you earlier?”

“I don’t mind, thanks for the chat it was really nice.”

“Same, you’re quite the interesting person Y/n.” he loved hearing her giggle into the phone, and how she yawned again into the phone. UGH!

“Okay then, good night, Wally~” her tired voice sang.

“Night Y/n, sleep well”. When she hangs up, wally instaintly stands up and runs around happily jumping around. Getting all of his excitement out, that was until home woke up thanks to the noises he was making and caught him with the curtains.

“CREEEK!!!”

“sorry home, I just got excited! I’ll be quieter! Sorry home"

Tag: @quittingfortgebetter @egg1sblog @ice-cream-writes-stuff @thealreadyunsteadyteddynewpaper @narucore

[somedaylazysomeday]

Na Buachaillí - Part One

Murphy MacManus x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Murphy is a late-night patron in the diner where you work and the two of you (eventually) hit it off.

Rating: Explicit, lemon, etc. Minors, DNI!

Word Count: 6,800

Warnings: modern AU, references to tipsiness/drunkenness, bad flirting, language, references to money problems, oral sex (female receiving), protected piv sex.

Next | Masterlist

---

Your coworker Bianca nudged you with her elbow. “Look,” she urged.

You followed the gesture with your eyes, looking through the door of the dish room, past the near-empty dining room, and out through the window. A smile curved your lips at the sight of the fluffy white clumps falling impossibly slowly, illuminated by one of the streetlights in the neighborhood. This wasn’t a nice section of Boston by any means, but a blanket of snow hid the faded paint and cracked sidewalks. And there was something homey about being in a cozy diner as the snow fell outside, knowing it was only a few days until Christmas.

“It’s very pretty,” you agreed.

Bianca - who preferred to be called Bee - snorted. “Don’t you mean he’s very pretty?”

You blinked, only then realizing that Bee had been gesturing at the only party in the diner that night… well, morning. It was a little after one a.m. and the pair of customers were the only ones you had. They had arrived a while before, but you hadn’t taken the time to really look at them.

They were sitting in a booth on the far side of the bar, chatting easily with their elbows hanging over the exposed cooking surface beside them. (The building had clearly started life as a Waffle House, no matter how much the current owner tried to deny it.) The man on the left had wildly curly hair and a short beard, and was wearing a pair of sunglasses. The combination kept you from seeing much of his appearance. 

With that in mind, the man on the right had to be the one Bee was talking about. His dark hair was cut short and his eyes were light, dancing around the diner’s interior as he spoke expressively to his companion. There was a tiny mark above his lip, drawing your attention to his bright smile, made even brighter by the dark stubble surrounding it.

Bee made an expectant sound and you shrugged. “I’d think he was prettier if he wasn’t drunk.”

She scoffed. “Drunk? He looks tipsy at most.”

“Close enough.”

“You think there’s something wrong with everyone,” Bee complained. “C’mon, you need to have some fun every now and then or you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack! Go take his order.”

“You already took their order, Bee,” you reminded her. “They just wanted some coffee and to look at the menu.”

“So?” she asked. “Go see if they’ve decided on something.”

You gestured at the sink in front of you. You were elbow-deep in sudsy water as you worked on the mountain of dishes that accumulated from the late-night rush. It had ended hours before, but you and Bee had both been avoiding them. “I’m a little busy right now. Unless you’d rather I leave the dishes for you?”

She snorted, shaking her head. Thankfully, she left you in peace and went to check on the pair. You couldn’t hear much of their conversation over the sound of the dishes in the sink, but you heard Bee clearly when she returned to the door of the dish room. 

“We missed one,” she told you, nodding toward the cooking area. There was a plate sitting beside the cooktop. You vaguely remembered setting it down there during the rush. Bee gave you an apologetic look. “Do you mind if I step outside for a smoke?”

You wanted to ask her to grab the plate first, or accuse her of trying to get you to interact with the customers, but the desperation in her voice made you agree. She slipped out through the back door to the restaurant as you dried your hands. You retrieved the plate without incident, the two men locked in conversation, but you were stopped on your way back to the dish room. 

“Hey!” one of the men called. It could have been either of them - with your back turned, there was no way of knowing which had spoken. 

