#it's SO cold i'm wearing like 3 sweaters

[sovietpostcards]

Matroskin the cat. Winter in Prostokvashino (1984).

[hunysckle]

office fit check 🍇🐇✨️

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject III pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst and comfort. fluff. mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth and DUI. wc: 2.7k part 3 and the last part of touchy subject! click here for part 1, click here for part 2 i really liked writing for them and honestly i'm considering occasionally writing blurbs for them and what their relationship would shape into, lmk if you'd be interested!! originally posted 11/28/2024

part I & part II

seeing you in front of that store felt like it might've killed rafe. the first face he fell in love with, the woman who'd left him with nothing but scars and an engagement ring. somehow, he still managed to stay alive.

but hearing you say his name in the soft voice he hadn't heard in over four years, the same one that you used to tell him you loved him every single night before your body went slack in his arms, that might have been the final blow.

"what are you doing here?" you managed to mutter, your hand instinctively going to your locket, squeezing it in your hand, and the gesture didn't go unnoticed by rafe.

"what's this?" rafe asked as the two of you laid in bed, his finger tracing the patterns on the heart-shaped locket resting on your chest, the one you'd worn around your neck for as long as he'd known you.

"this?" you asked, opening the locket, displaying two pictures; one of them was of you when you were a little girl, standing between your parents with a wide, toothy grin on your face, and the other was a picture of you and rafe, taken at midsummers. "i got this from my mom. it's a family heirloom of sorts. when she's born," you looked down at your stomach, "we've gotta get a picture taken of us three so i can put it here."

he let out a small chuckle, "i'm honored that you want me in your heart."

"i think you're always going to be in my heart," you rolled your eyes, "whether i want it or not."

"i'm here to see you. i thought that'd be obvious." rafe said without an ounce of emotion in his voice, the sound causing a shiver to run down your spine. grieving your daughter on what would've been her fifth birthday wasn't a moment you exactly wanted your ex to witness, but this was still rafe. the man you loved for so long, the only man you ever loved, the one you were going to marry, and this was still the house that was supposed to be your home.

so you stepped aside, pulling your cardigan closed as a way to close yourself off from the man as you walked further into the house, not daring yourself to look back at him, fearing the urge that still remained in your chest to just pull him close to you and be in his arms.

you heard the door close, pressing your eyes shut as you stood in front of the fireplace, your arms crossed in front of your chest as if defending yourself, the man's footsteps echoing in the room, "it's cold in here."

"the radiator's broken."

"can you just, at least look at me, or something?"

"do i have to?" you chuckled humorlessly, and when you felt his hand on your shoulder, it felt like the room got ten degrees colder, the man slowly turning you around to face him, and when you refused to look up at him, focusing on the baby blue sweater he was wearing, he brought his hand to your chin, gently lifting it up, just like he did every time he was about to kiss you.

"we need to talk."

if someone was to ask you what would be the most uncomfortable situation you had ever been in, this would be among the top 3, right after you got the 'birds and the bees' talk and the time you said your goodbyes to the same man now sitting beside you, the space between you two big enough to fit another person.

"why did you come back?" rafe asks, without even sparing you a glance. you decide to do the same, your gaze staying on the fire crackling in front of you.

"i don't know. a part of me thinks it's because i missed home."

"and the other part?"

missed us. missed her. "missed my mom, i guess."

your mother had driven you home from the hospital, insisting that she'd stay with you for the next few days; you still hadn't seen rafe. you couldn't face him, couldn't face the guilt you carried around for being the reason your daughter would be coming home in an urn.

she'd gone to the store for groceries, leaving you to sit on the couch you and rafe had picked out, staring at the engagement picture that hung above the fireplace.

you didn't know how it started, how every single vase ended up as nothing but shards of glass on the floor, how the coffee table had ended up as planks of wood, how your fists were bruised from beating them against the walls, your knees bloody from when you'd collapsed on the ground amongst all the glass.

"do you know what day it is?" rafe asked with a weak voice, and you could hear him try to swallow down the emotion crawling up his throat.

his question made you want to let out a small, humorless laugh. you don't know how you could ever forget. "of course." the day i killed her.

rafe stood up, running his hand over his chin before trailing over the short strands of hair on his head, "why did you do it?" he looked to you. "why did you leave?"

"i had no reason to stay." you say emotionlessly, your fingers intertwined as you kept your eyes on them as if you were praying.

"you had me. you would've had me if you just let me be there."

"rafe, i killed our daughter."

"what-"

"i'm the reason our daughter isn't here. i'm the reason she doesn't exist. i'm the reason that today isn't only her fifth birthday, but also the fifth anniversary of her death."

rafe kneeled down in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, not caring if it made you uncomfortable, or that this was the first time he'd properly touched you in over four years, the only thing that mattered to him was that you listened.

"you did not kill our daughter."

"i did."

"no." he scoffed, "you aren't the reason she's dead. the reason is the drunken asshole who drove at you. you loved her with your entire being, with everything you had, even before she was born. you would've been the most amazing mother in the world. don't you dare blame yourself for something you had zero control over."

"i shouldn't have driven in that weather. i knew it was gonna be raining, that the roads would be slippery-"

"no." rafe said sternly, "look at me."

your eyes moved to look into rafe's steel-blue ones, shimmering with unshed tears, his jaw clenched, and only then did you realize that he was cupping your face in his hands, his touch somehow managing to make you feel warm even in the cold apartment.

"i won't have you blame yourself for something you had no fuckin' control over. evelyn was so wanted, by both of us. she would've been so loved. we would've done anything to protect her, and to keep her safe. if any fucker even thought about hurting her, i would've made sure they'd regret ever being born. but you are not to blame for her not being here."

rafe's hands moved from your cheeks to your hands, the man instead taking your clenched fists into his, letting out a small sniffle, and when he pressed his eyes closed and let out a sigh, a tear rolled down his cheek.

"yeah, you could've not driven in the rain. but i should've been the one to drive you to your mom's, you were eight months along, an insane man would make you drive yourself, or i should've made sure you got home before it was dark, or i should've picked you up myself. there are so many things we could've done differently, but that doesn't mean that either of us is to blame for it."

"i spent so long blaming myself for what happened, but not even for a moment did i blame you. you did everything to keep her safe, and i know it, and i'm sure that she knows it too. you loved her more than anything, and i won't let some drunk driving idiot make you feel like you did anything wrong."

slowly, you opened your fists, half-moon prints on the palms on your hands caused by your nails, and without even realizing, tears had been rolling down your eyes the entire time that rafe had been speaking, the man standing up and pressing a kiss on your forehead that felt like it burnt and would leave a mark that'd be there forever, before he settled down next to you.

a strand of hair was stuck on your cheek, almost glued on there by the tears you shed, the blonde man tugging it behind your ear, his eyes still on you, his hands still cupping yours.

"i don't blame you for what happened, nor do i blame you for pushing me away. but i wish you would've let me in, to be there for you, instead of leaving. so we could've grieved her together."

"i think we should break up, rafe."

"what?" rafe turned to look at you; this wasn't what he had been expecting to hear after two months of silence, "if this is about the baby-"

"i can't do it anymore." you closed your eyes, letting a tear run down your cheek, "i need to leave. start over."

you turned your head to look at him, his words feeling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and even though you tried to find it, there was nothing in his eyes that said that he was lying.

"you don't blame me for any of it?"

your voice was weak and feeble, as if a part of you was expecting him to tell you that he did, but when he pulled you into his embrace, he told you the truth in the best way he knew how to: without saying a single word.

you didn't know how long you had been in rafe's arms; it felt like hours, while also feeling like the moment had lasted mere seconds, like you two lived in your own bubble. it felt like the last four years hadn't happened, like you had never left.

but when he pulled away from the embrace and looked down at his watch, letting out a sigh, you knew what was coming. the bubble burst.

"i should probably get going." rafe let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose before starting to get up off the couch, stretching his long limbs.

"yeah, yeah." you said softly, clearing your throat, trying to act like nothing had happened, like you hadn't gone through every memory you shared while he was just holding you to comfort you, "your girlfriend's probably waiting for you."

rafe stopped in his tracks, turning to look down at you, "girlfriend?"

"shit," you chuckle softly, fidgeting with your hands and chewing on your lower lip, "i guess she's your fiancée, now."

he sat down on the couch next to you while you simply avoided his gaze, not wanting him to read everything you were feeling like he so often seemed to do, but your attempt was unsuccessful, the man bringing his hand to your chin and gently turning your head so you were forced to look at him, his brows slightly furrowed while he looked at you pointedly.

"what girlfriend, or fiancée?"

you didn't know if rafe was acting stupid, or if he was genuinely confused, but you could still remember the woman with him at the jewelry store, the woman who had managed to make him smile, whose back rafe placed his hand on.

"you know," you clear your throat, taking his hand off your chin and turning your head away from him, not wanting him to see the tears brimming in your eyes as you thought about him waiting at the aisle for another woman, "the woman at the jewelry store."

rafe let out a soft laugh, and when you turned your head, facing him, he was nearly keeling over in laughter, his head in his hands.

"what?"

"that-" rafe said inbetween laughs, "that wasn't my girlfriend."

"what?" you mumbled softly, your brows furrowing, "what do you mean, rafe?"

"sorry-" he continued laughing for a while only to be stopped by a soft smack you delivered to his shoulder, before the man took a deep breath, looking at you with a small smile gracing his lips, a sight that still got your heart to flutter, "that wasn't my girlfriend, or my fiancée."

"then... who was she?"

"that was," rafe let out another chuckle as if you had said something foolish, taking one of your hands in his and intertwining your fingers, "wheezie's girlfriend."

you tried processing the words that had left his lips, but no matter what, they didn't seem to make since. "why were you in a jewelry store together? wheezie's only like-"

"wheezie's nineteen." rafe shook his head, "her girlfriend, lucy, asked me to help her pick out a ring. sarah was supposed to go with her, but she had some preschool stuff to deal with relating to jack, so i got stuck with that duty…"

"isn't nineteen a bit... young?"

"it is. but you remember how young we were when we got engaged? or sarah?" a fond smile took over rafe's lips as he turned to look at the fire that was slowly burning out, letting the next words out in a hushed tone. "guess it runs in the family."

"guess so." you say, biting down on your lip, turning to look at the fire with him, your cheeks warm as you felt like an idiot for your assumption.

"i still haven't moved on." rafe said, letting out a breath, "i don't know if i can. i don't think i even want to." you turned to look back at one another at the same time, both of you seeing the same melancholy in the other one's eyes, "there's no one i would ever want to be with other than you."

you took a deep breath, his words ringing through your head as you looked at him, a damp trail running down his cheek was still visible from the tears he had shed, and you took a deep breath, making a decision that you knew would impact the rest of your life.

"me neither, rafe."

you brought your hand to his cheek and felt the tear he had shed under your touch, pulling his face to meet yours until your lips clashed, feeling the exact same that it did four years ago, making you wonder how you ever let it go.

SIX MONTHS LATER...

you laid on a blanket in the middle of a field of sunflowers, your arms crossed behind your head and your eyes pressed closed, letting the sun beam down your face, warming you up as your bare feet were being tickled by blades of grass.

your daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and you opened one of your eyes to see rafe stumble through the long flowers into the small clearing you'd found, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

"don't laugh at me." he scolded, shaking his head as he landed on the blanket next to you, letting out a soft grunt.

"why not?" you asked, sticking your tongue out at him, your boyfriend gasping in feigned offence, about to quip back at you, only to be stopped by the small, chaste peck you pressed on his lips, even the small display of affection managing to leave him speechless.

as he settled down next to you, you smiled while looking up at the sky, white clouds covering a part of the beautiful icy blue nothingness that was so much like rafe's eyes, your thoughts on her. you took rafe's hand in yours, keeping your eyes trained up while you let yourselves just exist together.