You huffed a quiet sigh before you turned around. This shift couldn’t end soon enough. Nevertheless, you walked over to the small booth they were sharing. When you got there, you smiled. “What do you need?”

The one with the longer hair snickered, covering his eyes like your question had been too funny to bear. Your smile veered toward a grimace, but you managed to keep it together long enough to fool the man Bee had been admiring. Apparently, he had been the one who called for you after all.

“Hey, darlin’,” he purred. If it wasn’t for the smell of alcohol hanging around him - even if, according to Bee, he was only tipsy - his voice would have been extremely pleasant with its rolling accent. It managed to be halfway pleasant anyway.

Your smile was so fake it felt almost painful on your face, but you kept it steady. “Yes?”

“Do ye- wait. Are ye Irish?”

That fake smile slipped. “Uh… no. No, I’m not Irish.”

“Do ye wanna be?” he asked, leaning toward you with an inviting grin.

Your smile was gone completely as you tried to work through what he was saying. “Are you trying to adopt me?”

Now, he was frowning, too. With a blearily befuddled look at his friend, he said, “No, I- I meant- What was it?”

His friend had slumped down against the wooden bench seat, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You shook your head and turned away. “Why don’t I get you some water?”

When you want to retrieve a glass of water, you heard the unmistakable sound of someone being hit. “Th’ fuck didja tell me tae say that fer?”

“‘Do you have any Irish in you’,” the friend told him, laughing aloud. “Then when she says no, you ask her if she wants some.”

“If she- Fuck, Roc! I jus’ wanted tae flirt wit’ a pretty lass, not give her a fuckin’ riddle!”

‘Roc’ was laughing too hard to respond. The Irishman continued berating his friend. “Dis is why Doc kicked us outta the pub tonight.”

“He kicked us out because you kept pokin’ fun at him,” Roc corrected. “I can’t believe your brother missed you makin’ such an asshole outta yourself! Where is he, anyway?” 

“Had tae work late tonight,” the unnamed flirt replied. “Who th’fuck works late dis close tae Christmas?”

You were coming back with his water now, and the silence fell heavy and awkward. The red of your polo shirt felt so bright, you wouldn’t be surprised to find that it had started to glow under the cheap fluorescent lights. You set the water down with a sickly smile. 

Your admirer looked half-sick himself. “Lass, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you brushed off. “Christmas is an expensive time of year, you know?”

Of course, that wasn’t why you were currently working four part-time and temporary jobs, but these two strangers didn’t need to know that.

You retreated to the dish room, finishing the stack and draining the water without any further interruptions. Just as you were starting to wonder where Bee was, she ducked back inside, accompanied by a wash of cold air.

Any snippy comment you may have made was cut short by the look of concern on her face. Her cell phone was pressed to her ear. “I’m so sorry, hon, I’m on the phone with Jalen.”

Jalen was Bee’s son. You didn’t remember exactly how old he was, but he wasn’t a teenager yet. For him to be awake so late at night was concerning.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

Bee grimaced. “I guess we’ll see. I just need a few more minutes.”

“Take your time,” you urged her. “I’ll cover things in here.”

She offered a stressed smile and let the door close behind her.

You grabbed the pot of coffee from behind the counter and went over to the men once more, filling their mugs. The wannabe flirt took the opportunity to say, “Sorry if I offended ye earlier, lass. I didn’t mean anyt’ing by it.”

“It’s fine,” you agreed by rote. “No harm done.”

“My name’s Murphy,” he offered. “This is Rocco.”

You gave your name in return, though it was prominently displayed on the white plastic nametag pinned to your shirt. 

“Mind if we hang out a while longer?” Rocco asked. “Looks cold as shit out there and I wanna finish soberin’ up before I try to get through that.”

That made sense to you, though walking home drunk through this neighborhood was dangerous for reasons other than weather. “Yeah, stay as long as you need. Hang on, I’ll get you some more water.”

You kept their glasses and mugs filled, and the steady supply of water and strong coffee seemed to drive them toward full alertness. Rocco turned out to be funny and quick-witted, though his friend was no slouch in either area. Murphy’s main trait seemed to be a keen sense of awareness. His light eyes had continued to sharpen as the evening wore on, studying your every move and taking in every expression.