"you're always going to be in my heart, evelyn louise cameron." you said softly as you traced the patterns on your locket, rafe turning his head to look at you, a somber expression on his face as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"yeah, she will. and neither of us will ever forget her."

[inkdrinkerworld]

I am so excited. I have been to a sleepover in ages.

Can I ask for Remus and arguments over the way the heater/air conditioning temp is set .

Maybe Remus likes to keep it on the cooler side due to his wolfie problems and the reader likes it on the warmer side.

Please and thank you🩵🩵

neither have i and i figured it was time to bring it back! at least to my blog anyway, i'm hoping we can do it weekly/biweekly!!! i'm so happy for your request and i hope you enjoy it lovely<3

"Remus, why is it subzero in here?" you ask as you step into your bedroom and your entire body erupts in goosebumps.

Your steps are quick as you make it to your bed, and under the covers beside your boyfriend.

"It's boiling outside, dovey. Felt like I was melting."

You huff, pressing your cold feet onto his shins. Remus hisses, but he's grown very accustomed to this action.

You don't like the room this cold, but Remus runs so hot that anything warmer than 20 C on your ac unit has him dotted with bullets of sweat.

The compromise is that Remus allows you to press your icy body into his all night even though you're already wearing his warmest sweater and fleece pants.

"Rem this can't be natural." your teeth chatter a little and Remus feels bad. He's ready to reach over and make the room warmer when you tuck your head under his chin and slip your hands under his shirt.

"M'sorry dovey. I can turn it down."

You stop him a second time with a firm, "No," Remus is about to argue but you just shake your head. "I can get warm, Remmy. I don't want you to wake up drenched in sweat because you're too warm."

Remus' heart clenches, you're precious.

"I can at least handle 23, baby."

You lift your head and glare at him, "I'm already warm, do not change the temperature, Remus Lupin."

He presses a kiss to your forehead and then guides your head back under his chin. "I love you, dovey." His hand slips under your sleep shirt and up your back, running his warm hand up and down your spine.

"I love you too." you yawn and your breath hits Remus' bare chest. "You're like a yeti."

He chuckles as you start drifting off, his body heat enough to make you feel cocooned and warm enough to fall asleep in seconds.

[spaceycat]

bucky being a human furnace is so canon, right now im mainly going to be posting drabbles because shit be crazy rn and my schedule is FILLED TO THE BRIM... so we're going on a small little tiny hiatus. enjoy this drabble lovelies <3

this is a fluffy fic!! i'm too tired to write smut and i just needed this rn 😭

⋆★⋆ human furnace ⋆★⋆

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: dream a little dream of me by the mamas and the papas (3:14)

You were naturally cold, always wearing multiple layers even when it's reasonably warm outside, a blanket always wrapped around you and the heater cranked so high - but that soon backfired on you.

It was the middle of winter, it was actively snowing outside - the streets being flooded with white snow upon parked cars and the side of the icey street outside your apartment. The problem was:

Your heater was broken.

There was nothing you could do about it, you had no mechanical skills and in a way you would make it worse than what it already was. Every mechanical service was down or busy for the holidays, so you just had to sit in your kitchen - using your oven as a makeshift heater while you were drowning in jumpers and blankets.

That's when you heard your front door unlocked, that's when you dragged your phone out from the many layers on top of you - realising the time, the time that Bucky said he would be over to deal with some work with you and just.. hang out? His text messages are confusing sometimes, but you couldn't expect much from the guy who was born during the 1910's.

And that guy was very much in your apartment now, and you're sitting on the floor in your kitchen like some idiot - you pushed the blankets off of you, creating a lump of fabric in the corner of your kitchen as you quickly checked your reflection in the window above your sink, running into your living room and Bucky was there, taking off his jacket and scarf that was covered lightly in snow. He took note of your shivering and the sheer amount of sweaters and hoodies you had on.

"It looks like you just went into a snow storm y'know.""My body is my own personal snow storm." "Mm.." He just simply hummed at that, placing his messenger bag on your couch before he walked over to you - wrapping his arms around you, his warmth surrounding you.

You weren't particularly expecting to do this, or for him to be this warm. You knew he was naturally warm, from light accidental touches or him placing a hand on the back of your chair instinctively. You silently thanked the super-soldier serum that most likely made him the human furnace that he is.

You leaned into his warmth instinctively, wrapping your arms around him in return after a moment. "You're freezing.""I thought you knew that." "I do now.. it finally makes sense why you're wearing jumpers even in summer." You'd pull back from him, his hand resting loosely around your waist. "My heater is shot, had to resort to desperate things." You tilted your head towards the kitchen in a gesture of the blankets on the ground. "Heater's shot?" He raised a brow at you. "Mhm." "Get yourself some tea.. or just-- something, I guess. I'll fix it." "Buck-- you don't have to." "If it means that I won't have to see you shivering all the time, I'll happily do it."

You eventually returned with a cup of tea, the heat from the mug cupped in your hand slowly warming it up from the cold. In the otherhand, a metal box hopefully containing all the tools that Bucky can do to fix your heater.

He took it from you with a simple "Thanks", you watched him tinker with the machine for awhile - it was definitely a sight you could get used to, your hand keeping your head up as you lean against the arm chair of your couch that let you have the perfect view of Bucky. You felt so warm from his presence it almost cured your temperature dilemma.

After a short while, the familiar humming of the heater started up again. Bucky stood up, closing the box of tools - setting it on the coffee table next you. The soft clang bringing you out of your thoughts. "All done." He sat down beside you, a short sigh coming from his lips as he sat. You looked over to him muttering a "Thank you.", a desperate plea in your eyes for him to hold you close again. He looked at you, a small grin forming on his face as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer to him.

You rested your head on his chest, nuzzling into him a little bit more. His hand that was wrapped around your shoulder was now playing with your hair a small amount, almost as it was normal for him to.

You've been working on the heater since the early hours of the morning, it driving you out of your sleep - so it wasnt a surprise for you to slowly fall asleep against the warmth of the man that was Bucky Barnes.

As he heard your soft breaths, he grabbed the blanket wrapped over the couch that was nonetheless a result of your attempt at keeping yourself warm and draped it over you - placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head. Holding you forever closer as he heard the snow slowly fall outside. He could get used to this too.

[heirofnight]

meddling, pt. 2

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: the next little installment of pure preciousness revolving around these two. no plot, just fluff. azriel is smitten with the idea of doting on reader - he's just pure and sweet and wants to make her life easier. reader wears azriel's sweater, and his heart almost explodes. azriel then rearranges the entire library for reader because she can't reach her favorite books. enjoy!

a/n: thank you so much for all of the love revolving around this little drabble-turned-series! this is another example of me sitting down and just writing until i feel like stopping. no plot, just cutesy fluff. i hope you love it! also lightly edited, sorry for any mistakes. <3

read part one here

six months ago, you'd arrived at the house of wind. for the first two months, you had gone to great lengths to isolate yourself from the high lord and his family. while you'd had no initial negative feelings towards the group, you'd prioritized cultivating a peaceful environment for yourself after the past you'd so narrowly escaped from. this involved keeping to yourself, finding solace in the private library a few doors down from your rooms, and not speaking to anyone else.

four months ago, you'd been tricked into attending your first family dinner in the dining hall on the second floor. funnily enough, the house itself - along with one of az's stray little shadows - were the reasons why you'd ended up frozen in the archway of the dining room, every instinct in your body screaming at you to flee to your chambers. after polite coaxing from rhys, and encouraging nods from azriel, you'd felt welcomed as a new member of the tight-knit inner circle by the end of the meal.

you still found yourself looking back on that evening and smiling fondly.

now, this evening, you were perched on your favorite chair within the library, book in hand. you'd cycled through several different series over the last few months, and tonight, you were beginning a new trilogy that you'd found tucked at the top of your go-to shelf. the tall, wooden display of books contained a myriad of novels in every genre you could imagine. you struggled to reach the top row of books, which - of course - contained your favorite genre: romance. you briefly wondered if the males that resided here had sequestered books about love in this hard-to-reach spot on purpose. you'd had to grab a footstool and still stand on your tip-toes to reach the novels you'd desired.

alas, you'd finally grabbed them - all three at once, to save yourself the exertion of all but climbing the entire shelf when it was time to move onto the other two books in a few days.

you were snuggled comfortably in your favorite armchair, large droplets of rain pelting the side of the library's windows. it was dark, gloomy, and the perfect reading weather. a fire burned brightly within the hearth across from you, warming your legs and toes. dim fae lights and candles flickered a relaxing glow into the space.

you nuzzled into an oversized, lived-in, charcoal grey sweater. it belonged to azriel - well, it had - and his scent still lingered as if it were woven into the threads themselves.

he'd silently approached you last week, same sweater folded neatly in his hands, politely extending the fabric your way. you'd abandoned the focus on the book in front of you to meet his gaze, brows cinching together in silent confusion.

"you said you were always cold," he started, voice quiet. he always spoke to you so quietly. gently. and he wasn't wrong, you truly were always freezing - a fact the house had learned, too. it made sure to always have the hearth burning in any room you were occupying.

you smiled fondly up at him, nodding once. "i'm surprised you remember that, az," you said, a faint rosiness creeping onto your cheeks. he noticed your blush, and it made the corner of his full lips quirk upward.

he huffed out a quiet breath in response, extending the sweater a little further towards you. "i thought maybe this would help. i don't ever really need it - illyrian blood, you know. i'm always warm. anyway, i understand if you don't want it. but i promise it's clean, and when i have worn it, it's always kept me warm. so...-," he trailed off, realizing he was rambling, full of nerves. now it was his turn for his cheeks to turn pink, and he cleared his throat, breaking the eye contact.

a wide grin spread across your cheeks as you reached forward to take the large, soft sweater from his hands. "thank you, az. really. this is perfect," you whispered shyly, holding the fabric against your chest. he smiled proudly, a dimple peeking out.

and that was that - he walked over to his preferred spot within the library, wings perked in pride. he made himself comfortable with a book of his own, and you both read in silent companionship.

tonight, you'd adorned that same sweater as you let the sound of the rain outside become the soundtrack to your escapism. out of your peripheral, one lone shadow twirled through the door of the library - your favorite little tendril. you glanced up as it approached you, swirling around your right hand as it always did in greeting. you smirked, knowing its master was not too far behind.

sure enough, in strode azriel shortly after - the rest of his shadows lazily twining around his form. his eyes found you immediately, and his steps faltered as he realized you were wearing his clothing. that dimple made another appearance as he smiled shyly, cocking an eyebrow upward.

"keeping you warm?," he asked, taking in how cozy and well, adorable you looked like that. in his clothing. reading a book in the candlelight. azriel was in trouble, and he knew it.

you nodded, sitting up straighter as you took him in. his hazel eyes were nearly glowing. "very. it's my new prized possession," you smiled, and that comment nearly made azriel's heart burst.

he hummed, quite pleased. "good. it looks like it was made for you," and he meant every word. maybe he should give you every piece of oversized, warm clothing he owned. they looked far better on you, anyway.

you looked back at the open pages of your book, smiling, trying to hide the blush creeping from your neck up to your cheeks. he noticed anyway - he noticed everything.

"how's that one?," he nodded his chin towards the book in your hand as he got comfortable in his own armchair. his wings spread behind him in a relaxed fashion.