“What’s a smart chick like you doing, workin’ in a place like this?” Rocco asked at one point.

You shrugged. “Everyone needs to make ends meet somehow.”

“Better’n what ye do, Roc,” Murphy fired back. You lifted your eyebrows at him, silently asking exactly what it was that Rocco did, but neither of them answered. Instead, Murphy told you about his job at one of the nearby meat packing plants.

At some point, Bee had returned. Jalen had a nightmare and needed to be talked down. Bee had done that, but also sent her boyfriend over so Jalen wasn’t alone for the night. You had offered to cover for her, but Bee had refused, saying that she needed the money from this shift for Christmas presents. Rocco and Murphy had listened in shamelessly, Murphy commenting that he had suffered from nightmares as a child and Rocco offering to stay and cover her shift himself.

Murphy had laughed at that. “I’ve never seen ye so much as make a piece’a toast, Roc!”

His insult and Rocco’s responding outrage had made everyone laugh. Another bit of your earlier wariness of the pair was chipped away just by the way the tension melted from Bee’s shoulders.

By the time Rocco stretched and stood up, you felt like you were almost friends with the pair and were reluctant to see them go. It was quite a difference from how you had felt only an hour before. You ran Rocco’s faded debit card at the register and watched him scrawl a signature on the receipt before digging a few crumpled bills from his pocket. To your surprise, he separated them into two piles.

“Somethin’ for each of you, huh?” he asked, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Bee. “Isn’t much, but, ya know… Happy holidays and all’a that shit.”

“Thank you, Rocco,” you murmured, looking down at the tip. It was hard to see exactly how much it was with the way the bills were balled up, but it was clearly generous. Since you were busy at the register, you pushed both stacks toward Bee, who gathered it up and stared.

She had obviously come to the same conclusion you had, but Bee expressed her thanks by rounding the bar and throwing her arms around Rocco. He looked embarrassed but pleased, patting her on the back and muttering about how it was nothing.

You took advantage of the clamor to lean in beside Murphy. He glanced up at you, eyes widening with surprise to see you so close. “Do you want me to get your bill together, too?”

Those blue eyes wandered across your face for a moment before he shook his head. “T’ink I might stick around a while, if it’s fine wit’ ye.”

“That’s fine,” you agreed with a shrug and a smile that felt a little too bright given the innocence of the conversation. You glanced away from Murphy, suddenly shy, and caught sight of Rocco and Bee grinning at you. Feeling more than a little foolish, you retreated back to the dish room, feeling eyes on you all the way there. 

Murphy was flirting with you, wasn’t he? It had been so long that you honestly struggled to tell. Your soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t been much for flirting. Paul hadn’t been much for you, honestly. Though ever since you had told him you wanted a divorce, he had been acting like you two had been the perfect couple until you had ruined it. 

You sighed, rubbing between your brows. Talking with Murphy was fun and simple. Did you really need more justification than that? Maybe it could be reason enough for the night. 

“Okay, I’m leaving!” Rocco called. You came back out of the back room, wiping your hands on your apron like you had been doing anything more than staring introspectively at a stain on the wall. 

“Bye!” you replied. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Back at’cha,” he told you, pointing his finger like a gun. “Catch ya later, Murph.”

Murphy said something in a language you didn’t understand, but it still managed to sound crass. Your suspicion was confirmed when Rocco barked out a loud laugh as he left the diner. He crossed the parking lot and disappeared around the corner of a building in only moments. 

Bee stepped out of the back door to answer a call from her boyfriend. You and Murphy were left almost alone in the diner. You refilled his coffee and poured the rest down the sink before setting to work making a new pot. Murphy left his place in the booth and slid onto one of the ancient barstools across from you. 

“What made ye want t’ live in Boston?” he asked. 

You lifted a brow. “Do I not seem like the type?”

“Nah,” he rejected immediately. “Most of th’ people who live here were born here or ain’t got any other choice. This part of th’ city, anyway.”

It almost seemed like you should try to defend Boston. It wasn’t a bad city, really. You actually loved parts of it, but it certainly hadn’t been your first choice of place to live. “My husband got a job here. This part of the city is all we could afford at first. Then he got… uh, laid off, and we never left.”

Of course, Paul’s layoff had been due more to his alcoholism than the needs of the law firm, but that didn’t matter to the stranger… or to you. Not anymore. After years of trying to support you both on the salary of a high school science teacher, you had finally pushed for divorce. You would be free soon enough. 

Murphy had stiffened slightly at your mention of your husband. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively even, but you had seen the way his eyes had flown to your hands. “Ye’re married, then?”

“Technically speaking, yes,” you confirmed, though you didn’t make any effort to hide the lack of a ring on your finger. “But only until the divorce papers go through.”

“Ah, sorry tae hear dat,” Murphy said. To his credit, it did sound like he was making an effort to sound sorry.

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Now it was Murphy’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “That so? I take it the partin’ was yer idea, den. He didn’t… He didn’t hit ye, did he?”

The growing anger in his voice was something of a surprise, but you were quick to shut it down. “No, he never touched me.” Rather than give any further explanation, you cleared your throat. “And what about you?”

“I’m not married,” Murphy told you immediately. 

“Good to know,” you replied, hiding a smile. “But I meant, why did you choose to live in Boston?”

“Oh,” he said, a slight redness rising in his cheeks. It was adorable, and you felt yourself warming to him even further. “It was th’ first place me an’ me brother came when we got tae the States. Never found a good reason tae leave.”

“It was just you and your brother?” you asked. When he nodded, you added, “How old were you when you came here?” 

“Seventeen,” Murphy said. “T’is why we work in the meat-packing plant. The manager was th’ only one who’d give two kids a chance tae earn some cash. Never saw a good reason tae leave there, either.”

“Loyalty is a big thing for you, isn’t it?”

Murphy blinked at you, looking surprised, but a slow smile spread over his handsome face. “Now, how’d ye guess dat, lass? Just from what I told ye? Ye’re a sharp one.”

“It’s too early in the morning for flattery,” you told him, trying to hide how his compliment had affected you. 

“It’s never too early in th’ mornin’ fer flattery,” he replied. “‘Sides, I don’t know that ye can call three ‘mornin’. More like late, late evenin’.”

“Three?” you repeated, glancing at your watch. It was about ten minutes until three, but that was closer than you would have guessed.

“What is it?” Murphy asked. “Do ye turn into a pumpkin at three?”

“Not quite.” You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing even as you flew to finish up the last of your work. “I’m done at three.”

“Are ye plannin’ to drive in dis mess?” He gestured through the windows. The snow was starting to pile up, the icy wind whipping it into drifts.

“I don’t have a car.” You glanced back outside. “It’ll just be a really cold walk.”

“So late?” Murphy asked, sounding even less happy. “Do ye need someone tae walk ye home? I’d be happy t’ do it.”

You paused, thinking it over. Something about the earnest expression on his face told you he wasn’t angling for a night in your bed. He really just wanted to see you home safely. Unreasonably warmed by that, you nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

He beamed at you and you smiled back and gestured at the dish room. “I need to tell Bee I’m headed out.” 

You tapped lightly on the back door and peeked out to find Bee standing there with her phone clutched to her chest. She looked like she was near tears. “Bee? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it really, really is,” she said. “I told Franklin about the tip Rocco left us. We can afford to get Jalen that game he wanted for Christmas now. I’m so happy!”

You pulled her into a hug as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She pulled away after a minute, fishing in her pocket. “I forgot, here’s your half. You’ve spent half the night in the dish room and I didn’t want to leave it out there in case someone else came in and helped themselves.”

You shook your head, holding your hands up and away. “You keep it, Bee. I’m all set.”

She protested, naturally, but you stood firm. Your lawyer bills would still be around after the holidays, but Bee only had a few more days to get her shopping done. She eventually accepted, wiping at her face and unlocking her phone. “At least let me call you a ride home. It’s late and cold, and I hate to think of you walking back by yourself…”

“Actually,” you admitted slowly. “Murphy is going to walk me home.”

Bee paused. “Are you sure about that?”

“I think I can take one drunk Irishman, Bee,” you huffed playfully. 

Her grin was instant and dirty. “Yeah, but what if it turns into a fight?”

You rolled your eyes, but she wasn’t having it. “C’mon, I’m just teasing. I’m happy for you! I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him tonight. You deserve some fun, hon.”