"oh, i can't put it down," you sighed, looking up at him once more.

he hummed, glancing around at the tall spread of novels that surrounded the both of you. "i've never seen it on the shelves", he mused, brows furrowed as he studied the closed cover of your book.

you took a sip of your tea, snorting in jest after you swallowed. "probably because it's tucked away on the highest shelf in here," you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes fondly. "i had to use a step stool, and even then, i barely reached it."

he nodded once, studying you for a moment. he looked as though he was pondering something. the moment ended quickly, his own eyes averting to the pages in the open book before him.

the next day, you'd entered the library after breakfast - as always. what surprised you is that you weren't alone like you normally were around this time.

azriel was already there, positioned in front of your favorite shelf, pulling every single romance book down from the top row.

"...az?," you questioned quietly, trying not to startle him. "what are you doing?," you stepped forward, peering up at him. his large hands held a stack of books, most of which you'd already read.

he turned towards you, cheeks quickly tinting pink. "oh, y/n," he paused for a moment, looking from the stack in his hands and up to the top shelf before meeting your eyes.

"well, you said that the books you enjoyed were too high. so.... i rearranged a couple of shelves to make sure they were at a height you could reach," he smiled bashfully.

you froze in place, taking in the entire scene before you. and sure enough, he'd already moved most of the romance novels. and beyond that, he'd also relocated them to a shelf that was right next to your favorite chair. you could literally just reach over from where you normally sat, easily plucking your next choice from the row without having to move.

you smiled widely up at him, eyes twinkling, and he swore his heart was going to swell and float right out of his chest.

"az," you breathed out, "can i hug you?," you blurted, overcome with emotion.

he huffed out a laugh, carefully setting the stack of books in his large hands down beside him. he nodded then, opening his arms for you.

you stepped into his large frame, and he stilled for a moment. he shifted to hold you tightly, and his wings twitched with the sudden urge to wrap around you too. his arms didn't feel like enough, you should be closer.

instead, he settled for moving one hand to the back of your head, cradling you against his chest. he smiled to himself, another wave of pride flowing through his chest and limbs.

he could get used to this.

tag list: @stressed-reader @vhjlucky13 @scarsandallaz @victory-salads @weirdo-fun

if you'd like to be added, pls let me know <3

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol

technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3

The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening. 

The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground.  The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.  

It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.

The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer.  “Honey!  Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen.  She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade.  The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself.  She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.

Your parents were always really… energetic.  They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house.  To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…

“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.

“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.  

“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside.  “Wo-hoah!  You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…

As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.

He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something.  Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?  

“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.

“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.

Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily.  In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath.  He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church.  So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard.  It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it 

“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.

“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit.  He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…

“Let me make you two some drinks!  What are you having?”

He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now.  He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked.  He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.

“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen.  He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair.  She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to.  “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”

“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied.  “I’ll help with the silverware.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them. 

“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand.  You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.

He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work.  “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”

“What?” 

“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed.  “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”

You scoffed a bit.  “And where should I put the opium spoon?”

“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing.  “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.

“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret.  Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…

“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up.  “Food’s coming out!  Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”

Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side.  “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.

“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted.  She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party.  She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.

And you.  She’d never mentioned you.

As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least.  He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.

Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence.  “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.  

“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy.  What have you been doing?”

“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.

“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Shit.  That illusion didn’t last long.  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”

You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was.  Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?

“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”

“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered.  “I graduated a semester early.”

“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great.  You’ve always been really smart…”

“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.

“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”

Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.

The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase.  He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet.  But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…

So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything.  Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him.  Now was it okay to look at you?

He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in.  He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.

“You look bored,” you noticed.

“Yeah?  I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.

“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered.  “What’s boarding school like?”

“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true.  “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”

“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.

“Some,” he said.  “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”

“Like what?” you pressed.  “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”

“Oh, all the time,” he laughed.  “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly.  I mean, I never got caught, so…”

You raised an eyebrow.  “You smoke?”

He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble.  He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little.  “What?” he wondered.

“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.

“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone.  But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.

“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered.  He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.

He grinned excitedly.  “Right now?”

“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.

“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”

~

“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind.  “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”

You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.

You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.

“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.

When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you.  Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night.  No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.

You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.

You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything.  He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.

“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside.  “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers.  “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?” 

You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly.  “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.

You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end.  His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.

“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked.  “Or did college make you more rebellious?”

“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.

“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.

“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready.  “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”

He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.  

You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.

He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times.  You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.

“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.

He cleared his throat and shook his head.  “N-not really, no,” he admitted.  “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”

“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.

“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer.  He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.

You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face.  He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.

“Better?” you asked.

“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”

“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat.  You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?

After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier.  You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.

“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.

“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled.  “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”

“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.

“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.

“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.

“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.

“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement.  Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.

After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high.  You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence.  “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him.  “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”

“I did,” you mumbled.

“R-really?” he choked.  “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”

“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”

He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.

“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you.  “I’m eighteen.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Right.  Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that.  I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature.  At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you.  I can’t really compete with college guys…”

“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head.  “What are you competing for?”

“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.  

“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again.  “My attention?”

“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.  

“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car.  “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp.  “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.  

You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already.  You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time.  Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop.  He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.

His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back.  You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow.  It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.

You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it.  Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little.  What a polite boy.

“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips.  One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence.  He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.

Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser.  You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.

One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin.  “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg.  You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass.  You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t.  It was still Angus, after all.

In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did.  He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra.  “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.

You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.

He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.

He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response.  “Fuck, are my hands cold?  I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.

“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath.  You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.

Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them.  “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth.  You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you.  “Fuck, Angus—”

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats.  He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.

You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully.  You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would.  You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t.  Not very much, at least.  Certainly not enough to stop you.

You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt.  “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach.  “We're really gonna—?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.

He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.

“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”

You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression.  “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him.  “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”

“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.

Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch.  “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.

“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.

“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him.  He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.  

“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.

“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured.  “I can turn the light off if you want though—”

“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light.  “No, I still wanna see.”

You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly.  “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.  

He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.

“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge.  The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”

You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan.  “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him.  “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”

He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.

“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly.  “You feel so fucking good…”

He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.

A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you.  Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you.  “Did you… just come?” you asked.

He was still panting, his face starting to flush red.  “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly.  “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”

“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”

“Uh…” he stalled anxiously.  “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him.  “It’s cute, honestly.  I don’t mind being your first.”

“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted.  “I imagined it like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car.  “Like this?”

“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed.  “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed.  And whipped cream—”

“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”

You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”

“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.

“No, they don’t care— please?  Please just keep going?  I’m still hard, I can—”

“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced.  “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright?  We just have to get back inside now.”

He lit up instantly.  “Really?  So we can— we’ll do this again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged.

“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort.  “Of course I wanna see you again.  I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”

“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.

You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.

Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead.  “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.

“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on.  “You ready?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be.  W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”

You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask.  You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected.  Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming.  His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.

Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.

You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind.  “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”

[series masterlist here]

[bumblehoneybee]

I have a story request! Stealing Shadow's sweatshirt and wearing it :3 lol Fluff (Shadow x Mobian reader)

Little Thieves are Hanged, but Great Ones Escape

It was a dangerous mission, one only to be completed when there was no one else around. You didn't suspect there to be any traps, but stayed cautious. Your ears pricked and twitched with each groan of the floor, each sigh of the settling house. Maybe you were alone now, but danger could appear at any moment, in any place.

But it didn't appear this time.

You fled the laundry room, clutching your prize to your chest with a wide grin. Hidden away in the bedroom, you wiggled and pulled the sweatshirt on, nuzzling the collar. Shadow's cologne still clung to the fabric, a soothing reminder of the silly hedgehog you so adored.

Nothing could kill your mood now that your mission was successful. You trotted around the house, breezing through your chores, and found the winter's bite not so harsh with your new garment.

But you had forgotten the crucial rule to a successful heist: never show off your spoils.

The air cracked like a bolt of lightning, wind nearly knocking you over as something new filled the space of your living room. Turning away from your groceries, you found an unimpressed hedgehog glaring at you from over the couch.

"Welcome home." You said, hoping sweetness would save you.

It did not.

"That is mine!" Shadow snapped. He surged over the couch, causing you to squeal and flee his grab. "Thief!"

"It's warm!" You snapped back at him, slamming the bathroom door in his face. When you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand, you threw the door open again, racing away from Shadow teleporting into the bathtub. "And I'm cold!"

"You have your own sweaters!" Shadow said, exasperation coloring his tone as he tried to cut off your frantic escape attempts. Seemed you spent too much time together, since you were easily able to sense his next chaos control. "You little-"

A sporadic series of teleporting caught you off guard enough to lose your balance. You tumbled down onto your tush, wincing at the impact, only to shriek as a body slammed atop you.

"Caught you!" Shadow huffed. You wiggled under him, but he didn't let up. "Thief."

"Buzzkill." You shot back at him. "You know, some people think it's cute when their partner wears their clothes."

"Some people don't have annoying bats sending them pictures of their partners wearing their sweaters." Shadow grumbled. You just rolled your eyes. So what if he had a Hot Honey sweatshirt? There was no shame in it. "Give it."

"Shadow!" You whined, pawing at his neck. "Mean!" Still, when he shoved the article over your head, you didn't fight, merely lunging forward to kiss him. "Welcome home."

Shadow sighed against your smile, one of his own twitching at his lips. "It's. . . nice to be back."

"It's nice to have you back." You agreed. Shadow's shoulders tensed, recognizing the coyness in your voice.

Without warning, you shot to your feet, sprinting away with the sweatshirt still over your arms. Your cackles echoed through the house.

"YOU ROTTEN THIEF!" Shadow roared, and thus the chase began again.

[flymetothexmoon]

Glasses + Oversized Sweaters

Warnings: Cigarette smoking. Swearing. Nothing too wild in this one.

Authors Note: request from the lovely @smellingyellow as they wanted a Nervous Boi Seunghyun x Reader. hopefully it lives up and it is an enjoyable read <'3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Choi Seunghyun was a lot of things. He was BigBang's lead dancer, was an active art collector in the industry, and he knew a thing or two about what cuisine to pair certain wine with.

However, Choi Seunghyun was the only member in his band that would struggle to find real love; the kind of love that would make him want to question it all and realize he did not want to hide forever in the shell he'd crafted with his own two hands. People would ship him all the time with his best friend, but the moment he posed with any woman, or filmed something with a woman, the voices around him were sometimes louder than the ones in his own head.

It was exhausting.

Seunghyun did not want to be alone forever, but he was starting to think that maybe he did, and maybe the people around him were right and his standards were too high. The lead dancer would often make jokes and say the best way to find true love is to turn your phone off for a long period of time and ignore them, and he once even said that it would be easier to find a boyfriend because he is around managers all day.

Not all of it were the kind of jokes you'd openly laugh at, though, and he knew that. Somewhere in the deeper part of his soul he knew it was very much not a laughing matter.

The night was still young when Seunghyun and his bandmates finished their final interview of the day. One by one, the men would discreetly leave the backdoor for the building they were just in. Each memeber had a specific routine of what they would do after exiting an interview. Ji-yong would brain rot on Instagram, Daesung call his mother, Taeyang would Facetime his longer term partner, and Seunghyun would light a cigarette.

Tonight was no exception for each of the men and the different sounds were all becoming a little too much for the oldest Hyung as his eyes tightly shut, trying to imagine a world where everyone was quiet.

"Hyung, did you really mean what you said back there? About how you believe the key to a happy relationship is to ignore your partner and turn off your phone for days?"

Daesung.

Seunghyun slowly opened his eyes, making eye contact with the most innocent out of all the men. He wanted to lie, he wanted to tell Daesung that it was suppose to be funny, but both of the men knew Seunghyun would be lying.