“I can’t figure it out,” you said, laughing. “Are you worried about me or encouraging me to sleep with the guy? I’m getting mixed signals here.”

“That depends on you,” Bee countered. “Do you get creep vibes or do you think he’s one-night-stand material?”

You pulled the door open a little wider to glance out at the dining room. Murphy was stirring his coffee over and over, staring down into it as the fingers of his free hand drummed nervously on the counter. He glanced out at the snow before looking back to catch your eye. He smiled at you and you returned it without hesitation.

“Definitely no creep vibes,” you told her. “I think I might go for it.”

“Good,” Bee said firmly. “You need to forget about Paul for a night. Who better to forget him with than a sexy Irishman?”

You laughed despite yourself as your phone’s alarm went off.  Stripping off your apron, you told her, “I’ll keep that in mind, Bee. Thanks.”

Bee patted you on the shoulder and you both went back into the warmth of the diner.

Murphy was standing at the register and Bee waved you off when you went to ring him up. You grabbed your coat instead, sliding it on as you glanced around the diner. “Do you need me to hang out for a while? It looks like the next shift isn’t here yet.”

“It’s fine, Josh is on his way,” she brushed off. Murphy went to get his own coat and Bee leaned in to whisper, “Do you have condoms?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you shut down immediately, smiling to soften it as you walked out from behind the counter. 

“Don’t forget to text me with an update!” Bee called after you.

Murphy followed you out of the restaurant. After you had both caught your breath after being exposed to the sharpness of the cold air, Murphy asked, “What are ye supposed tae update her on?”

“How you are in bed,” you replied, glancing at him in askance to gauge his reaction. 

A slow smile spread across his handsome face, leaving him with an expression of mingled delight and heat. “Yeah? Is that th’ plan fer tonight?”

“That was a joke,” you hedged, half avoiding the question until you could build up your bravery. “She just wants to make sure you don’t end up murdering me.”

The look on his face turned to abject shock and horror in a moment. “I wouldnae- I’d never! ‘Course, why would ye believe me?A murderer would say that...” You grinned at him and he relaxed slightly, though you noticed he had subtly increased the distance between you. “Tell ye what: I’ll jus’ be walkin’ over here, hands in me pockets.”

“Your pockets?” you echoed with an exaggerated look of terror. “That’s not safe! I don’t know what you could have in your pockets.”

“Not in me pockets, den,” Murphy agreed instantly, pulling his hands free of the pockets of his thick black peacoat. You watched him wince with the cold and a surge of guilt overtook you. 

“I’m sorry, that was another joke,” you protested. “I trust you. Put your hands back in your pockets or they’ll freeze out here.”

“Weren’t raised tae make a lady feel unsafe,” Murphy shrugged off. He flipped his hand over so you could see the way his fingers were starting to get pale. “But if ye really want, ye could help me keep ‘em warm.”

Your smile was so wide it made your cheeks sting in the cold, but you took his hand. You walked down the street in the hush of a snowy Boston night, Murphy walking beside you as you led the way to your apartment building.

At one point, he fished in his pocket with his free hand, pulling it back out to hold up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Do ye mind if I-?”

“I have a sensitivity to the smoke, sorry,” you told him, pulling an apologetic face. “But that’s my building up there. I can go ahead if you want to..?”

You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the offer. ‘Go ahead home’? ‘Catch up when you’re done’? 

It didn’t matter, though. Murphy shook his head, tucking the cigarettes back in his pocket. “Nah, tis okay. Probably shouldn’t. ‘Sides, th’ cold air has me lungs fucked near sideways.”

“Sideways?” you repeat faux-horrified. “Then maybe you should come inside. I don’t want anyone’s lungs to get fucked at all, but especially not sideways.”

A dirty little smile crossed Murphy’s face, but he asked, “Are ye sure?”

“As long as you’re not going to murder me or give me an STD, I’m sure.”

“No STDs, no murder,” Murphy promised, tipping his head toward the apartment building you had pointed out. “Lead on, then.”

Kissing someone in an elevator was a cliche you would have liked to avoid, but as soon as you were in a more familiar location, your confidence surged and you needed to know how Murphy tasted. 

The answer turned out to be ‘mainly like coffee’, though you did catch an edge of alcohol and a hint of smoke. You were able to ignore everything but the coffee, distracted as you were when Murphy swept his tongue between your lips and set about thoroughly exploring your mouth. 

When the elevator arrived at your floor, you didn’t hear the doors open the first time, not until they made an angry-sounding buzz. You reluctantly unfisted your hands from the thick warmth of Murphy’s coat and led him out into the hallway. 

The apartment building you had ended up in wasn’t particularly nice, but nice enough that you didn’t have to worry about getting stabbed, which was more than you could have said about the place you had shared with Paul. 

Still, after you had draped you and Murphy’s coats over the back of a chair, you didn’t need to do much more than point to give him a tour of the space. “Kitchen, pantry, bathroom, coat closet, bedroom.”

Murphy eyed each section politely, but you were keenly aware of the fact that his eyes sharpened at the mention of your bedroom. You were just as eager, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you nodded toward the door in question. “Do you mind if we skip to the-?”

“Please,” Murphy asked, a rough edge to his voice. 

You led the way, but he certainly wasn’t far behind you. Looking back on it, you weren’t sure when you had gone from only considering sleeping with Murphy to being desperate to do exactly that, but you were certainly there. As soon as the door closed behind you, your hands flew to the closures of your clothing. Murphy was doing the same next to you. 

You pulled your shirt away and unfastened your pants, leaving the material to puddle at your feet. As you reached back to unhook your bra, a harsh groan drew your attention. You glanced over to find Murphy’s eyes traveling hungrily over your body. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful, lass,” he growled, paused with his shirt long gone and his pants unbuttoned.

“Same,” you informed him, letting yourself stare at his bare torso and the way his graceful, tattooed fingers looked poised on the sections of his pants. 

Murphy grinned at you, though there was something sharp about the expression. In a moment, he had shucked off his pants and turned his attention to ‘helping’ you. In reality, his hands running over your skin - and the sight of him fully unclothed - were a massive distraction and it took you several tries to unfasten your bra. 

He took charge of removing your underwear, drawing them down your legs so slowly that you were ready to scream by the time he was done. His fingertips trailed over every curve and dip of your muscles, then danced back up to your hips as he stared up at you from his place kneeling on the floor. 

“Lay down fer me, darlin’,” he urged, using his grip on you to slow your descent when your trembling knees would have given out. “Been waitin’ fer this all night.”

Instead, you perched on the edge of the bed, watching with fascination and a swell of nerves as he drew his hands back down the length of your thighs, ending at your knees. Gently, he pushed them apart and you fought him for a moment.

Having sex with him was one thing, but this felt… intimate, far more so than you had expected. Still, you were determined to see this through. After all, you had lived in the same city as Murphy for years and you had never met him before that night. If things ended badly here, it would be easy to avoid seeing him again.

You leaned back further, letting your knees part for him. Murphy murmured praises as he spread you wide, studying the place between your legs. The kiss in the elevator had left you distinctly interested, even if you weren’t quite to the point of wetness yet. 

Murphy leaned closer and closer, gently spreading your folds with his thumbs before darting his tongue from your entrance to the top of your slit. You jerked under him, legs instinctively trying to close around him as your hips canted to offer yourself more freely. Most embarrassing of all, the simple act had pulled a hearty groan from you.

He chuckled, still close enough that you felt the air from it on your heated core. “Sensitive, aren’t ye, lass?”

“It’s been…” You frowned, trying to remember the last time someone had done this for you. “At least a few years.”

“Years?” Murphy asked, sounding horrified. His face lifted far enough up that you could see him clearly. “Years?”

You nodded, fighting the urge to hide your face from him. “Paul - my almost ex - didn’t like it. He said it was too… wet.”

“Did he ask ye tae suck him off?” Murphy asked, sounding irritated.

“Yeah, but he said it was easier,” you explained. “You can just pull away at the end and avoid the worst of it.”

“Miserable fucker,” Murphy grumbled. “Well, some of us think it ain’t a chore. Matter o’ fact… I think ye taste pretty damn sweet. Lemme make ye feel good.”

You opened your mouth to respond - maybe to assure him he didn’t need to do that or to offer a simple ‘thank you’ - but the words were never formed. Instead, that breath left in a tortured whine as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue before sinking as much as the muscle as possible into your heat. 