He thought about what to say for a moment, bringing the cigarette to his lips, two of his fingers massaging into the paper wrapping and his lips curling at the kick of the menthol, bringing him back to reality as he narrowed his eyes slightly, inhaling deeply.

"I meant it."

All Daesung could do was nod in response, a low hum escaping his vocal cords as he watched the oldest member take another drag of his cigarette. Daesung knew Seunghyun better than the two would ever lead on, and while he knew his Hyung was not lying about meaning it, he also knew that it was something deeper than that; something so deep that he was sure the older man might fall to his knees once it happens.

"Love is beautiful, Hyung. I would hate to see you miss out because you were afraid..." for a moment, Seunghyun thought about Daesung's words, his own hand stopping just before the cigarette touched his lips, and all he could do was nod in response. "I'm okay,"

The younger one opened his mouth to speak, but it was like he could no longer verbalize how he really felt, so all he could do was place his hand on Seunghyun's shoulder. His shoulder was oddly cold from the wind but warm from the jacket he chose to wear that night as a pair of headlights caught both of them off guard. Daesung quickly removed his hand from his Hyung's shoulder, waving to the person behind the driver seat as he made eye contact with the oldest member, silently asking if he needed transportation.

And for the first time that night, Seunghyun smiled, shaking his head in the process as he lifted his cigarette, signaling he wanted to finish that first before he called for anyone. The two men made eye contact once more as Seunghyun watched the last of his band mates leave, leaving him alone finally.

A low, almost sensual sigh escaped the man's lips as he felt the release of finally being alone. He loved his band mates, he loved them more than he loved himself, but he craved being alone like it was a drug and he was the addict. The cigarette he was smoking was fighting for its life at how frequent he was taking puffs. Seunghyun's eyes were looking above him at the moon, admiring, wondering how it would feel to represent Korea in a mission to space.

"Excuse me. Do you... Can you... help me with my lighter? I have bad hands and I think mine is jammed," Seunghyun could have swore his heart left his body when he heard the quiet voice coming from behind him. His whole body shifted, standing straighter than he before as he turned around to face where the noise was coming from, and that was where you stood.

A small, timid smile spread across your tinted lips like you were scared to death to ask for help and Seunghyun loved that. The waves in your hair were delicately tied up behind your ears as you wore a gold decal necklace that came down just enough on your neck that it would clasp around you if he moved his hand just right, and the sweater you were wearing... God, the oversized sweater you had on fit you perfect and was the perfect color of off white to balance with your skin.

The noise he would make next was so quiet that it could startle a mouse, but it was definitely there, as the taller man made his way over to you, the color of his own lighter could be seen in his hand as he made his way over to you, returning the small smile.

"I, uh. I can let you use mine, or I could... help you light it if your hands hurt?"

Seunghyun mentally slapped himself, moving the glasses he was wearing higher on the bridge of his nose as he hated the fact he'd stuttered so hard just then. Your smile widened a little, just enough so your teeth could shine against the moonlight. You masked his nervousness by nodding your head, fairly new to the idea of smoking in general, you handed him the cigarette you wanted lit.

"Thank you. I had an accident when I was younger and in my rebellious teen years so now it hurts sometimes to do really silly things. It hurts to even write for too long, which is kind of a bummer because that's my job... to hand write and translate each interview that happens in the studio. But it's okay because I meet so many cool people. Oh my gosh... Am I rambling? I'm sorry..."

The man in front of you could not help but chuckle at your story, his laugh feeling the same way it did when you'd open your first piece of Halloween candy as a kid as he handed the cigarette back to you, unlit.

"Let me help you instead. I can show you a really easy way to light them so you don't apply too much pressure on your actual hand. Is it both of them or just one?" You smiled again, and Seunghyun swore to whatever religion he could think of, that if you smiled one more time, he'd be on his knees thanking whoever was up there. "It's usually only my right one, but whenever it's cold, they both hurt sometimes,"

Seunghyun nodded, listening to your words carefully as they came out of your mouth. Moving even closer to you, he watched as you brought the cigarette back between your fingers, your hand tremmering slightly; the sleeves to your oversized sweater almost covering your hand all together. You looked way too innocent to be smoking a cigarette, and Seunghyun almost did not want to help you because he loved how innocent you looked in the moonlight, but he also loved the idea of being your knight in shining armor.

You two had not even exchanged names yet and this man already knew the thing made you the most vulnerable to the outside world. He was closer than before and the way his cologne mixed with the menthol from his own cigarette was enough to make any girl, including you, want him close to you all the time.

Seunghyun looked at you carefully, as if he was asking for your consent to touch you and be so close. All you could do was nod when you felt his hands wrap around yours, your hands much smaller than his, as he brought the cigarette to your lips, which you happily parted for him and the flick of the lighter made you jump a little, a soft murmur escaping his lips.

"Relax. I've got you."

And he did.

Your hand still slightly trenmering as you held onto the wrapped paper, bringing it to your lips and inhaling deeply as you let the contents attack your lungs as you exhaled, making sure you politely blew the smoke in the opposite direction of Seunghyun.

"Thank you. That was very nice of you. Do you work here too? I've never seen you before. Unless you just started... that could explain why I've never seen you?" You were rambling again, and Seunghyun could feel his knees bucking at the idea of you having no idea who he was.

"Um... I do not work there. I actually– I actually was in there earlier, and was one of the people being interviewed, so you... you probably had to translate everything my band and I talked about in there. So, like, I'm sorry if we ended up making your hand hurt worse... We were in there for a while..."

Seunghyun was adjusting his glasses again as his eyes continued to rest on you. Even if he'd wanted to, he could not look away from the way your lips would part each time you took a hit of the cigarette. The taller man found himself shifting slightly on his feet, thankful that he was here with you, but also kicking himself in the shin for feeling so goddamn nervous around you.

Silence loomed over you two as you were watching him too. Your free hand not holding the cigarette was covered by the sheer size of the oversized sweater you wearing. It all clicked to you now on who he was the moment he mentioned him and his band being there for a while– you were actually in the process of translating what they talked about before you came outside for a smoke break. It was indeed a long interview, and the comment Seunghyun mentioned about love was like a lightning storm erupting inside of you.

Seunghyun was nervous and you were without a doubt full of anxiety yourself as the two of you stood quietly in each other's presence, neither of introducing yourselves or bothering to make small talk.

"We could... break the ice with a high five?" Seunghyun's comment caught you off guard, and by the time he'd mustered up the courage to speak again, you were just about to hit your cigarette again as you giggled softly, raising a single eyebrow in the process.

"High five? Sounds to me like you just want an excuse to have my hand against yours again..."

Unable to control the redness in his cheeks, the taller man quickly turned his attention from you in the opposite direction, hoping you would not notice as he removed his glasses, feeling a small patch of sweat on his forehead as his sleeve wiped the moisture away. His posture attempted to loosen as he turned back over to face you, a small smirk spreading across his lips as the nervousness still raced through his veins but the shift was definitely noticeable.

"Isn't that a thing? Where women love to see how small their hands are against ours?"

You tossed the cigarette to the ground as the heel of your boot crushed the remaining flame, stepping closer to him as you spoke and your voice dropping in octane.

"Only if the girl thinks the boy is cute,"

"Do you think I'm cute?"

Seunghyun stepped closer now as well, the two of you still not sharing names but instead sharing feelings– raw, unfiltered, and honestly the kind of sexy slow burn you'd only read about feelings.

"You're okay. At least a seven out of ten... maybe an eight if you were a good kisser..."

Either the two of you were flirting or it was the best mind game you'd ever shared with someone as the taller man got even closer to you now, his lips barely touching you as he spoke again, matching the quiet volume.

"Wanna find out?"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Tag List: @breakmeoff @loveesiren @wcnderlnds @berfgrimm @ldydeath @emmiesoverthemoon @infinetlyforgotten @cupidsonly @djarindroid @szonyix6277 @nerdydoll-com

If I forgot anyone pls bare with me as it is my first time doing a tag list. If you'd like to be permanently added for future works, let me know~ ❣️

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas (3)- Ugly Sweater

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: Whilst coming out of the bathroom, Natasha immediately notices your new Christmas Sweater and can't hold back on her playful teasing and mentions how ugly it is. In fact, she thinks it's so ugly, you should just take it off.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Teasing, Ugly Sweaters, Thigh Riding, Smut, Dom Natasha/Sub Reader, Praise, Orgasm Denial/Delay, Dirty Talk, Begging, Oral Sex, Fingering, Aftercare, Cuddles

Kinkmas Masterlist

---

Opening the bathroom door, a snicker left her lips as Natasha caught sight of the Christmas jumper you were wearing, her hand moving to cover her mouth as you shot your girlfriend a pointed look while rummaging for your phone charger, watching her form on the bed as her lips tugged up into an amused smile.

"Detka," she says, dragging her words out as you approached her on the bed after successfully finding your charger, her arms naturally opening as you melt against her body, her lips pressing against your temple, arms then snaking around you. "I didn't know we were doing ugly sweaters this year," she mumbles against your hair in a teasing tone, your head tilting to gaze into her humoured green, that mischievous smirk playing on her lips as you adjusted yourself on the bed, moving to straddle her lap.

"It's not ugly," you say in mild offence, looking back down at the jumper you had bought for Christmas this year, amazed at how soft and comfortable it was compared to ones you've had in the past. "It's unique," your tone full of confidence as your girlfriend fails to hide the small laugh that escapes her, her eyes taking the ridiculous piece of clothing properly.

The jumper had questionable looking reindeers adorning it, the white stripes indicating different sections as a pattern of Santa hats were under it, followed by a set of christmas trees and then a row of presents, her brow raising in questioning as you followed her line of sight to the section of snowmen, the blue coloured section not matching with the rest of the red and green theme, looking very odd.

"I'm not sure unique is the word I'd use to describe it, Detka," she murmurs, hands cupping your cheek and guiding your face down for an innocent kiss, the action sparking an idea in the redhead's mind, her smile slowly morphing into that iconic mischievous smirk again.

"Is it really that bad?" you ask, a hint of genuine disappointment in your voice as you part of you actually quite liked the sweater, Natasha's fingers resting under your chin and lifting your head up to meet her gaze, your brows furrowing slightly at the look in her eyes, knowing she was planning something.

"Oh Detka," she coos, her free hand gliding down your waist to the back of your thighs before back up, sliding under the fabric to feel your bare skin, her cold hands a contrast to your warm skin making your body tense momentarily. "It is, in fact, I think it's that bad you should just... take it off," her hand emphasises her words by pulling up on your sweater, her eyes searching yours and waiting for permission to do so, eyes sparkling with desire and mischief as you can't help but chuckle at her words, the doubts about the jumper swiftly leaving your mind due to her lips being mere inches away from yours.

"Yeah?" you whisper back, lips tugging up into an amused smile as her smile only widens when you move your hands to replace hers at your jumper, playing with the hem of it and slowly, teasingly pulling it off. "I think I should too," you murmur just before removing the jumper, Natasha's hands eagerly travelling across the exposed skin you just revealed, fingers dancing across your lower abdomen before reaching your lower back and up, swiftly unclasping your bra and pulling it off while your lips meet hers passionately, both of you smiling into it to start with.

A soft moan escapes you when the kiss becomes more intense, Natasha's tongue effortlessly sliding into your mouth and dominating the kiss, arousal pooling between your thighs while your mind fogs with lust, the feeling of her hands burning into your skin as you think you're going to go mad with desire. Her nails faintly scratch your skin, earning a groan in response as you arch your back slightly, pushing your body further into hers prompting her to wrap her arms around you, guiding you into another position.

She positions you on one of her thighs, smirking into the kiss when she hears the affected sigh leave you as she pulls you along it, making you ride her thigh until you start to do it on your own.

"That's it Detka," she praises, making you moan once again, the noise being swallowed by her relentless mouth, lips constantly claiming yours in a hungry and desperate kiss, hands returning to roam your body and tease you. You're finding it hard to think with her actions, fingers grazing the underside of your breasts, thumbs teasingly ghosting over your sensitive nipples while her mouth is hot, soft and dominant at the same time, the two of you only parting for breath, panting heavily against each others mouths as you still can't resist trying to kiss her again, craving her addictive lips.

"Nat," you groan when she finally cups your breasts, squeezing firmly but not too hard, just the way you love it, her fingers grazing over your nipples and pulling on them softly, dragging more sinful noises out of you. "I need you," you sigh out, lolling your head back as she starts to kiss down your jaw and along your neck, nibbling softly and smirking against yours skin at the feeling of your hips grinding against her harder, needing to ease the incessant throb between your legs, the intolerable heat that only she could help you with, "Please."

"You're so impatient Detka," she teases, sucking on part of your skin to leave a mark, her hands moving away from your chest to your ass, guiding you against her thigh once again, a groan leaving you at her slower pace. "You'll get what you want soon," she murmurs, tilting her head back up to meet your lips, claiming them briefly and messily before lowering her head to kiss along your collar bones, sucking another mark as she knew you loved it.

You groaned in a little frustration at her words, wanting to feel the pleasure of your release now but being denied by her, Natasha merely chuckling against your skin at your impatience.

"Nat," you whined, her kisses descending even further down your body, lips at the top of your chest, eyes peering up into your desperate and pleading eyes.

"Soon," she promises, yours fingers threading through her hair when she swirls her tongue around one of your nipples, mouth then sucking on your chest earning a string of moans from you, your clit brushing perfectly against her thigh as she tenses it for you, the surface harder for you to grind along.

"Fuck," you sigh out when she switches to the other breast, lavishing it an equal amount of attention, her hands moving your hips harder and faster against her, your orgasm building swiftly at her actions.

"Don't even think about coming yet Detka," she rasps out, pulling away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting the two before her thumb brushes it away while her eyes are trained on yours, a small, affected sigh leaving your lips at the sight.

"Please, Nat, I'm so close," you plead, knowing how turned on she gets by your begging, your fingers gently tugging on her hair that you've ruffled slightly to make her return to your face, wanting to feel her lips pressed against yours.

"Not yet Detka," she murmurs back before kissing you firmly, hands moving to your lower back to keep you secure before flipping the two of you over, a groan of annoyance leaving you as she denies you, her lips silencing you. "I want to feel you coming all over my tongue," she purrs at the shell of your ear, biting softly on your earlobe as you whimper at her words, hands reaching out to her waist, sliding under her simple black jumper, desperate to feel her bare skin.

"Shit, Nat I want you, I need you. Please," you moan out into her mouth as she kisses you with a newfound hunger, her fingers replacing yours at her jumper, pulling the item off swiftly before unclasping her own bra and tossing it somewhere in the room, not bothered where at the moment.

"You'll only ever need me, isn't that right Detka?" she murmurs with a smug smirk against your skin as your nails scratch down her back softly, the redhead aware of the effect she had on you as her fingers slide your joggers down, lips descending down your body once again.

"Yes," your tone a whisper as your back arches against her, the feeling of her lips kissing down your body making your body delirious with arousal and desire, the redhead groaning at your voice, loving the way you say you're hers. "You're all I need- Fuck, please do that again," your words are interrupted when she drags one of her fingers against your soaking core through your panties, the fabric drenched with your arousal, body begging for her touch.

"So desperate," she mumbles, tone laced with dominance as she looks up from her place between your legs, hands gliding across the back of your thighs, teasing you. "So wet," she adds, doing as you asked and sliding her finger across your clothed core, a sinful groan escaping you, head lolling back against the mattress. "If you want it that bad Detka, beg for it."

"Please," you whimper, pleading her with your eyes, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties and caressing the skin there in an affectionate manner, waiting for you to continue, "Nat, I've been good, please touch me, please make me come." Her breath fans over your sensitive core as her teeth gently bite down on the fabric of your panties, dragging the item down your legs and admiring your aroused and desperate form watching her, mouth parting in a small, affected sigh. "Please Nat, I need your fingers, your mouth, Fuck, anything at this point," your words are cut off by a pathetic whimper, the redhead finally lowering her mouth to your dripping core, her eyes trained on you as she wants to watch you come undone.

"Fuck Detka," she groans, eyes darkening with desire as her tongue swipes through your folds, tasting your arousal and making your hips buck up against her mouth, her hands holding your body down. "You taste so good," her accent delicately wraps around her words in a way that makes your head spin, the added raspiness going straight to your lower abdomen, her mouth exploring your sensitive sex as sinful sounds spill from your lips.

"Shit, I love it when you do that," you moan out, her lips wrapping around your clit and sucking gently, your hands reaching down to tangle in her hair softly, fingers surrounded by the red silky locks. "Nat," your voice a low sigh, the noise soft and sensual as her face nuzzled closer to where you needed her, her lower face coated in your arousal as you were just so addicting, tongue swirling over your clit before sliding lower, teasing your entrance.

"Such a pretty mess for me," she murmurs against you, her mouth returning to your clit and sucking a little harsher than before, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure flooded through you, one of her hands sliding around your thigh to pull you closer. "All mine to ruin," she rasps out, a guttural noise leaving you at her words and the feeling of one of her fingers effortlessly sliding into you, walls desperately clenching around her digit.

"Nat," you pant out, head lolling back against the soft mattress, fingers tightening their grip on her hair, hips trying their best to roll against her mouth in search of friction.

Your desperate tone and actions encourage her to push you over the edge, her digit curling inside you at your sweet spot, pleasure building in your core as you clench around her, the redhead's mouth then kissing your clit again to drive you mad, tongue swiping over to make your hips cant up.

"Fuck, don't stop," you groan out, fingers holding her head still as she slides in another finger, moaning into your core, the vibrations pleasing you as your mind clouds with arousal, vision almost blurring with euphoria. "Please can I come?" you ask, voice laced with submission as your eyes gaze down at the sinful sight of her between your thighs, her darkened green entranced by your state.

"Come for me," she husks out, taking your clit back into her mouth and sucking while her fingers continue to curl inside you, letting you fall over the edge with a guttural moan, back arching further off the bed as your legs trembled, hips rocking against her face at the pleasure that filled you. A pleasant buzz consumed your body as you rode out the aftershocks of your powerful release, your body practically going limp on the bed at the exhaustion of coming so hard.

Natasha listened to every soft pant that left you, every hitch of breath as she didn't stop her actions, moving her tongue to replace her fingers inside you, lapping up your come and arousal that she could taste.

She only stopped when your hand softly tugged on her hair, silently asking her to stop, which she did immediately, gradually sliding her body away from between your legs. She straddled your waist, her eyes trained on yours as they fluttered open, meeting the softening green and watching in awe as she slid her fingers into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she groans at the taste of you on her fingers, your lips parting for a small, affected gasp.

"Come here," you mumbled tiredly, hands reaching out for the curve of her hips as you pull her body down against yours, claiming her lips softly as she lets you kiss her how you want. Her body relaxes against yours, her fingers brushing back a few strands of your hair while your hands cup her cheek, keeping her close as you inevitably smile against her mouth, the redhead eagerly reciprocating the action.

Her lips peck yours once more before pressing a loving kiss to your temple, her body rolling onto her side as she pulls you closer to her, wanting to take care of you.

"We need to clean up Detka," she whispers, knowing how tired you were but more focused on staying hygienic and safe. You grumble in response, face pressed against her chest, arms defiantly wrapped around her middle as you just wanted to savour the calm moment, her fingers scratching your scalp soothingly. "Come on, it will be quick," she murmurs, managing to get you out of the bed and into the bathroom to clean up, her hands gentle as she helped take care of you, smiling softly at the way you craved to feel any part of her body.

Eventually, after many loving caresses, the two of you leave the bathroom clean and completely naked, a request on your behalf, before sliding under the covers, bodies naturally drifting towards each other.

Your face nestled at the crook of her neck, the warm and soft skin lulling you into a peaceful state as you melted in her embrace, exhaustion slowly creeping up on you.

"Nat," you mumble, tiredness evident in your voice as you move your hand to glide up and down her toned back, smiling a little at her neck when you feel her relax even more into the impossibly soft mattress.

She hums softly in response, a hint of curiosity audible in the noise as she lets her lips press delicately against your hair, waiting for you to continue.

"Was the jumper actually that ugly?" your voice a mere whisper, eyes closed as you savour the comfort and security of her neck, her body shaking a little under you as she laughs angelically at your words.

"Oh Detka," she coos, smiling against your locks as she can't help the warmth bubbling in her chest. "It was, I'm sorry," she honestly tells you, a grumble leaving you as you snuggle further into your body.

"I'll get a new one," you mumble, an idea popping into your tired mind, "I'll get a Black Widow themed one and there's nothing you can do to stop me." At your words, Natasha can't help but chuckle lovingly again, her head shaking at your antics.

"Ok Detka, you do that," she murmurs tenderly, letting you think you've gotten your way as she could feel your little smile against her neck, the redhead not having the heart to deny you.

"Goodnight Moya Lyubov," she whispers after a moment, the sounds of your gentle snores taking over the room as Natasha slowly drifts off to sleep, content with having you wrapped up in her arms.

[rueclfer]

Reverse comfort reader taking care of Touya plsplsplsplspls 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I just had the amazing thought of it he's being overly cocky during winter "I don't need a scarf I have a fire quirk!" And the next days he's curled in bed with a fever and sore throat and there's a ton of I told you so's

Not even a fic if u don't feel like it maybe a smau but I think it'd be super funny 😭

🫐 Anon

sick touya supreme bc he can just lay there, be cute n not speak <3

sweat it out // touya todoroki

"What the hell are you wearing?" You exclaim after opening your front door.

"What?" He looks down at his attire. "What happened to hi, hello? A 'thank you for bringing me my package that I stupidly got delivered to your apartment?' Why don't we start there?" He huffs, stepping into your apartment, setting your package down on your kitchen counter.

It had been nothing but near freezing temperatures for the past few weeks- so cold that you had to layer up inside your own apartment to prevent your electric bill from skyrocketing.

"Hi hello, my sweet boyfriend." You roll your eyes. "Do you seriously need me to mommy you right now and scold you for not wearing a fucking jacket out in this weather? Are we not grown adults?" You drops the blanket draped over your shoulders and go over to rub his arms for the thermal friction. "Like you're seriously just wearing this long sleeve? It's freezing if you haven't noticed."

He raises his hand up to your face and snaps a flame into place in between his index and thumb. "You forget I run warm."

"Yeah okay, Mister. I-have-a-fire-quirk. How is that going to help you if it starts raining?"

He pulls you into his chest, letting his body heat transfer into your own, instantly warming you and most importantly for him, shutting you up.

You release a deep exhale in content. "Idiot. You just should stay. For the Winter. Just live here with me for a few months and never leave." You rub your face into his chest, savoring the warmth.

"I think we'd end up killing each other before Spring comes." He chuckles into your hair.

"I'll just chain you to the bed and duct tape your mouth close." You smirk up at him. "Everyone's happy."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, sweetheart." He pulls back, reaching out to tousle your hair. "But I gotta run. Told Shigs I'd be quick."

"Wait! Let me find you a sweater and an umbrella." You frantically look around your living room for any piece of clothing that you had previously stolen from him.

"No need." He bends down and quickly press his lips against yours, letting them linger for a few seconds before pulling away. "I have to go. I checked earlier and it's not going to rain and I'm not cold either. You on the other hand, worry about staying warm."

"It definitely is going to rain, Touya. I can smell it." You huff. "You'll get sick."

"What, is that a new quirk development or something? Weirdo." He lightly pinches your cheeks before slipping his shoes back on. "Also, I have a strong immune system."

"Seriously, let me find you an umbrella at the very least." You rummage around the coat rack for something that could fit him or a spare umbrella.

"Nope, no time. See you tomorrow, yeah?" He calls out.

"I guess." You mutter in defeat as you watch him slip out your door.

"Idiot." You sigh under your breath once the door clicks close.

-

"I'm here!" You call out after stepping into Touya's apartment, using the spare he lent you after locking himself out multiple times.

You kick off your shoes and shed off some layers, draping your jacket, and scarf over his couch before making your way to his bedroom.

"Knock knock." You say as you gently crack the door open, revealing near pitch darkness with sliver of natural light peeking in from the blinds.

You make your way over to the dark lump of mass of blankets on the bed, kicking aside used tissue paper that were thrown onto the ground before kneeling down next to the bed.

"Hello, my sweet stupid boy." You coo, slowly stroking the tuft of dark hair peeking out from the comforter.

"Don't be mean to me." The nasally voice muffled from under the covers. "Princess treatment today, got it?"

Touya finally pokes his head out from under the covers. It may have been dark, but you could still make out his puffy bloodshot eyes, dry cracked lips and flushed cheeks.

"I'll say it this one time then and then I'll give you the best princess treatment, okay?" You lean in close, letting your lips lightly graze the shell of his ear. "I fucking told you so." You whisper.

He groans, retreating back under the covers.

"Did you hear me? Okay maybe one more time." You giggle, trying to rip the covers off from over his head. "I told you so. It rained and it rained hard. Not ideal for that fire quirk of yours, huh? I fucking told you so."

"Fuck off." He groans once more. "One more time and I'm kicking your ass out."

"As if." You successfully tug the covers down to his chin, placing the back of your hand on his forehead. "You don't even have to energy to, you poor thing."

"Am I gonna make it?" He gazes up at you with his tired bloodshot eyes.

"Looks like you got a fever." You push away the sweaty stray hairs sticking to his forehead. "But I think you'll survive."

"Damn." He wheeze out. "That's unfortunate."

"It is, but maybe next time you don't listen to me, you'll get lucky and it kills you."

"Let's hope for it, then." He smirks, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes. "Can I have a kiss?"

"Nope. I'm not trying to get sick, Touya." You smile at the neediness in his voice.

You move over to the blinds and slightly twist them open, letting in some of the dim daylight before tossing the haphazardly thrown stray tissues into the trash bin nearby.

"I don't give a fuck. I want a kiss."

"Too bad." You pay no mind to his piercing stare as you wander around his room, tidying the space as well as clearing off an area on his desk to set up the cough syrups and fever reducers that you brought over from your own medicine cabinet.

You come over to him with the stray glass on water sitting on his desk and a couple Tylenols in your palm.

"Sit up." You order, kneeling next to his bed again, holding out your palm.

"Pop a perc then I black out..." Touya mumbles to himself as he sits up, grabbing the pills from your palm and popping them in his mouth, following it with a large gulp of water.

In this moment, you couldn't help but notice how precious he looked with his old flannel pajama pants, dingy stretched out band tee, disheveled hair and tired eyes- a spitting image of his everyday look when you two were teenagers.

"...Fuckin' I'm blowing her back out." He continues, leaning over to press a kiss on your forehead. "Don't look at me like that unless you're trying to help me sweat out this fever."

Your own face heats up. "The fuck were you saying earlier?" You chuckle, brushing off the insinuating comment and setting the empty glass on his nightstand.

"I don't know. Nothing." He coughs, laying back down, pulling the covers up to his chin. "I think the fever dream-hallucination is hitting hard. You should get in and cuddle before the sickness takes over and kills me."

You roll your eyes at the dramatics, nudging him to scoot over before climbing in under the covers with him, which felt like you had just stepped into a furnace.

He groans in content, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you in as close as he could.

"Can't cuddle for too long okay? I'm going to have to leave and make you some food soon." You mutter into his chest, letting your hand run up and down his back.

"No." He whines. "Just stay like this and I'll get better. I promise."

"That's not how that works." You mutter.

"Maybe if you give me a kiss instead? I think that'll 100 percent make me feel better." He pulls away, inching down towards you with puckered lips.

You stuck your hand out against his mouth, pushing it away. "I can't get sick, Touya. I know your ass will not know how to take care of me."

"You love hurting my feelings." He huffs.

"Well? Who put themselves in this situation. I told you, didn't I?"

"Shush." He mumbles, letting himself close his eyes and rest his chin on top of your head. "You didn't tell me shit."

You let out a sigh and let yourself close your eyes for a moment as well, letting your deep inhale and exhales sync in unison. Maybe having this every night wouldn't be too bad. Sure you two would tear each other apart if you had to spend every waking moment together in the same home, but for moments like these, you wouldn't mind it. Your eyes pop open the moment you feel the deep vibrations of his snores again your body, now realizing that you couldn't dare move from this position, risking waking him.

Just an hour. You'll only give yourself an hour.

-

touya tag: @moonchild701

[torialefay]

in dire need of any crumbs of comforting wholesome domestic channie fluff content right now, idk if that's up your alley but if you got any headcanons in mind lately by all means share them with us haha

i'm so sorry i'm so late (life is crazy actually), but you've got me thinking anon 🫶🏼

✨ some things i think gentleman boyfriend chan would do: ✨

• you are never carrying your own luggage again. you finally make it to aus to visit with chan & his family. as soon as you message to let him know you're here, he's basically running out of the house in the first pair of shoes he finds to grab all of your bags before you get the chance to. if you protested, he'd give in and let you hold a small bag/carry on... just long enough for him to get the other luggage into the house and grab the rest from your hands.

• he is taking care of anything you could possibly need at a restaurant. you'd rather him order for you? done. you got a big steak that may take you a while to get cut up? he's already doing it. need the smallest thing from the waiter? he's (ever so kindly) flagging them down the second he realizes there's something you want. have a bunch of left-overs that you'd like to take home? if the restaurant doesn't pack it up themselves, he's automatically taking your plate to get it into the box for you. no questions asked.

• you are simply not allowed to be cold ever again. at his house, he's always giving you a new sweater/hoodie to wear. if you got out and feel a bit chilly, his jacket is now yours. he's constantly making fun of you for being cold, so he's buying you beanies left and right, telling you to pop one on like it'll solve all your problems (bc apparently it does for him).

• you will NEVER feel scared or unprotected. when walking with you, there's never a moment he's disconnected from you as he watches you walk in front of him. when you get concerned over bad things you'd heard on the local news, he insists he stays at your place to make sure you feel safe. when he senses you feeling nervous out in public, he squeezes the hand he's holding before rubbing light circles on it, reminding you that he's there and that he won't let anything bad happen.

• he's making sure to keep a respectful image of you. if you're wearing a short dress while out, he will give you his coat to rest over your legs. if he notices paparazzi taking photos of you together, he will move himself so that he's blocking their view of you. when running into fans while on the street with you, he introduces you right away so they know that you are now a package deal with him.

• and finally, he probably WON'T stop flirting with stays on bubble, BUT he will dial it wayyyy back. and that's saying a lot for him <3

our little gentleman channie baby 🥰

[eemamminy-art]

Just fall in love with me this Christmas There's nothing else that we will need this Christmas Won't be wrapped under a tree I want something that lasts forever Cause I don't want to be alone tonight I'll wear you like a Christmas sweater Walk proudly to the mistletoe, tonight I want something to last forever So kiss me on this cold December Night - Call it the season of giving I'm here, I'm yours for the taking Call it the season of giving I'm here, I'm yours

For the 12 days of yurimas - lyrics from a christmas song. I had in mind "Cold December Night" by Michael Bublé, which I always interpreted as the singer yearning and begging to be noticed. So here's Penny melting down as she confesses to Maru :3

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

sunshine personified

one-shot

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Sweetheart!Reader

Summary: Golden mornings and pressed flowers, whispered words between pages, laughter drifting through warm summer air. You talk, and Sam listens—always listens, always watches, always loves. Every little thing you do fills him with light, and by the end of the day, he’s sure of one thing: you are his sunshine.

Warnings: Absolute and utter tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, implied/mild reference of cunnilingus/oral, I believe that is all.

Word Count: 4,556

A/N: PHEW. That was too sweet (heh, get it? Hozier?) for me... seriously, I think I need to brush my teeth after writing and proofreading this because the gum-disease is real. I got the idea for this yesterday, and I know... believe me, guys, I KNOW I should be working on the final instalment of "exhibitionism", but I genuinely couldn't help myself. It's been a very fluffy day for me today, and I needed a break from all that intensity. So I started it and it ran all the way away from me. ALSO... how's everyone feeling about the three pic/gif layout? I don't know, I'm trying something new. If we wanna go back to just one gif, let me know. As always, if you feel like it, please give me your feedback. <3 Signing off, until the next one. All the love.

"'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

Work Song - Hozier

The morning was slow, syrup-thick, stretching out in ribbons of gold that pooled across the sheets. Somewhere in the haze of waking, you registered the warmth beneath you—steady, unshifting, the rise and fall of breath beneath your cheek.

Sam.

You had fallen asleep against him again.

The realisation curled at the edges of your consciousness, soft and familiar, blooming like warmth in your chest. His sweater—because of course you were wearing one of his sweaters—smelled like cedarwood and coffee, the fabric slightly rumpled from sleep. You stirred, shifting slightly, and the broad, steady palm on your back flexed, fingers pressing idly against the dip of your spine.

There was a quiet chuckle—low, indulgent, so unmistakably him.

"Morning, Sweetheart."

His voice was warm and sleep-rough, that perfect blend of affectionate and teasing, still thick from the weight of rest. You hummed in response, nose scrunching against his chest as you tried to burrow back into the comfort of him.

"Y’know you’ve got a little something—" He paused, his thumb grazing along your cheek, featherlight, tracing the small indent pressed into your skin. His voice dipped, fond amusement laced through every syllable. "—right here. Cute."

You groaned, half-heartedly swatting at him as you rubbed at your face, but the damage was already done—he was grinning now. You didn’t even have to look up to know it. He had that look—the one he always got when he caught you soft and sleep-rumpled, still tangled in the remnants of dreams, your cheek creased from where you’d been pressed against him.

And God, he loved it.

Loved the way you always curled into him in your sleep, loved the way you reached for him without thinking. Loved that you always found your way back.

He shifted, the mattress dipping slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow. His hand—those big, careful hands—slid up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"You drooled on me again," he mused, ever the menace, his grin widening when you gasped in outrage.

"I did not—!"

"Mhm." He nodded, all mock solemnity. "Right here. Think I might have to start charging rent for all the real estate you take up on my chest every night."

You shoved at him, but you were laughing now, and that was all that mattered.

He caught your wrist before you could retreat too far, tugging you effortlessly back into his orbit. His fingers were gentle, curling loosely around yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns over your knuckles.

"Don’t run off just yet," he murmured, quieter this time, softer. His voice was a slow, sweet thing, unspooling in the golden hush of morning.

And maybe it was the way the sunlight hit him just right, casting soft amber halos at the edges of his hair. Maybe it was the way his gaze never wavered, locked onto you like he was memorising every inch, every little sleep-creased detail. Or maybe it was just him—just Sam, looking at you like you were the best part of waking up.

Either way, you stayed.

Of course you stayed.

You let yourself sink back against him, let yourself be gathered up into his warmth as he exhaled slow and content. His hand found its way back to your spine, splaying firm and steady, right where it belonged.

And when you started yapping about the song stuck in your head—something about Hozier, something about a lyric you’d been turning over in your mind—he just smiled, dimples deep, and listened.

Because, God help him—he would listen to you talk about anything forever.

"Here—put it on."

Sam reached for your phone on the nightstand, fingers brushing over the worn book that had been resting there overnight—your latest read, pages softened from where you’d thumbed through them. He handed you the phone without taking his eyes off you, that lazy, morning-soft smile still tugging at his lips.

You blinked, momentarily distracted, still caught between the warmth of sleep and the weight of him beneath you.

"Which one?"

"The one that's already stuck in your head." He said it like it was obvious. Like it was the only answer.

So you pressed play.

The soft, aching pull of strings filled the space between you first, gentle and familiar, before the melody swelled—Hozier’s voice sinking through the room like honey dissolving into tea.

"I still watch you when you're groovin'..."

The moment it started, Sam closed his eyes and smiled.

Not just any smile. That smile. The slow, easy one that started deep—the kind that dimpled, the kind that wasn’t just on his lips but in the way his breath hitched, in the way his shoulders softened.

He let the first few lines roll through him, sinking back into the pillows, completely in it. And when he finally looked at you again, eyes half-lidded, warm like the first spill of sunlight over sheets, he murmured, "Oh, this is a good one."

Like you didn’t already know.

You grinned, shifting so you could stretch out next to him properly, one arm draped lazily over his chest.

"Alright, professor," you teased, voice still scratchy from sleep. "What do you think? What’s he saying?"

Sam huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before exhaling slow.

"It’s about movement, obviously—"

"Oh, wow, brilliant analysis, Sam. Stunning insight. Absolutely revelatory—"

"Shut up," he laughed, grinning even wider now, reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, swatting his hand away. "Just listen."

You did.

"You are a call to motion... There, all of you a verb in perfect view..."

Sam hummed low in his throat. "See that? The phrasing of it? He’s not just watching someone move—he’s saying they are movement. They’re the thing itself."

Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, considering. "Like… a force of nature."

"Exactly." His fingers tapped absently against your hip, mind already unraveling the meaning. "He’s not describing them as graceful, or powerful, or fluid—he’s saying they’re all of it. He’s saying the way they move… moves him."

Your breath caught.

Because of course that’s what Sam took from it. Of course he understood.

"I can recall something that’s gone from me... When you move, honey, I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free..."

You sat up a little, brows knitting together as you chewed on that line. "That part always gets me. Like—why? Why ‘flawed and free’?"

Sam’s lips pressed together, thoughtful. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm as he considered.

"Because it’s human," he said finally, voice low, reverent. "Because perfection isn’t what moves people. It’s the cracks, the imperfections, the things that make someone real. That’s what sticks with you."

Your chest ached at that.

Because that was him. That was so Sam. Finding beauty in the messy, imperfect parts.

"Shake like the bough of a willow tree... You do it naturally..."

"God, the imagery," you sighed, your hand curling into his shirt like it would help you hold onto the feeling. "Willow trees don’t break, Sam. They bend."

His fingers stilled against your skin.

And for a second, he just looked at you. Like you’d just said something that shifted the whole earth beneath him.

His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but—

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for you.

One sure, steady hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your face up as his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and deliberate. And before you could even think, before you could catch your breath, he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just deep, slow, and aching.

Like the song. Like he couldn’t help it. Like you moved him.

The kiss stretched long and slow, a sunrise in itself.

His lips moved against yours with aching patience, deep and sure, like he had all the time in the world—because he did. Because there was no rush, no urgency, just this moment, this warmth, this slow-drifting love.

The sunlight spilling through the window turned everything golden, brushing soft against your skin, catching in his hair, pooling over the sheets. It was thick like honey, wrapping around the two of you, holding you in its glow.

Warm. Sweet. Slow.

Sam’s hand—big, steady, reverent—cradled the back of your head, his thumb stroking lazy arcs along the curve of your cheekbone. He kissed you like you were something sacred, like he was memorising the way you felt beneath his mouth.

And God, you could’ve stayed there forever.

But then—

"Come on, or we’ll never get up," he murmured, lips still brushing against yours.

You huffed against him, reluctant.

Sam smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his whole face—dimples deep, eyes soft with affection, his expression bathed in that early-morning glow.

Then, before you could protest, he sat up, stretching his long limbs, tugging you effortlessly with him.

"C’mon, Sweetheart."

He reached for your nightstand as he stood, grabbing the book you’d been reading the night before, his fingers curling around the worn cover like it was familiar. Then, without letting go of your hand, he led you out into the hall, the book tucked in one hand, your fingers laced through the other.

And that was how you made your way to the kitchen. Hand in hand, words and warmth between you.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and old wood, warm from the soft morning light filtering through the windows. The golden hues stretched long over the floorboards, catching on the vase of sunflowers sitting in the centre of the table.

You settled into your usual seat, curling your legs beneath you, thumbing idly through the book Sam had carried in. Soft pages, familiar creases, a world waiting between the covers.

Across the kitchen, Sam moved effortlessly, grabbing the coffee mugs, setting the pot to drip.

The quiet was comfortable. Soft radio static, birds beyond the window, the rhythmic shuffle of Sam moving around the space you shared.

You flipped to your bookmark—except…

You frowned, because it wasn’t a bookmark at all. Just a folded piece of paper, carefully tucked between the pages. Curious, you pulled it free. Unfolded it.

Your breath hitched.

Sam’s handwriting.

Small, slightly slanted, scrawled in blue ink that had settled deep into the fibres of the paper.

Sweetheart,

You fell asleep with the page open again. I figured I’d save your place before you lost it completely. But since I’m already writing, I might as well tell you something else. I love the way you read. Not just the books, but the world. The way you look at things, the way you take them apart and put them back together with wonder, with softness. The way you see me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been looked at the way you look at me. I don’t know if I’ve ever deserved it. But God, do I love you for it.

—Sam

You brushed your thumb over the words, tracing the ink, lingering on them, like touching them would help you absorb them completely. Warmth bloomed in your chest, soft and full and almost too much. And then, as you sat there, heart soaked in sunlight and love, Sam placed a coffee mug in front of you.

When you looked up, he was already smiling.

"I couldn’t help it," he murmured, dipping his head slightly, sheepish but unapologetic.

Your throat tightened.

"Sam."

That was all you could say. Just his name, just that, because there were too many things sitting heavy in your chest, too much feeling, too much warmth.

Sam’s gaze softened even more—like it was possible for him to look at you any softer. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, thumb brushing over the place his words had already touched.

He didn’t need you to say anything. He already knew.

"Drink your coffee," he said, voice low and fond. "Read a little."

He picked up his own mug, nodding toward the window, toward the golden morning stretching beyond it.

"I wanna go for a walk while it’s nice out."

Like it was nothing. Like this—slow mornings, coffee and notes tucked between book pages, easy affection and golden-hour love—was just what you did.

And really, it was.

Because he loved you. And he wanted you to know it.

Sam left you to read while he went to get dressed, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You curled deeper into your chair, your fingers idly brushing over the edge of his note as you sipped the last of your coffee. The morning was still quiet, golden light spilling warm through the window, stretching in soft bands over the table, the sunflowers, the slow swirl of steam lifting from Sam's mug.

By the time Sam returned, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little sleep-mussed, he ruffled a hand through it and nodded toward the hall.

"You should get changed too, Sweetheart," he said, voice low, warm. "We should get going before it gets too hot out."

You hummed in agreement, slipping from your seat, setting your mug in the sink before making your way toward the bedroom.

And the moment you stepped inside, you noticed it. His sweater. Folded neatly on the bed. It hadn’t been there when you’d gotten up. He’d left it for you. On purpose.

A slow, deep warmth unfurled in your chest, soft and golden and so very Sam.

You picked it up, running your fingers over the thick fabric—worn soft, smelling like him, cedar and coffee and something you couldn’t quite name but always recognised as home.

So, of course, you put it on. It drowned you immediately, the sleeves falling well past your hands, the hem brushing against your thighs, the collar loose at your neck. Perfect. You pressed your nose into the fabric for a second, smiling, warmth thrumming through your bones.

And then—you remembered.

The flowers.

You stepped toward your nightstand, bending down to grab the book tucked beneath it—a well-loved copy of something you’d read a thousand times, pages softened with time, spine lined with creases.

You flipped it open carefully, fingers achingly gentle. And there they were. Buttercups, lavender sprigs, tiny forget-me-nots. Pressed flat, perfectly dried.

A fresh rush of warmth bloomed in your chest. This meant you could pick more while you were out.

But for now? For now, you had something else to do.

Stepping toward Sam’s nightstand, you reached for the book he’d left there—one of the thick classics he always lost himself in, pages dog-eared despite his careful nature. You flipped to his bookmark, fingers brushing over the paper before slipping your pressed flowers inside, tucking them right between the pages.

He’d find them later.

And when he did? He’d know. Because this—this was how you loved each other. Bookmarks and buttercups, coffee and handwritten notes. The quiet, careful things.

When you stepped back into the kitchen, Sam turned. And he froze. His lips parted slightly, brows flicking up, and oh. Oh.

That look.

That wrecked, undone, absolutely gone look. His eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch, every soft fold of fabric drowning you, every too-long sleeve swallowing your hands.

He swallowed.

"Jesus, Sweetheart," he murmured, low and wrecked, voice like slow thunder before a storm. "You trying to kill me?"

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, innocent. "What?"

He exhaled sharply. Ran a hand over his jaw. And then, without warning, he was on you.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you—one firm and broad against your back, the other sliding up to your jaw, thumb swiping slow beneath your eye.

And then he kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Deep. Tongue sweeping into your mouth, pulling a noise from you that he swallowed whole.

His grip tightened, fingers pressing into your back, like he was anchoring himself to you. The edge of the counter bit into your lower back, but you didn’t care—not when he was kissing you like this.

Like he couldn’t help himself. Like you wearing his sweater had flipped some switch in his brain. Like you had ruined him entirely.

You fisted your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting into him as his teeth nipped lightly at your lower lip, sucking it between his own before chasing it with his tongue.

God. God.

Sam kissed like he read—deep, slow, intentional. Like he needed to feel every letter, every syllable, every ache. And for a second, just a second, you thought—

Maybe we never go on that walk.

But then he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes—dark, warm, drowning in something so deep you swore you could fall in. His thumb swiped under your eye again, softer this time.

He swallowed, voice wrecked and low.

"I love when you wear my stuff," he murmured, and it wasn’t just words, it was a confession. A truth laid bare.

Your chest ached at it.

And then, just like that, he took a steady breath, eased back, though his hands lingered on you—like he couldn’t quite let go.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he murmured, still breathless, still looking at you like you’d done something irreparable to his heart. "Let’s go pick some flowers."

The morning air was crisp, but not cold, the kind of cool that would burn off by midday, leaving nothing but blue sky behind. The trees swayed slow and drowsy in the breeze, their leaves casting gentle shadows across the dirt path.

And you? You talked.

God, you talked.

About a dream you half-remembered from last night, about how you thought you saw a shooting star the other night but weren’t sure if it was just a plane. About the books on your nightstand you needed to finish, about the theories you had for the ending of one of them, about how you weren’t sure if you’d ever actually seen a real four-leaf clover before, but you were determined to find one someday.

And Sam?

He listened. Listened the way he always did. Fully, deeply, like there was nothing else in the world.

Because it wasn’t just the things you said—it was the way you said them. The way your eyes twinkled when you got excited, the way you sometimes didn’t even finish a thought, just barrelled headfirst into the next one, already lit up with something new. The way you gestured when you spoke, flitting between topics like a hummingbird, full of boundless, unstoppable energy.

And every now and then—you’d scamper off.

You’d veer slightly off the path, darting toward the tall grass and kneeling to gather a bunch of wildflowers that looked too perfect to leave behind.

Sam already knew why.

You wanted to press them. You wanted them frozen forever, just the way they were. And God, if that wasn’t the sweetest, most you thing.

After a while, things fell into a natural quiet. The kind of soft, comfortable silence that only existed between people who knew each other down to their bones.

You reached for more flowers, and without a word, Sam shifted the ones you’d already picked into his free hand.

Letting you keep going. Letting you gather all the pieces of beauty you wanted to hold onto.

He smiled to himself.

And then you started humming. Soft at first, just under your breath. A melody he recognised instantly.

Nobody’s Soldier.

A slow grin tugged at Sam’s lips. And before he could even stop himself, he joined in—singing, terribly, but still singing.

"If I tell you this is drowning, you'd tell me I'm walking on water."

You gasped, delighted, laughing as you glanced up at him. “Sam, you’re so off-key—”

"I know," he grinned, "but I’m committed now."

And you just shook your head, laughing, before launching back into the next verse, your voice clear and warm and lovely.

By the time the chorus came around, you were both singing. Him, off-key. You, beautiful.

Him, watching you. Completely, utterly, unconditionally in love.

When the song finally ended, you exhaled deeply, content, stretching your arms toward the sky.

"God, that song is so good," you sighed, brushing your fingers over the petals of a buttercup before gently plucking it.

Sam hummed, watching you, thoughtful.

"You ever think about that one line?" He asked, shifting his grip on your hand. “I don’t wanna choose between being a salesman or a soldier.”

You glanced up, intrigued. "Yeah? What about it?"

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the tree line as he turned the words over in his mind.

"It’s about choice. About… refusing to fit into someone else’s definition. Someone else’s idea of what you should be."

You blinked at him, then looked down at the flowers in your hand.

Pressed flowers. The ones you chose to keep, to freeze, to make last. Like pieces of a world that was constantly shifting, constantly moving too fast for anyone to hold onto.

And suddenly, you saw the parallel.

You smiled softly.

"You mean like how I keep trying to hold onto flowers?"

Sam huffed a laugh, tilting his head. "Maybe."

"But I don’t keep all of them," you pointed out, glancing at the wildflowers still standing untouched in the field. "Just the ones that feel right. Just the ones I love enough to want to keep."

Sam’s steps slowed. His fingers tightened slightly around yours.

Because, God.

That was so you. Choosing what to hold onto, what to keep, what to love.

Not because someone told you to. Not because you had to. Just because you wanted to.

And maybe, just maybe—that’s how you loved him, too. Just because you wanted to. Just because you looked at him, in all his flaws, in all his cracks, and still—you stayed.

Sam swallowed, lips parting slightly, eyes tracing your face in the golden light. But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just squeezed your hand. And you? You squeezed back. And together, with wildflowers in one hand and each other in the other, you walked on.

By the time you made it back, the air had begun to thicken with warmth, the kind that came with the promise of midday heat. The world outside had turned brighter, louder, more golden, but inside—inside was still soft.

Sam followed you to the bedroom, watching as you carefully spread parchment across the surface of the bed, delicately laying each flower across its surface. Lavender sprigs, daisies, baby's breath. Tiny pieces of nature, frozen in time.

And he helped. Of course he helped.

Handing you each bloom as you pressed them between the pages of your book, flattening them so the weight could do its job—like it had so many times before. The process was careful, deliberate, something sacred between you.

"Few weeks from now, these’ll be perfect," you murmured, smoothing a hand over the book’s cover before tucking it beneath your nightstand.

Sam just smiled.

Because you always said that. Every time, like it was the first time. Like it was magic. Like you never stopped being amazed that the world could give you something so beautiful, and let you keep it.

God, he loved you.

Lunch was simple—leftovers warmed up, easy conversation, sunshine spilling through the windows, pooling on the kitchen floor.

And, as always, you talked.

About how the colour yellow made you think of summer, how you liked the way baby’s breath dried out all delicate and airy, how you were thinking about collecting leaves too, because the reds and oranges always looked so pretty in scrapbooks.

And Sam? He just watched you. Watched you the way he always did—soft, steady, drinking in every part of you like it was the last time he’d ever get the chance.

Because the thing about you was, you weren’t just talking. You were feeling. You were seeing the world in colours, in textures, in meaning, and you weren’t just keeping it to yourself—you were giving it to him, too. Letting him into your world, into the way you saw things, into all the little pieces of beauty you chose to keep.

And God, you were beautiful.

Not just your face. Not just the curve of your smile, or the way your eyes brightened when you got excited. But all of you. The way you felt things so deeply. The way you never stopped collecting pieces of the world that made you happy. The way you spoke about the little things like they mattered—because to you, they did.

And Sam—Sam had never loved anything the way he loved you.

You were his Sweetheart. His sunshine. The only thing in the world he wanted to press between the pages of time and keep forever.

That night, when you both curled into bed, he didn’t want to sleep yet.

Not when he could touch you. Not when he could taste you. Not when he could spend the last moments of the day pressed between your thighs, dragging his tongue across your skin, pulling the softest, sweetest sounds from your lips.

Because the truth was, you were made of sunlight. Warmth and light, golden and soft.

And Sam had spent his whole life standing in the shadows. Drenched in cold, lost in dark places, hands stained with things he tried not to remember.

But you? You were a sunrise, an eclipse, a miracle. And he wanted to drown in you.

So he took his time. Let his hands map the length of you, broad and reverent, tracing slow circles into your skin as he kissed his way down, down, down—until his mouth was on you, and you were falling apart beneath him.

Your fingers knotted into his hair, pulling, breath catching, voice breaking on his name.

And Sam—Sam savoured it. Savoured every whimper, every stuttered inhale, every breathless plea. He soaked in your pleasure like it was liquid gold, like it was something divine.

Because, in truth?

It was. You were. And he would worship at the altar of you forever.

The night settled around you like a slow exhale, soft and warm, the air humming with the last remnants of the day. The bedroom was dim, lit only by the golden glow of the bedside lamp, throwing long shadows across the walls, casting everything in honey and hush.

Sam pulled you into his chest, the way he did every night. Like ritual, like devotion. Like he wouldn’t know how to sleep without you curled against him.

His arms wrapped firm and steady around you, one broad hand splayed across your back, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles through the fabric of his sweater—the same one you’d put on that morning, the same one you were still drowning in now.

His heartbeat was slow, solid.

And you—you were exactly where you belonged. You felt him shift slightly, reaching for his book on the nightstand.

"You still awake?" He murmured, voice low, all sleep-soft and sweet.

You hummed, nuzzling against his chest. "Mhm. Read to me."

He smiled, because of course you were. You always fell asleep to the sound of his voice, let yourself be lulled by the low, steady cadence of it, the weight of words spilling soft and slow into the dark.

So he cracked the book open—

And suddenly—

A handful of flowers tumbled out, scattering across his chest, landing in the mess of your hair where you lay against him.

Sam froze. Blinking, breath hitching slightly as his eyes tracked the tiny pieces of pressed perfection. Buttercups. Lavender sprigs. Forget-me-nots.

His chest went tight. And then—he felt you move. Felt you tip your head back against him, grinning up at him, wide-eyed, caught between excitement and mischief.

Sam let out a slow, breathless laugh.

God.

You were everything.

His throat worked around a swallow as he set the book aside, fingers grazing over the flowers, gathering a few between his fingertips. And then he was looking at you—really looking at you. Eyes tracing the golden glow along your cheekbones, the way your hair spread like a halo against him, the tiny little pressed petals caught in the strands.

He lifted one hand, tucking a piece of lavender behind your ear, thumb brushing the side of your face.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, so soft it was almost reverent. "You are sunshine personified."

Your breath caught.

Sam watched the way your expression softened, the way your fingers curled against his chest, the way you looked at him like he was something precious.

"I love you," he said.

And it wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t fleeting. It was weighty, steady, deeply felt. It was the kind of thing that would linger in the marrow of your bones long after the words were gone.

Your lips parted, eyes gleaming, smile stretching slow and full and golden.

And when you whispered, "I love you too,"

Sam felt it everywhere.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready <3

[darlingbabyboo]

Hiii! To begin with I just wanna say that I love ur work and the way you write, it's literally the highlight of my day! <3 Can I request fluffy headcanons about the kawata twins? ( because we all know those two babies are super underrated and it's such a mood-killer to not be able to find any good fics about them ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ ) Seriously, the amount of fics about them is SO limited that I'm desperate at this point :') Thank you in advance! ❤️

Fluffy Headcanons w/ Souya and Nahoya Kawata!

It's so true, these two are criminally underrated and they're such good characters and I love them with all my heart my god. Thank you so much <3 for the compliments and sorry that I'm doing this so late. I already did something similar with Angry, so his section might be a little shorter than Smiley!

Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

Okay I know you want fluff but Smiley was ranked number 3 from Top Worst Boyfriends 😭😭😭

He was ranked number 2 from the Best Runners and that's bcs he's so good at running away from his problems

He is a little bitch and a menace to society

You want attention?

He wants to go the mall and pretend you don't exist

You want affection?

Well he wants to go to bed leave him alone :/

You want a cutesy petname?

Isn't babe good enough for you?

He has a whole lotta issues okay and he is not the best at giving you the attention that you deserve

He's also a little mean tbh

Just because you think your sweater is cute doesn't mean he does 🤨

He's also shitty with comforting you

He sees you crying and he just stares at you 😐

This sounds really bad so far but the thing about Smiley is that when he commits to someone he fucking commits

He knows that he's not the best (Angry loves reminding him that everyday) but he really fucking tries

Yeah he's jackshit at comforting you at first but when he realizes that you're obsessed he'll do his best to make you feel better

Homemade food to make you feel better, saying sweet words to you or just staying by your side so you know that he won't leave your side

He's your ride and die

He knows that he might be harsh too and balances with sweetness

He might not like sweater but ig you guys can go to the mall and you can get whatever you want or smth, you want a manicure sure whatever you want, of course you can get that shirt you look great in it whatever it's no big deal 🙄

He loves you okay he's not the best at expressing all the time but you're everything to him ❤️

Souya Kawata (Angry)

Boyfriend goals 😍

He's a worshipper okay, you're not just his partner you are his god

He will do anything for you

Hungry?

Five course homemade meal already made

Tired

Lay down, the bed's made, the pillow's cold and the blankets are fluffy

Are you stressed for your test?

All day study buddy right here, doesn't even care if he doesn't understand what you're studying, he's gonna do the best he can to support you

If you wear makeup I 100% believe Angry would be the type of person to help remove your makeup after a long day

He's also the type to ask a million questions while you're doing makeup it can be a bit irritating but it's coming from a sweet place

Loves stuffed animals and is willing to share the love

Gifts you stuffies all the time (his favourite is the conger eel, that's so cute I love him too much ❤️❤️❤️)

You two would have dates where you bring your favourite stuffies or where you chill on each other's bed with your stuffies 🤗🤗🤗

His brother makes fun of him for how whipped he is and while he's a little embarrassed, he is not ashamed of you

Why would he be embarrassed you're perfect, who wouldn't worship you 🥰