You were too absorbed in the sensations to focus much on your own reaction, but your spine arced up off the mattress as you tried to grind your pelvis against Murphy’s face. He chuckled again, his hands tightening around your hips to keep you pinned in place as he buried himself further within your folds. His tongue teased your entrance as his nose pressed against your clit. 

If someone asked, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint exactly when you’d buried your hands in his thick hair, trying desperately to urge him on as you squirmed against his mouth. Murphy pulled away, but only far enough to sink a finger into your heat while he explored the rest of you with a series of long, slow licks. He hadn’t been lying about enjoying this. In fact, he almost seemed to be… savoring you. 

It was overwhelming, the pleasure sweeping through you so intensely that every muscle was trembling and a litany of sounds and pleas were spilling from you. You were fairly certain your neighbors would know Murphy’s name by the end of things. 

When your orgasm came, it hit with the suddenness of an explosion, whipping through your body and mind simultaneously and leaving nothing but sheer desolation in its wake. You shook and spasmed and moaned under the continuous onslaught of Murphy’s mouth until you somehow gathered the strength to push his head away from the juncture of your thighs.

“Ye okay, there?” Murphy asked, grinning at you over the curve of your tummy. 

You were speechless, having noticed that Murphy licked his lips eagerly before wiping his mouth on his arm to remove everything that was out of his tongue’s reach.

“I think…” you trailed, surprised at how wrecked your voice sounded. You had been moaning, not screaming, but you couldn’t have proven that verbally. “I think I may have died for a minute at the end.”

“Aye, lass,” Murphy agreed with a self-satisfied look. “Ye did make it sound like I was killin’ ye.”

“The best possible death,” you assured him, struggling to sit up. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for that.” His face was serious as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you. “Ye deserve tae have someone take care o’ ye as much as ye take care of them.”

You couldn’t hold his sincere gaze for long, but dropping your eyes away from his face let you catch a glimpse of him. He was hard, his length straining toward you. A slow smile spread before you could bite it back. “By that logic, I should take care of you now.”

The original intention had been to touch him, though your exact plan had been anywhere from wrapping your fingers around him to straddling him. However, the aftershocks of your orgasm left you less steady than you had expected, and Murphy didn’t miss the way you swayed slightly just from the effort of sitting up on the bed.

His responding smile was wicked. “Looks like yer legs are still a little shaky, lass. Why don’t’cha let me take care o’ ye?”

He pressed a kiss to your mouth, though you noticed he didn’t part his lips until your tongue urged him to do so. The taste of you was still strong in his mouth, but you found it wasn’t overwhelming. Honestly, you could taste the coffee he had been downing at the diner more than anything else. 

When the kiss broke, it was only so Murphy could rummage in the pocket of his discarded pants and pull out a small packet. He had the condom on in only moments before he returned to you again. 

“Ye may want tae move up th’ bed there, lass,” he warned with mischief glittering in his eyes. “If ye t’ink ye can make it that far…”

You pursed your lips to fight back a smile and flipped over to crawl up the bed, losing the battle against a grin when Murphy groaned. Of course, that may have been the effect of the little wiggle of your hips you had sent his way, but it was flattering nonetheless.

A hand on your ankle made you pause and glance back over your shoulder. Murphy’s eyes were dark with want. “That’s perfect. Turn over fer me, darlin’.”

You did exactly that, letting your legs open with ease this time. Your mattress was cheap and small, but when the weight of Murphy settling on top of you pressed you harder against its surface, it felt like absolute heaven. 

His hips rested between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world and your legs instinctively wrapped around him. That left his length brushing between the swollen lips of your sex, his head barely catching on your clit, and your legs tightened involuntary, drawing him against you. 

Murphy groaned, but it held more than a hint of a chuckle as well. “I know, lass, I know. But ye’ll have tae give me a bit o’ space so’s I can…”

He pulled away slightly, only just enough to draw his hips back and notch his head against your entrance. The feeling of him there - so close to where you ached - made your muscles clench again, and you weren’t sure whether it was him or you who prompted that first thrust into you.

Either way, he drove forward in a series of shallow pulses, edging himself deeper and deeper inside of you until he was fully seated in your core. You both took a moment at that point, foreheads pressed together as you breathed through the tension. 

The fact that you’d already come helped, but it had been so long since you experienced this… and Murphy was far from small. Your inner muscles throbbed, tightening and relaxing in waves so strong they almost mimicked your earlier orgasm. Your body seemed on the fence about whether it should try to push Murphy out or draw him deeper inside you, and you both balanced on that edge for a span of time that seemed to stretch infinitely.

Finally, the gripping of your core slowed, leaving you almost desperate for him to start moving. Your hands - one wrapped behind his back, one locked around his shoulder - tightened, desperation pressing your nails into his skin. “Murphy-”

“Ye’re so tight, lass,” he told you, voice tense. “Don’t want ter hurt ye.”

“Please, Murph,” you said, on the verge of begging. “I need you to move. Please.”

That final, half-shattered plea seemed to spur him into motion. His hips pulled backward, the motion so startling that your legs fell from their spot around his waist. Your feet braced against the mattress instead, which gave you the perfect leverage to press your hips upward as you met his thrust back into your core.

You both groaned at the feeling, but Murphy didn’t let it overwhelm him. Instead, he set an almost frantic rhythm. You bounced and jolted under him, struggling to breathe through the driving force of him inside of you. Every bit of air you did manage to breathe was let out on a moan of his name.

His lips were traveling over your face and down your neck as he continued to steal your ability to think. He kissed and licked and sucked his way to your chest, eventually wrapping his lips around one of your nipples. You arched your back for him, whimpering, “Murphy!”

You could feel him smiling around the sensitive point of your breast, and he slowed his hips until it felt like he was stroking through your very center, drawing pleasure from you with every thrust. It was lovely, though nothing that would push you into another orgasm without some help.

“Ye close, lass?” Murphy asked, breaking away from your skin to murmur the question. 

After a moment of consideration, you found that the answer was ‘maybe’. You told him, “I could be.”

“I won’t last much longer, meself,” he admitted. 

You nodded, letting your hips drop back to the mattress as you snaked a hand between yourself and Murphy. Your fingers found your clit and began to move the same way they did when you needed to bring yourself to orgasm. Even the familiar sensations made your head kick back, elevated to new heights by what Murphy added to the experience.

“I’m-” you started, attempting to warn him that you were ready at any moment, but his hips snapped against you as he buried himself deep inside your core. His face tightened, then slackened into a perfect portrait of someone drowning in open-mouthed pleasure.

A combination of the view and the feeling of him jerking inside and on top of you sent you over the edge, strengthening the practiced motions of your fingertips.

This orgasm was calm, almost hypnotic after the fervor of the last one. The pleasure was slow and rippling as it washed over you and left you feeling impossibly light and peaceful. The warm air of your room was a spring breeze and the sheets tangled beneath you were the swells on the surface of a lake.

As Murphy gave a little chuckle from his place collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t help but smile. Since when had sex made you so poetic? 

He withdrew from you carefully, though the dragging of him against your walls was eased by the wetness of two consecutive orgasms. Your channel clenched once, twice around nothing after he was gone, feeling empty after having grown accustomed to being stretched.

You shuddered and Murphy paused a moment before he wrapped an arm around you and drew you into his side. For a moment you stiffened. Besides the fact that you were both covered in sweat, this felt more intimate than you had expected for a one-night stand. Even after realizing that, though, you let him do it. 

The closeness was comforting, especially since he was warm and still managed to smell good after all of that. You cuddled closer against his side, resting your head on his shoulder while you both eased down from the high of being together. His eyes were closed, and you let yours drift shut as well. You had been tired from the day itself, let alone the extracurricular activities you had gotten up to. 

Besides, you would need some time to figure out how to tell Murphy that you had to work in a few hours.

---

Author's Note - Okay, disclaimers before anyone gets too upset with me. First, the only reason this is a modern AU is so I don't have to worry about looking up every little thing that may or may not have been around in the 1990s.

Second, I know Murphy's dialogue is written in dialect. If that bothers you, I'll go ahead and warn you that tomorrow's chapter is written the same way. As for how I got to the dialect I did, I binge-watched the first two seasons of Derry Girls and went from there.

Thanks for reading! The second chapter will be out tomorrow!

I don't offer a taglist for explicit fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist!