#it's fine it won't fit with the text

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Is blue talking to fell?

Blue: YEAH. HE'S MY FRIEND. Blue: SOMETIMES DEALING WITH DREAM AND INK CAN BE TOO MUCH, SO I GO HANG OUT WITH HIM. Blue: (PLEASE DON'T TELL THEM I SAID THAT)

Phone contact: vermillion bitch (/paff) vb (texting): running late srry bb Blue (texting): BB?? LIKE BABY BLUE?? vb (texting): yeah Blue (texting): THAT BETTER NOT BE WHAT I AM IN YOUR PHONE CONTACTS vb (texting): i would never Blue (texting): PERISH

[girlitfeelsgood]

I'm freeeeee

[detransdamnation]

I often comfort myself with having built memories when things in my life come to a seeming or confirmed end... and yet come to think of it, ironic as it is for me to say, when I think of things outside of my own self-growth, I really don't think of what has come to an end anymore. My last "actual" friend group lasted about two years and I never could have imagined life without them—and yet here I am that same amount of time later plus one year more, doing just as fine as I did before I met them. Every once in a while, they will visit me in a brief flash... but generally speaking, they don't ever come up. Things which used to immediately bring them to mind have now returned back to their rightful place blending into everyday monotony. I can recall maybe one inside joke we used to have off the top of my head and that remembrance no longer comes in big belly laughs, but polite chuckles underneath my breath. And it's not that it's any less funnier. It's just that I've had so many more experiences that make me laugh so much harder.

And that those specific memories are scarce and their retrievals even fewer and their emotions having changed could not ever discount what we used to have. It just goes to show how "this, too, shall pass" need still apply to the good—and the fact the good shall pass does not make inherent bad. It makes life. And maybe... maybe we will be as fine as we were before that good came and went.

[chlix]

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there)

bf! chan x gn! reader: your car breaks down in a snowstorm and you have to walk home. chan is there to comfort you and warm you back up

pairing: chan x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 4.1k

warnings/tags: snowstorms, car trouble, sickness, a long series of unfortunate events that leave the reader miserable for most of the fic

a/n: this is a request from @caticorn61 who wanted chan being apologetic for not answering his phone after reader's car broke down. this is perhaps more than what u asked for 😅 but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

You are on a historic run of bad days.

You've never considered yourself to be particularly unlucky, but this past week has had you rethinking that orientation. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. On Monday your alarm didn't go off, making you late for work. Even worse, there was a meeting you'd forgotten about, so you had to slide awkwardly into the back of the room and pretend you didn't feel everyone's annoyed gazes. Tuesday was grocery shopping day, but you found out they discontinued your favorite brand of chips, and raised the price of an alternative, so you were forced to go home chip-less. Then, when you tried to take the groceries out of the car, one of the bags split open and sent your eggs, cheese, and blueberries crashing to the ground, buried in slush and snow. A total waste. Wednesday you woke up to find your heating had shut off in the night, and you were now shaking fit to break apart. Although maintenance promptly fixed your radiator, you developed an itch in your throat that only grew throughout the day and had developed into a full-blown cough by the next morning.

Which is where you are now on a subzero Thursday morning, ill and irritated and crawling your way towards the end of the week.

Your boyfriend, Chan, talks to you on the phone in soothing tones.

"I'm sorry your week has been so rough, baby," he says, and you can hear the dripping sympathy through the phone. "I know how it feels when little things pile up like that."

"I just don't know if I can take it anymore," you tell him. "It's like I've been cursed. I'm afraid if I walk outside a piano will fall on me and crush me."

You're half-joking when you say that, but Chan can hear that the other half is vaguely on hysterical.

"I don't think anyone is moving pianos in this weather," he says very reasonably. "Just stay away from luxury apartments if you're worried."

You set your bag down and put your face in your hands, taking slow, deep breaths. Your phone is on speaker, and you can hear Chan hum, trying to comfort you even though he's in his own dorm across the city.

"It'll all be okay, Y/n. And I'll see you this weekend, yeah? I'll come over Friday night and you'll have me all to yourself. Just stay strong."

You exhale, long and loud. "You promise?"

"I promise. Be strong for me, babygirl."

You blink the dampness out of your eyes and straighten up. "Okay. I can do that."

"And drink some tea. Your voice sounds kind of rough."

"Don't get me started again, please."

By the time you hang up, you don't feel understood, but you do feel seen. You fill up a thermos with tea, put on your coat, and mentally prepare yourself to leave the apartment.

It's only two more days, you remind yourself. The weekend will fix me. It'll break this curse that's been placed upon me. You force yourself to have a positive outlook. You will not have another bad day. You will be strong.

All day, you force yourself to react to every potentially meltdown-inducing incident with grace and poise. You realize you forgot your lunch and have to eat cheap candy from the vending machine for lunch? That's totally fine. Your boss adds another item to your to list, forcing you to stay later to finish everything and close up? You really don't mind. Your best friend texts you that she's been stalking her ex on Instagram again and you won't believe it but he already has a new girlfriend, y/n, can you fucking believe it, we've only been broken up for like two weeks and he's buying her fucking jewelry, and you respond what an asshole. he has a new gf and he didn't block his ex? while your eye twitches.

By the time you finish all your tasks and close up, your face hurts from holding a smile you don't feel. You're the last one out, so you make sure the building is locked and make your way across the empty parking lot to your car. The forecast predicted snow tonight, and already the ground is littered with white. The flakes are fat and sticky- they're already building up on the undisturbed portions of pavement. You have to quickly brush off your windows and mirrors before you can get into your car, slamming the door behind you.

You made it. You survived. It was a godawful Thursday but you conquered it.

"One more day," you whisper to yourself. "Just one more day."

You lock the door and put the key in the ignition. The dashboard lights up and the engine turns.....and turns....and turns.....

A rock forms in your stomach.

"No," you say. "No no no no no." You twist the key again, but the engine whirs and whirs and whirs...and does not turn over. Your car does not start.

It's not news to you that your car is a piece of shit. You and Chan discuss this almost every night- what to do about this fuckass car. You've been resistant to letting him help you pay for a new one, partially because that's a lot of money and partly because you're sentimentally attached to the old rustbucket. You inherited it from a family member as a birthday gift, and so despite it being less than reliable you're hesitant to seek solutions. It's your first car, after all. It's a part of you now.

In this moment, however, you want to throw all that sentimentally down the drain along with the keys to this absolutely useless fucking rustbucket of a vehicle.

Not to worry, you tell yourself. I'll just call Chan to come get me. We can deal with my car in the morning.

You take out your phone and call him. The call rings out.

You stare at your phone, confused. It's not like him to ignore your calls, especially not at this hour. It's pitch black with winter but it's still arguably early in the night. Chan is likely to still be awake, but it's unlikely he's doing any kind of official task. And it's so late that he would know to answer; you would never call him for something frivolous at this time of night. You call again.

No answer.

Your patience is running thin now. You consider calling your best friend, but she's out of town visiting family. Your other friend, Seohyeon, doesn't have a car, and her boyfriend's car is currently being repaired. The bus you sometimes take is about a fifteen minute walk down the street, but it'll have stopped running this far out by now, so you'd have to walk to a further bus stop and then go to the transportation terminal and connect, which would take over an hour. You could walk to the subway, you think, but you lost your subway card weeks ago and never got around to replacing it, and honestly it just seems like a whole ordeal you can't bring yourself to stomach right now. Chills go down your spine, and you can't tell if it's from the cold or from the increasing precarity of your situation.

You try the engine again. No dice.

You call Chan again. Voicemail again.

You lean your head on the steering wheel and take long, deep breaths. Outside your window, the wind is picking up, making the snow fall at a diagonal instead of straight down. It would be terrible to walk in, especially because the direction you need to go to get home would cause the snow to blow right in your face. Your throat is killing you, but your thermos of tea is long since empty. Maybe you should just go back into the work building and hunker down for the night. Maybe you should sit in the car and turn into an icicle. Your head is a foggy mess, thoughts twisting all around. You're getting hysterical again. You can feel yourself cracking to pieces.

Think, y/n. Who else can you call?

You're all out of people you know personally, but you could call an Uber. It's pricey and arguably unsafe, and you normally wouldn't, but these are extenuating circumstances. It solves the problem of being stranded, and again, you can deal with your car at a later point. And at least when Chan finally calls you back, you'll be safe at home, so he won't have to feel guilty about missing your calls three times.

You lean back in your seat and open the Uber app. Thankfully you still have it installed, and it still has all your info in it from the last time you called someone to take you home. Just as you're about to finish the transaction, your phone freezes. The screen flashes, then goes dark. You press the power button once, then again, frantically.

Your phone is dead.

Immediately, you scramble for your console, searching for a power cable to connect the phone to the car battery. Your cable is gone. You remember, horrified, that you took the cable out of your car because the one in your living room at home had started fraying. You meant to replace it but you never did. You're normally pretty good at leaving the house in the morning with it mostly charged.

But it's nighttime now, and your battery is dead. You have no charging cables, which means you can't call an Uber. You can't call anybody. And you can't even go to the subway now because your debit card is on your phone, so you can't refill your subway card.

A terrible despair fills you.

You have to walk home in a snowstorm.

As soon as the thought materializes, tears start to well in your eyes. This is too much for you to take, would be too much for you even if you'd had a perfectly good day today. This isn't fait. How can this be happening to you? Why is the universe punishing you like this? And when is it going to stop? Again you wish you could just sit in your car and turn into an icicle, let someone else defrost you in the morning. You think having a piano fall on your head would be better than this.

Eventually you manage to get yourself to calm down. Sitting in this car freezing isn't gonna do you any good. It'll only get colder by the hour. You need to walk to the far bus stop and catch another bus before they actually stop running, and you really are stranded instead of just doomed to walk forty minutes in a blizzard.

As if there's a difference, you think bitterly as you put your useless phone into your bag and bundle everything up. You put your gloves back on, and your hat. You step out of your car, slamming the door behind you, and zip up your jacket. Of course, you hadn't thought to wear a scarf today, so your face will just have to freeze. After only 30 seconds you feel your lips cracking.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay okay okay okay."

You set off in the direction of the bus.

-/-

The journey is long and cold. It's not so much the temperature as the fact that you never have the chance to get used to it because it just keeps getting holder as the night wears on. It takes a ridiculously long time to walk to the bus stop, because you're fighting headwind every step of the way. You want to close your eyes against the snow, but if you do that you'll veer off course or fall into the road or trip on an ice slick and die, so you brave the stinging and push forward. Then you wait at the bus stop so long that your already sore feet start to scream with pain. Your phone is dead, so there's no way for you to track the bus, but you conclude you must have just missed the previous one as it takes a full thirty minutes for it to come again. By the time the bus pulls up in front of you, your feet are almost buried, and when you take your seat, every part of you squelches and slides as the snow melts, drenching your clothes.

The bus is at least warm, and so is the transport center, but the second bus drops you off another twenty-five minute walk from your apartment and you're forced to walk- you guessed it!- uphill. Your calves are screaming from the exertion, and from cold, and from keeping your balance as you trudge through the piling snow. You have a death grip on your keys- if they were to fall out somewhere between work and home you would simply lie down on the ground and let the snow bury you. It would be more than you could take. But your keys stay in your tightly clenched fists, and soon your apartment building becomes visible through the dark and haze. You want to cry tears of relief but your tear ducts are frozen shut.

By the time you traipse up the steps of your apartment, you feel more popsicle than person. You are so cold. Your hands shake so much it takes you a few tries to get the keys from your pocket and stick them in the lock. You step inside, sagging as the heat blasts you in the face. All you want to do is collapse into bed and curl under your blankets where the world can't see you, to get a little bit of sleep before your torture begins anew tomorrow. The thought of going to work on Friday strikes a physical pain in you. You've barely survived today, and yet tomorrow looms terrible just out of reach.

You go to turn on the lights only to realize that the lights are already on. Your heart skips a beat. Did someone break into your apartment? Should you turn around and flee? But you don't have a car, and you certainly aren't walking back to the bus stop. You have nowhere to go.

A figure turns the corner and you flinch back, hands half-raised in some pathetic attempt to defend yourself-

It's Chan. He turns the corner and it's your boyfriend, standing on your tile floor in sweats and a big sweater, eyes bright and twinkling with how excited he is to see you.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chan says. "You're finally back. I saw you called earlier and got worried something was wrong."

You burst into tears. You're crying before you even know it, violent sobs that shake you and make water droplets roll off your soaked hair. Salt burns your frozen tear ducts, and snow is slipping down your collar, but all these small discomforts are overshadowed by the pure and all-consuming relief that your boyfriend is here in the flesh, asking after you and taking care of you, and you can finally stop fighting to keep it together. You can rest.

Chan makes a sound of alarm and rushes forward to grab you as you start to list.

"Baby? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Christ, you look terrible. Are you sick?" He tries to put his hand against your forehead but pulls it away just as fast. "You're cold as ice, y/n."

"I w-walked home," you try to explain. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and it's hard to get enough air to speak through your sobs. "Car broke down, phone died, b-bus was late."

"Fuck, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry. That sounds terrible."

His validation of your misery just makes you cry harder. Chan pulls you into a fierce hug and you bury your face in his shoulder and absolutely lose it. All the stress of the last week crashes down on you at once, your misery overwhelming you. You grab at his clothes with gloved hands, and there's about four layers of clothes between you, and it's not enough, you want to be closer. But at the same time you can't make yourself pull away from Chan's embrace. He whispers soothing words in your ear, rocks you back and forth, presses closed mouth kisses to any part of you he can reach. He doesn't shush you, or try to calm you down. He just lets you have the emotional release he knows you sorely need.

When your cries start to slow, he gives you one final squeeze to catch your attention, and whispers, "We need to get you out of these clothes, hmm? Does that sound okay?"

You swallow the last of your sobs and nod morosely.

"Okay then. Let's take your jacket off. It's soaking wet by now."

You step back from Chan, still holding on to his arm as you stumble and sway. You're so tired. Standing up for even a second longer is too big of an ask.

"Just lean on me. It's okay, I won't let you fall."

Together, you unfasten and take off your heavy winter coat, letting it fall to the floor with the slush you dragged in. Chan is the one who crouches down to untie your shoes, and you lean on him for support as you remove one foot, then the other.

"Good job," he praises, pressing a kiss to your snow-soaked hair. "Let's get you warmed up now."

He leads you to the bathroom and starts the water running in the tub. You listlessly undress, leaning on the counter for support when you need it. While the tub is filling, Chan tries to leave, but you catch him by the shoulder on his way past you, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay?"

"Of course I'll stay," he says. "I just want to get you a change of clothes."

You hesitantly let go of him, and he flashes you a reassuring smile before he slips out. You sit down on the toilet and wait patiently for his return, watching the water fill the tub slowly and feeling your thoughts move sluggishly in your brain.

The sound of the water stopping jolts you back to the present. Chan is back, in a regular t-shirt this time, leaning over the bathtub to make sure the water is the right temperature. Deeming it good enough, he turns back to you and stretches out a hand to you.

As soon as you sit down in the warm water, you feel about ten times better. The warmth unties some of the tension that coils your muscles, and it quells the shivering that had started up as you were sitting on the toilet waiting to be told what to do. Chan urges you to slide down so you're almost submerged, making sure almost all your body is enveloped in warmth, and starts dumping warm water over your head, soaking your hair and washing out the remnants of grime and slush. He's quiet as he does it, humming a low tune, and you close your eyes and let him do as he wants. When he's done, he taps your shoulder, and you sit up, mourning the loss of warmth as your back and chest are exposed to the bathroom air.

"Do you mind?" he asks. You shake his head, uncaring of what he's referring to. You'd let him do anything to you in this state. It turns out "anything" means washing your back, so you again sit still and let him do as he pleases. The pressure of his hands and the sound of his voice, still humming, gradually soothe your mind and body. You stop shivering and tune back into your surroundings.

He's subtly watching your face, so he sees when you come back to yourself and drops his neutral expression. "Back with me?"

You nod. The floaty feelings from being cold and hysterical are gone, but that just means the exhaustion of your day is hitting you full force. You hold out your hand for the washcloth so you can clean the rest of yourself, and he hands it over, but doesn't move to leave, which you appreciate. Now that you're calmer, you think you might be a little more embarrassed asking him to stay.

"I know you said this morning you were cursed, but I didn't think you meant literally," he tries to joke.

You let out a long breath. "I didn't think I meant literally either."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug as you rub the washcloth along your legs, wincing when you remove your still-freezing toes from the water. "What can I say? It was a shit day at work with a shit ending."

"You said your car broke down."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You are not in the mood for this argument. "It just wouldn't start. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Y/n..." He doesn't say anything more. He knows as well as you do that you'll get nowhere. It's enough to set you off though, now that your exhaustion is making you irritatble.

"It wouldn't have mattered either way if you'd picked up the phone when I called you," you snap. It's unfair and you know it, but before you can begin to feel remorse, Chan's face turns to one of guilt.

"I know, I'm sorry. I still had it silenced from work and didn't realize. When I saw that you called me I tried to call back but the calls didn't go through."

"My phone died. That's why I didn't call an Uber."

Chan shakes his head. "I would call this comical if it wasn't so clearly stressing you out."

"You can still call it comical. Just not within earshot."

"Surely you think better of me than that."

"I do," you say, completely serious. "Sorry. I'm not mad you didn't answer. It's just been a shitty day."

Chan squeezes your shoulder in understanding. "It's alright. I get it."

"I'm really grateful you're here," you say, and you're getting choked up again, emotions all out of whack. "I've never been so happy to see anyone."

"You called three times. Since I couldn't get a hold of you, I hoped you'd still come home and we could talk here."

"You're too good to me."

"I'm exactly as good as you deserve." He leans down to kiss you, long and loving and warm, and the last of the chill in your bones slides away.

-/-

The next morning, Chan calls you in sick before you even wake up. He has to leave for the morning, but comes back around noon with ingredients to make you soup and tea, and rouses you for lunch with all the care and gentleness in the world.  He curls next to you in bed despite your protests that you'll get him sick, but then, it's not like you protest that hard. You're still feverish and needy, and maybe it's not the most ridiculous thing in the world to want to lie in your boyfriend's arms as you recover from what you're pretty sure is mild hypothermia mixed with the flu.

"We were gonna hang out this weekend," you say morosely. "Now I'm trapped in this bed and you're stuck taking care of me."

"Taking care of you is my favorite form of hanging out," he informs you, cleaning away the mug and bowl to bring back to the kitchen. "And hanging up the phone on your boss is my favorite passtime."

"You did not hang up on them," you gasp, hand over your mouth.

Chan shrugs, unbothered. "They seemed a little too annoyed about my request to not tow your car out of the parking lot. I made it very clear that it better be there when you get back on Monday or else."

"So selfless. You could've let them tow it and finally been victorious."

He turns from the kitchen and sits back down on the bed. "You like that car. I'm not going to keep insisting you get rid of it when it means so much to you. Even if I do blame it for the events of yesterday." You glare and he puts his hands up defensively. "If it's not my fault or your fault then I have to blame the car. Sorry not sorry."

"Blame the cursed spirit following me around," you say, sinking miserably into the blankets. "It possessed the engine of my car just to torment me."

"Even more reason to get rid of it."

You're feverish and tired, but the conversation makes you smile nonetheless. "Ask me again when my fever breaks if you still think I should keep it. Maybe it'll burn away the sentimental attachment."

"Don't get my hopes up."

You close your eyes as Chan kisses your forehead, and you slide easily into pleasant dreams.

[buckets-and-trees]

Pull the String

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Summary: Friday, September 28, 2017. You have to live a normal life after meeting a larger than life figure. It's doable, and you're not stuck in summer dreams, but you do think of him from time to time. Another encounter in the Exiled Nomad Series.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, kissing, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, overstimulation, hint of praise kink, internal ejaculation, overstimulation, emotional unavailability, a broken Nomad who thinks he's fine but definitely is not

Author Notes: I wanted to finish this for your birthday proper, @stargazingfangirl18, but alas, only managed for birthday week. It's not a standalone, so it technically won't fit into your Birthday Bonenanza, but I did use a prompt from your list (bolded dialogue). Credit to @biteofcherry for helping me flesh out Mark from accounting a little bit.

Previous Part | Series

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You blinked and then read the text message again.

Something’s come up, sorry, have to cancel tonight.

It was only twenty minutes before Mark was supposed to pick you up for dinner.

A third date dinner.

YOU: Are you okay?

You typed and sent the quick text back.

You saw the three dots that indicated his typing, then they disappeared. You frowned. This was really unlike him. Mark had been nothing but reliable and a gentleman since you’d met him. He worked in the accounting firm on one of the other floors of your office building, and you had seen each other a few times at the coffee shop on the main floor in the morning. He was smart, funny without being a goof. You felt wholly normal around him.

And after having your world rocked on earthquake levels by Captain America over the 4th of July holiday, normal was what you wanted.

MARK: Everything’s fine, but we should probably call this off.

“What?” you couldn’t help actually exclaiming out loud.

You scanned up and down over your texts.

YOU: Did I do something wrong or misread the situation?

You really didn’t think that you had. In fact, you were sure of it, but you’d let him explain just in case.

It had been a few weeks, and the texts had ebbed and flowed naturally. After your second date last Sunday, you’d exchanged a kiss that had been modest but had enough heat to it that it left you starting to think about more. And last night the texts between the two of you had gotten a little spicier than any previous exchanges. Nothing vulgar, but flirty enough that you had shaved your legs and had been debating all day over what to wear.

In your silk robe, makeup finished, and hair nearly done, apparently you didn’t need to make any wardrobe decisions other than slipping into a comfy t-shirt and leggings now.

MARK: No, it’s nothing you did, and I hope we can just be friends.

Your jaw dropped and you threw your phone across the room.

Friends?

You abandoned your mirror, no need to finish getting ready at this point, and went to pick up your phone.

Fuck Mark.

But you opened your text thread with him one final time.

YOU: No hard feelings, if it’s over it’s over, and we can be cordial if we run into each other, but honestly I’m not looking for more platonic friends.

Run-on sentence aside, you felt good about the text after you hit send, and you promptly blocked Mark’s number and deleted all the texts.

And what you said was mostly true.

You actually could use some more platonic friends in this town you’d lived in for less than a year, but you weren’t looking to be friends with guys who did but then didn’t want to date you.

But well into your thirties, you were so used to and exhausted by the runaround of talking, of the dating apps, of the first dates that fizzled into nothings – first dates that you rarely even agreed to go on anymore because it usually turned out to be a waste of time with men who were too boring or too horny. For a moment Mark had been a breath of fresh air, normal and nice and endearing.

And apparently not worth the time and effort you had sunk into the beginning of the blossoming relationship either.

Even at that thought, you were glad you had already followed your self-imposed rule of deleting messages, because you already had the itch to go back and re-read, and so it was good you had removed that temptation. No need to torture yourself.

You turned on your favorite album, cranked up the music, and ordered delivery from your favorite Italian restaurant with tiramisu and extra garlic bread.

You would watch your favorite movie, indulge in your favorite food, and later put yourself to bed with another chapter of the spicy romance novel you were reading and a nice session with your favorite vibrator.

Fuck Mark.

The app said your dinner would arrive in thirty-five minutes, so you slipped into leggings and one of your old comfy t-shirts, and flopped onto the couch to wait, the song from the opening credits of the movie making you feel just a little bit better.

At this stage of life, it was just annoying that Mark had called it off. Make it through dates three and four and people your age were reasonably sure they were headed down the relationship road together. At least that’s how you operated. You knew yourself enough that you weren’t dating someone to try and figure out who you were like you maybe had at times when you were younger, trying to live up to some expectation of society. You were busy enough that your free time was precious, and so you didn’t go on frivolous dates. Most important, as seemingly everyone around you had peeled off and gotten married while you remained perpetually single, you had to figure out if you could be happy alone, and you’d spent time to figure that out and truly find happiness. It was lonely sometimes, but overall you had built a good life, put your time into things that really satisfied you.

When you realized you were more annoyed at having to start over again than over losing Mark, you sighed and realized that was both a good and a bad sign. Good because you clearly weren’t going to be hung up on Mark, but bad because he really hadn’t meant much – you’d just wanted him to.

A small ache in your chest resurfaced.

The person you did miss was Steve Rogers.

And you held no bitterness there – it had been so clear for both of you that it was a summer holiday fling – but you did have some leftover longing.

Who could blame you?

When The Avengers had come together in New York in 2012, you had swooned over Thor, but there was something so steady, charming, and trustworthy about Captain America down to the bone that your admiration had developed into quite the crush. You knew the parasocial relationship that you and the rest of the world developed with him over the years was synthetic. It was fun and harmless.

But then you had met the real Steve Rogers in the flesh – and spent time flesh to flesh with him over the Fourth of July weekend.

The days you spent with him had been both intense and surreal. You had context to who he was from history books and the public persona, but the man behind the shield was naturally and infinitely more than what screens, books, and social media could ever portray. It was clear that being in exile from his country and on the run from most of the world due to their signing of the Sokovia Accords had changed him. But as you talked and spent time together, you suspected that losing his freedom had also freed him in some ways from the burdens of expectation and the colossal mantle and responsibilities of being Captain America.

He hadn’t given up his sense of duty to still help when and where he could, but he could simply be Steve.

In the nearly two days and two nights you’d spent together almost constantly in each other’s company, you’d shared so much, talking over things that were both trivial and meaningful as the conversations evolved. You’d spent time in serene silence together as well.

All of that felt stolen out of the pages of a book on its own.

But then there had also been the sex.

So much super soldier sex.

Rough, intense, sensual, exquisite, and all-consuming.

All of it – the physical and emotional – had been more intimate than anything else you had ever experienced.

Logically you had also come to realize that the pure fact that you both knew the time was so limited and fleeting undoubtedly allowed both of you to suspend boundaries and open up in ways you wouldn’t have if it had been a more conventional coupling up situation.

Yet it didn’t take anything away from the memory of those days together.

Logically you also knew no one would ever compare to him, and you had been realistic about that.

But tonight you wouldn’t worry about letting your thoughts drift to Steve.

It was more difficult to think of the emotional, and so your mind diverted quickly to the physical.

The way he had looked at you, touched you, kissed you, pleasured you. The feel of his cock inside of you. His fingers and his mouth ripping more orgasms from you than…

“No,” you scolded yourself out loud and groaned. “It’s too early on a Friday night to be thinking about sex with Steve.”

Not that it did any good to say so.

You pressed your thighs together, feeling the ache the worst at your core.

No longer paying any attention whatsoever to the movie you had going on the tv, it was the doorbell ringing with your food delivery that saved you from the spiral of desperately horny thoughts you were caught in.

There were two bags deposited on your doorstep, and you snatched them both up eagerly. The larger brown paper bag was emanating some heat, so you opened the smaller one first, assuming correctly that it held your tiramisu. You snatched a spoon from your silverware drawer and went for a sweet, indulgent bite. A little spoiling before you turned to the savory feast.

That bite made you moan in satisfaction. You savored the way the cream was perfectly smooth and balanced with the coffee and liqueur-soaked ladyfingers.

Your doorbell rang again, and you rushed over to open the door, assuming the delivery person probably realized they had forgotten a precious part of your meal – likely the garlic bread, and that would have been a sin!

Spoon still in your mouth, you opened the door and then froze.

Wearing the same aviators and non-descript baseball cap, Steve Rogers stood before you, as if it hadn’t been nearly three months since your once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

This couldn’t be real.

And yet his aggressive grip on your hip as he backed you into your place and kicked the door closed behind him was irrefutable.

Your heart raced as Steve pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours. Your spoon clattered to the floor. He discarded his sunglasses on the table by the door and then captured your lips in a searing kiss. His beard scratched your skin, a delicious friction that sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted for the demands of his hungry kiss, and when he licked into your mouth, his tongue slid against yours slowly for a moment, and you knew he was tasting the sugary sweetness of the bite you’d just savored, savoring it himself.

When he finally broke away, you gasped for air. "Steve? What are you doing here?"

"I shouldn't be here," he murmured against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. "But I couldn't stay away."

Your mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. "Isn’t it risky for you to come back?"

Steve's thumb traced your lower lip. "Some risks are worth taking."

You melted into his touch, your body quickly abandoning reason. You yanked him closer by his shirt collar, kissing him fiercely. You removed the hat that was already askew on his head and tangled your fingers in his hair. It was longer now than when you'd last seen him. He groaned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the couch.

Steve laid you down on the cushions, his body covering yours as he kissed a trail down your neck. His beard scratched deliciously against your sensitive skin, making you shiver. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tight muscles beneath his shirt.

"I've thought about this so much since I left," Steve murmured against your collarbone. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach.

You arched into his touch, desperate for more. "Me too," you breathed, that confession opening a dangerous door you had tried to keep closed inside of you.

Steve's hands pushed your shirt up, exposing your breasts. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp and clutch at his neck. He gave it a hard, long suck before letting his tongue swirl around your nipple again, laving at it as his hand kneaded the other. It was all you could do to moan, arch into him more, and hold onto him like a lifeline.

Steve kissed his way down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, looking up at you with a nearly feral hunger in his eye, something dark that sent a thrill of both adrenaline and desire through you, and you lifted your hips because no one had ever looked at you with so much need.

Steve slowly peeled your leggings down, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed more of your bare skin. You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed flesh, goosebumps rising on your thighs. Steve's large hands caressed up your legs, leaving trails of heat in their wake. He settled his broad shoulders between your legs, spreading you wide beneath him. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then nipped at your tender flesh, making you yelp, before he soothed it with his tongue and then another kiss, even softer than the first. Then he shifted, and you could feel his hot breath against your most intimate parts, already slick for him. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he placed an open-mouthed kiss to you there, and you sucked in a breath.

"God, I've missed your taste," he growled.

Without warning, he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, making you gasp and arch off the couch. His strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he explored you with his tongue. He circled your clit teasingly before sucking it into his mouth, the pressure making you cry out in pleasure.

Steve's tongue was relentless, alternating between broad, flat strokes and precise flicks that had you writhing beneath him. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke your inner walls as he continued his assault on your clit. The dual sensations quickly had you climbing towards your peak.

"Steve," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your thighs began to tremble as you teetered on the edge of orgasm. Steve redoubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster as his tongue flicked rapidly over your sensitive bud.

With a cry, you came undone, your body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Steve worked you through your climax, lapping up your release until you gently pushed his head away, oversensitive.

But he growled and bit at the inside of your other thigh. “I’m not done eating my fill of this pretty cunt yet.”

You gasped at Steve's words, a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through you despite your recent orgasm. His blue eyes were dark with desire as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

"Steve," you breathed, torn between wanting more and feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation.

He seemed to sense your hesitation. "Color?" he asked, his voice husky but almost gentle.

"Green," you replied. How could you deny him? This? When you assumed you would never see him again.

Steve's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Good girl," he purred, before diving back in.

This time, his tongue explored you even more thoroughly, dipping inside you to taste your essence before returning to your clit. He alternated between broad strokes and precise flicks, keeping you on edge. When he slipped two fingers back inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, tears were creeping up on you for the mingled overstimulation and ecstasy.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against Steve's face as he worked you towards another climax. The coarse hair of his beard rubbed deliciously against your inner thighs, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

"That's it," Steve murmured against your flesh. "Let go for me, sweet girl."

His words, combined with a particularly well-timed curl of his fingers and another hard suck on your clit, sent you careening over the edge once more. You cried out, your back arching off the couch as your second orgasm ripped through you, even more intense than the first.

Steve didn't let up, his tongue and fingers working you through the aftershocks until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess. Only then did he pull away, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back on his heels.

You lay helpless, trying to catch your breath. He leaned forward and caught the tears on your cheeks with strong swipes of his thumbs. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Your breath caught in your throat at Steve's bold declaration. The intensity in his eyes made you shiver with anticipation.

"I already am," you confessed softly.

Something flashed in Steve's eyes - possessiveness, pride, and a hint of vulnerability. He surged forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he devoured your mouth.

Steve's hands roamed your body, relearning every curve and plane. When he cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples, you arched into his touch with a gasp.

"Please" you mumbled against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You surged forward for another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "I need you inside me."

Steve groaned, his hips grinding against yours. You could feel the hard length of him through his jeans, and you ached to have him fill you completely. He sat back, quickly stripping off his shirt to reveal his chiseled torso. Your hands roamed over his muscled chest and abs, marveling at the perfection of his body.

As Steve unbuckled his belt and shoved his jeans down, you took the opportunity to remove your shirt fully, leaving you both gloriously naked. He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him, flushed and wanting. His eyes raked over your body with such intensity that you felt more exposed than you ever had before, curves and scars and imperfections on full display. You felt yourself flush under his gaze.

You reached for him, pulling him down on top of you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours was electrifying. Steve captured your lips in another passionate kiss as he settled between your thighs. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and you rolled your hips, silently begging him to take you.

Steve broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside. You both groaned at the exquisite feeling of him stretching and filling you. When he was fully seated, he paused, but not long enough for you to adjust to his size. But the painful pleasure of it only fueled your hunger for more of him.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice strained, words hot against the crook of your neck. "So tight and perfect for me."

You whimpered in response, overwhelmed by the fullness and the intensity of having Steve inside you again after so long. Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as he began to move, starting with slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping with each roll of his hips.

"Steve," you moaned, arching into him. "More, faster."

He growled low in his throat, picking up the pace. The couch creaked beneath you as Steve's powerful thrusts drove you into the cushions. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with each stroke.

"That's it," Steve panted, his voice rough with desire. "Take all of me."

Your world narrowed to the feeling of Steve moving inside you, the sound of skin on skin, and the increasingly desperate noises falling from both your lips.

Steve's rhythm became more frantic, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The intensity of his thrusts had you clinging to him, nails digging into his back as pleasure built within you. Each powerful stroke sent shockwaves through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at me," Steve commanded, his voice husky and strained.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw emotion you saw there – desire, possessiveness, and something deeper you couldn't quite name – took your breath away.

"I want to see you fall apart," he growled, never breaking eye contact as he continued to drive into you relentlessly. “I want to watch what only I can do to you.”

One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with the precision he perfected in the heat of July.

"Come for me," Steve commanded, his voice strained. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

His words and the relentless pressure on your clit sent you spiraling into ecstasy. You cried out Steve's name as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls clenching tightly around him. The intensity of your climax triggered Steve's own release. He groaned, burying himself deep inside you as he came.

For a moment, you both lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath. Steve's weight pressed you into the couch, but you relished the feeling of being surrounded by him.

When both of you settled back into even breathing, he planted slow kisses along your jaw and blazed a trail back to your mouth. Cock still inside you, he kissed you slowly. Slow and unrepentant, in no hurry now, only drinking you in, and you let your hands stroke up and down his back, relishing in the impossible and stolen closeness.

You could survive a second encounter with this super soldier.

READ their next part/later that night: Put Me Back on My Shelf read more of the: Exiled Nomad Series

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[smokeypeaches-and-honeyplums]

may I request headcanons for Wukong, MK, Red Son, and Macaque finding out their crush or S/O has a snort laugh that they try to hide?

please and thank you

PLEASE?????????????? GOD I HAVE A SNORT LAUGH TOO AND THIS FEELS SO PERSONAL I'M GONNA BLOW UP

Reader is Gender Neutral by default

MK

S/O

MK absolutely LOVES to make people laugh and you are no different

So when he finds out you have a snort laugh, he REVELS in it

To him, it's a sign that he's doing a really good job and! It's really fucking adorable for him

If you're self conscious about it, he won't push you too much about it

He'd never want you to feel uncomfortable while you're with him, so he'll never push further than he's allowed

He'll always express how much he loves it when he gets the chance to though, don't get me wrong

Eventually, it gets to the point he develops his own and it's a never ending cycle between you two

It feels nice to have a bit more of a positive about your snort, but it does hurt after a while--

MK gets worse when he purposefully does what he knows makes you laugh the most

Your nose and throat hurts by the end of it

If you're laughing especially hard, he'll be grinning ear to ear at just the sound of it

He's glad to have ONE consistency in his life, what with everything that goes on

So if he can listen to your laugh before the next crisis, that's enough for him

(THEY TOOK MY YELLOW TEXT--)

Crush

(darkskinredsontruthertilIdie)

You so happened to slip up one day when Redson heard it the first time around, immediately trying to hide it right after

He didn't think much of it, not in the way you'd think at least

He always associated it as another irritating staple that he loves so much about you and infuriates him that it is

Like, excuse me

How dare you have the most charming, cute and cheeky laugh he's ever heard?

A peasant like you shouldn't be making his heart soar so much and so easily all the damn time

What the fuck >:(

Redson wouldn't trying to fish for it as much as the others, his pride prevents him

But he does savour the moments you do do it, don't get me wrong

However, when he sees you hide it every time right after, a part of him wants to try and ease your worries. At least, that's what he thinks

"You know... you shouldn't feel like you should hide your laugh."

"For all the annoying little quirks you have, this one is..."

"It's... endearing."

Silence.

Silence...

"Redson? Are you going soft on me?"

"NO! No- Do not-"

"D'awwww, you care!!"

"Redson cares for me!!"

"Know what?! Forget I said anything."

Cue the laughter, only this time with a bit more snorting given his reassurance in his own special, Redson way

In your fits of laughter, you miss a small smile growing on the demon prince's lips

In all your teasing, it's worth it to see you like this

Crush

Wukong has a tendency to be cheeky to the tenth degree and then some

So trust and believe he already knows

And he REVELS in it

He likes the sound of your laugh in general, so the fact he manages to get you laughing so much that you start snorting makes his heart do flips

He doesn't like that you try to hide it, but he'd be the last person to talk about not hiding something you're self conscious about

Given the whole shared headcanon of glamour, it becomes pot and kettle

Has that ever stopped him tho?

No

So why would it now?

He tries to get you to feel more comfortable with your laugh because he finds it very important to him

Is it another reason amongst a sea on why he loves you?

Yeah

Will he admit it?

No-

Well?

Not now-

Ahem

Anyways, when he hears your genuine laughter, he's shining like the sun and absolutely BEAMING with joy and whines when you hide it

"NONONO, don't hide it! I love your laugh!"

"Don't hide it please :("

Pulls out the big guns (puppy dog eyes) just to make you agree

"Fine"

Happy Monkey <3

Of course, he genuinely does try to make sure you're comfortable about it and reassures you in his own Monkey King way, so don't be too worried.

S/O

Like Wukong, Macaque is the last person to tell you not to hide something, the scoundrel

Motherfucker is hiding EVERYTHING

Smoke and Mirrors the character™

But, that has never stopped him before

With that established, given how all doom and gloom this brooding monkey is, he finds solace in your laughter, and he's picked up on your snorting even when you try to hide it

He hears all

But, unlike the others, he won't push you or try to convince you to reveal something you don't feel like revealing

He would know how that feels personally

And if Macaque is anything at all, he's self aware. enough

He'll let you get comfortable laughing in front of him to your fullest at your own time, while giving you quiet reassurance now and again

Once you're sure he won't judge you for it and you're fully comfortable, your laughter makes him the warmest he's felt in so long

Who would've thought? The Six-Eared Macaque has a heart!/j

[luveline]

hiyaa girlyy!! so i have a fic request and it's totally fine if you don't want to write / don't feel comfortable reading or doing it: and also, i'm not sure if someone thought of this yet, but how about spencer just being friends with a stripper. like their are murders ongoing abt strippers and spencer sees reader at one of the crime scènes and everybody's shocked since their sooo sweet and comfortable together? (and bonus point if she wears his jacket or something since it's cold)

thank you for your request! if you have more requests for this pairing please send them my way!

"I tried to call you!" 

Hotch looks up from his phone at the shout. He'd been texting Jessica one handed in an attempt to tell her and Jack that he won't be home tonight, and he isn't usually easily startled, but he isn't expecting you to talk to him. Or call him. 

He blinks back his fatigue —you're obviously not talking to him. You're almost nondescript in your hoodie, but Hotch isn't confident you're wearing any pants, or underwear. It was a rush job to bring everyone out from the club, and you and the rest of the dancers stand on the sidewalk in various states of undress. 

"Can we get some jackets, please?" Hotch asks, turning back to the beat cops standing by. "Thermal blankets? Anything?" 

When he turns back, Spencer's not where he was. Hotch casts his gaze back to you near the club doors, your hair messed up from the scuffle but your face intricate and untouched, just as pretty as the rest of your fellow dancers, and doubly so as you throw your arms around Spencer Reid's tall shoulders. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Spencer says, squeezing you hard, your heels lifting off of the rain-sullied sidewalk. "I told you to stay home!" 

"I can't stay home, Spencer. How would I make money?" 

"I'll pay for the hours you miss, I told you that, too." 

"Baby, you couldn't afford it," you tease lightly, setting back down. Your hand immediately rises to Spencer's cheek, your painted nails scratching delicately at his skin. "I've missed you. Where have you been?" 

"California, then Albuquerque." 

"Killing bad guys?" 

Hotch doesn't consider Spencer a lonely guy, and he doesn't think he'd ever be collected enough to enter a strip club, and yet. There he is, hugging and checking over a stripper with as much care and tenderness as he'd show any member of the team. And judging by your smile, you're enamoured with him. Whether romantically or otherwise is anyone's guess. 

Morgan's, apparently. "Sorry, I'm sorry, does Reid have a girlfriend? Like, a…?" 

"You can say stripper," Emily says, though she's similarly nonplussed. "I mean, there's no way. Right?" 

"They're just friends," JJ says. 

The team turns to her in betrayal. Clearly, JJ knew about this and said nothing, and Hotch has things to do but this is so thoroughly bizarre that he gives himself five minutes of curiosity; he lets the others berate her for answers. 

"Come on, JJ! When did this happen? How did this happen?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper. 

In the background, Spencer peels out of his jacket that barely fits around your shoulders. You wear it anyhow, wrapping your arm through his and leaning on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Reid." 

"I really wish you'd stay home when I tell you too." He rubs your arm amicably. 

"Her old boss was a typical heavy-handed sleaze," JJ explains, voice soft with sympathy. "Spence said he used to see her at the grocery store with bruises. She stayed with him for a few days and found a new club… He said she can smile through anything, even a broken wrist." 

Hotch understands. This part of Virginia pretends to be better than it is, and while you seem happy enough now in your profession, he knows it can't be easy. Spencer did for you what he would've done for anyone. You've clearly seen the good in him, treating him with a real and easy affection, adoring through shivers as you look up at him and ask, "Are you eating enough? You look tired." 

"I'm exhausted worrying about you. You're exhausting. Like, where are the sweatpants I got you? You'll get hypothermia." 

"I was trying not to get murdered. You're lucky I grabbed the hoodie." You turn to the team, as though you've known they were watching the entire time. "You wanna introduce me to your friends?" you ask. Hotch detects a hint of insecurity under all your bubbly sweetness. 

Spencer laughs loudly, ushering you forward with a hand on your shoulder. "Don't chicken out this time." 

"Don't embarrass me in front of the special agents!" you whisper. 

"I'm a special agent." 

"No, you're a doctor. He's a special agent." Your gaze narrows in on Hotch. "Hi, you're the boss, huh?" You eye his naked marriage finger briefly, and he knows you're kidding, but he still has to fight to stay expressionless as you continue, "How come handsome guys like you don't ever wanna see me dance?" 

Hotch puts out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner. It's nice to meet you." 

You shake his hand, though you stay as close to Spencer as you can manage without stepping on his shoes. "Right. Too respectful. It's really nice to meet you too, Agent Hotchner. Can you catch the bad guy soon? I'll end up on Spencer's cough again if I don't make rent." 

Morgan opens his mouth and Hotch promptly shuts him down with a raised hand. "We will. You have my word." 

[punkshort]

Roommates | 7. jack and jill

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel organize Tommy and Maria's bachelor and bachelorette party together, making it the first time you've spoken to each other since you moved out.

Chapter Warnings: language, discussions revolving mental health and therapy, insecurity issues, anxiety, angst, alcohol and food consumption, idiots in love but won't admit it, cigarette use, one bed couch trope

WC: 6.8K

Series Masterlist

Five Months Later

Everything was fine. Everything was going to be fine. There was no need to be nervous.

Okay, so you were going back to the house for the very first time since you moved out. You didn't count the time last month when you idled in the driveway in your car, waiting to pick Maria up to go to her dress fitting. You avoided it as much as you could, but eventually she asked you to come over to help with wedding planning. She wanted to look over the seating chart and because it was so big and she insisted on making a physical floor plan instead of a digital one, she guilted you into coming to the house.

You didn't have the nerve to ask if Joel would be there, but when you pulled up to the house, your stomach doing cartwheels and threatening to bring up your breakfast, Joel's truck was gone.

Relief and disappointment flooded you all at once.

When you approached the front door, your hand hovered over the doorknob. Should you knock? Do you just walk in? You stood there a minute too long, going back and forth, undecided, until the door swung open with Maria standing on the other side.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know."

She rolled her eyes and opened the door wider. "Don't be weird," she told you as you slid past her into the familiar hall to kick off your sneakers.

Although the house was generally the same, it felt different now.

"Is anyone home?" you asked timidly as you followed her into the kitchen to grab some drinks.

"Tommy's got work," she replied, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. You took a deep breath and inwardly groaned. She was really going to make you work for it.

"And... Joel?"

She stopped and looked at you like you were speaking another language. "Have you still not spoken to him?"

You chewed on your lower lip and her shoulders sagged.

"C'mon, you promised us you would work things out before you left."

"We will! I've just been... busy, I guess."

"It's been months. You need to talk to him," she scolded, brushing past you as she headed to the dining room table where her seating chart was all spread out. "We're getting close to the big day and you guys need to plan our Jack and Jill."

You cocked an eyebrow at her and took the glass she extended your way. "Jack and Jill?"

"Yeah, y'know, where the bachelor and bachelorette parties join into one big party?" You must have looked confused because she frowned and popped her hand on her hip. "I mentioned this three months ago."

"I know, I know, I just forgot."

"You need to get your shit together. You're my maid of honor! I need you."

"I will, I promise," you said firmly, taking a sip of wine. "I'll text him tomorrow and I'll set something up so we can start planning."

She eyed you up for a moment before dropping into a chair with a sigh. "Thanks. Sorry, I know this is tough but you guys gotta work things out. You're both too important to us."

"We will. Don't even give it another thought." You sat down across from her and glanced around while she opened up a notebook with her guest list. "So, where is he?"

"Well, if you would have called him in the past five months, you would know he moved out."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "When?"

"Like, two months ago, I think."

"Good. That's... good. Good for him."

"He bought a house."

You nearly choked on your wine. "He did?"

She nodded and bit back a grin. "A lot of things have changed. You'd be surprised."

"What's that mean?" you asked with a frown. She just shrugged.

"You'll have to talk to him and find out."

You tossed a piece of popcorn across the table at her and she giggled. "Enough about Joel. Let's get down to business. Like where am I going to put my Aunt Cathie when she refuses to speak to anyone on my side of the family?"

You tapped your chin and looked down at the poster. "Kitchen?"

In hindsight, picking a coffee shop was a bad idea. You were nervous enough as it was, the last thing you needed was extra caffeine. But still you found yourself sitting at a small table by the window twenty minutes before you were supposed to meet Joel, tapping your foot anxiously on the tile floor and turning around every time one of the doors opened.

To kill time, you stared down at your texts from earlier in the week, rereading them over and over, trying to pick up on his energy so you could get an idea of what you were walking into.

Hey

Then, two painful hours later:

Hey

I was hoping we could meet up sometime soon if you're free? Maria not so subtly pointed out we need to plan their Jack and Jill party.

You remembered at the time, the little text bubbles appeared and disappeared over and over, as if he were changing his mind until he finally sent:

Sure. Thursday?

Thursday works. Java Joint on third?

I can swing by after work around 4

Okay - looking forward to it :)

Then... nothing.

Maybe the smiley face was overkill.

You drained the last of your iced latte and got up to throw it in the trash. When you sat back down at your table, a flurry of activity caught your attention through the window. Three girls were bouncing on their heels and giggling into their palms, grabbing each other's shoulders with their phones in their hands as they spoke to none other than Joel fucking Miller. He had his sunglasses on and a white Henley shirt, the material stretching across his broad chest and arms. Paired with the confident smirk on his face, he looked devastatingly good. You watched with a twist of envy in your chest as the girls all took selfies with his arm wrapped around their shoulders before he finally jutted his thumb towards the coffee shop and gave them a final wave, turning on his heel and then heading in your direction. Once his back was turned, the girls collectively lost their shit while looking down at their pictures, but you couldn't pay them any more attention because Joel was about to walk through the door.

Butterflies burst in your stomach when he pushed his sunglasses on top of his head, locking eyes with you, and suddenly it felt like no time had passed at all. Memories of watching movies with your feet tucked under his thigh and making dinners together flashed before your eyes while you forced yourself to give him a shy wave.

He simply nodded in return and motioned towards the counter, indicating he was getting something to drink, and when his gaze finally left yours in favor of reading the menu, you let yourself fully take him in. He looked really fucking good. Something was different but you couldn't put your finger on it. Healthier, maybe? Or maybe he just looked happier now without all the stress you brought into his life.

He must have said something flirty to the barista because she giggled and the tips of her ears turned red and, after he paid, he sauntered down the counter, casually resting his elbow on the hard surface while scrolling his phone.

From the look of it, he was no where near as nervous as you felt, which just made your anxiety spike more.

The barista slid his coffee across the counter with a wide smile and he gave her a wink before turning to weave his way through the tables. You straightened up as he approached and tried to look normal.

"Hi."

He sat down across from you, putting his coffee down with a grunt. "Hey."

Your heart was practically wedged in your throat and your fingers wouldn't stop tapping nervously on the table.

"H-how are things?"

He shrugged and took a sip from his cup. "Alright. Busy."

He was looking everywhere but your eyes. You supposed you deserved that, but it still stung.

"How's work?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We don't gotta do this, y'know."

"Do what?"

"This," he said, waving his finger back and forth between you. "We can be civil for the sake of Tommy and Maria but we don't gotta pretend this is somethin' it ain't."

You tried to hide the hurt from your eyes but he must have clocked it because he pinched the bridge of his nose and made a frustrated sound.

"Don't gimme that look."

"I'm not," you replied defiantly, staring down at your fingers now. "I'm sorry, Joel. For all of it."

"You made that pretty damn clear when you left."

Your eyes snapped up to him as he took another sip from his coffee and looked around the café. Then your gaze fell onto the writing on his cup: a name with a phone number and a little heart and your stomach rolled but you took a deep breath, just like you practiced, and let it go.

"I didn't leave because I regretted it," you whispered. His eyes finally landed on you, patiently waiting for you to speak again. "I left because I couldn't stay away from you."

His eyes softened but he remained quiet, so you took a shaky breath in and continued.

"I needed time to think over what I did and why I did it and what I really want," you nervously began to shred your straw wrapper as you spoke. "And I couldn't do that with you so goddamn close because there's just something about you that drives me fucking crazy."

His lips twitched. "Crazy in what way?"

You sighed and slumped down in your chair. "Crazy as in every time I see you I want to kiss you and laugh with you and tell you about my day and just... be near you."

"Then why the hell didn't you wanna try 'n make it work?"

"Because of your job," you groaned pathetically, knowing full well you sounded like a broken record. "It's not your fault, Joel, it's mine. I have... issues. But I'm working on it. I've started seeing a therapist-"

"What issues?" he pressed.

"Jealousy, insecurity, self-doubt, anxiety... you name it."

He took a deep breath and readjusted in his chair so he was facing you instead of the café. "I didn't know you were goin' through all that. Is it helpin'?" he asked softly, and for the first time you thought you heard the Joel you used to know.

"Yeah, but it's hard," you replied. "It takes a lot of work to change the way you think and react to something. But I'm trying. Really, I am. Because-" you took a deep breath and raked your fingers through your hair. "No one makes me happy the way you made me happy. And I really, really fucking miss you." Tears welled up in your eyes that you quickly blinked away. Crying in the middle of a coffee shop was not on your list of things to do that day.

"What are you tryin' to tell me?" he asked, dropping his head so he could catch your eye. "Hm? Say it."

"I know I blew my chance with you and I don't deserve another one, but can we please try to be friends again?"

His gaze bounced back and forth between your eyes, studying your expression before slowly straightening up in his seat. "Friends?"

You nodded weakly, your lips pressed into a thin line.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered it.

"What'll that look like?"

You frowned and gave him a little shrug. "Joke around. Inquire about each other's lives. Help each other out. Be supportive of one another."

He nodded along as you listed everything off with a confused look on your face, unclear as to why he was asking you to define friendship. "That's it?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's all you want?"

And there it was again: that undeniable pull, that undercurrent of tension bonding you together, making you question every word and every look.

"Yes," you finally answered quietly. It was a lie, of course, but you were too scared to put yourself fully out there. You already felt vulnerable enough with what you confessed and you couldn't stand the rejection if you told him the truth.

He ticked his jaw to the side and you could have sworn in that moment, he saw right through you. But maybe you were wrong, because his next words were -

"Alright, then. Let's be friends."

Your eyes lit up as he pulled out his phone and opened his calendar app.

"Thank you, Joel."

He nodded without looking up. "What weekend were you thinkin' for this party?"

"So you two kissed and made up?"

You scowled at Maria over the aisle at a local florist.

"We did not kiss, thank you."

She grinned and rolled her eyes before picking up a deep pink carnation. "It's a figure of speech, but you never know."

"Things are fine. I mean, they aren't like they were before, I doubt it ever will be, but you have nothing to worry about. We can be in the same room together without anything getting weird. I don't like that one," you added when she picked up a red poppy. She plunked it back down in the bucket and kept browsing.

"Good. And how's the party planning?"

"Really good, we're almost all done. I just need to pick up the shirts and the favors and we should be good to go."

"I can't thank you enough for organizing this for us, I'm so excited! It's gonna be the best weekend ever," she gushed, picking up a few other flowers in similar shades of pink.

"Well, hopefully your actual wedding will be a better weekend, but I appreciate the sentiment," you giggled.

"How are we doing ladies? Do you have any questions?" asked the florist, an older man who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Maria launched into a laundry list of questions and you grinned before leaning against the register and pulling out your phone. You had to actively stop yourself from opening up your text chain with Joel. In the past, aside from Maria, he was your person. He was the one you always texted silly things to whenever you were bored or lonely. Even though he agreed to be friends again, it had yet to feel the same. In fact, you still hadn't seen him since that day in the coffee shop. You had managed to do all the planning for the Jack and Jill over the phone, but you didn't want to tell Maria that. Something told you she would want you to try harder with him and you were too nervous to stick your neck out there. The shame you harbored for the way everything fell apart after the camping trip was too great.

"You wanna grab lunch?" she asked once she was done going over in excruciating detail the flowers she wanted in each bouquet and centerpiece.

"God, yes."

There was a nearby Mexican place you both loved so you ordered a couple margaritas while you waited for your food.

"Can I ask you a question that I've been dying to know the answer to but wanted to get you loosened up on booze first?"

You quirked an eyebrow at Maria and nodded hesitantly.

"Have you talked to Sam?"

You closed your eyes and groaned.

"Very briefly, only once. About a month after... you know."

She sipped her drink and nodded. "And?"

"It went about as well as you could expect. I tried to apologize but he was so hurt, I think I just made things worse."

"Thank god he got that new job. The timing couldn't have been better," she said, then winced when she saw the look in your face. "I'm sorry, I just meant at least you didn't have to worry about work being a factor. You had enough going on as it was."

"I know what you meant, it's okay," you assured her.

Maria stirred her drink with her straw for a moment, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence while you listened to Latin music over the speakers and blankly watched some soccer match that was muted on the TV over the bar.

"Can I ask you another messy question?" she finally asked. You grinned and shrugged.

"Go for it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and dropped your gaze to the table. "What was I gonna say? 'Oh, by the way, I'm fucking your boyfriend's brother behind my boyfriend's back?' You would have slapped me."

She laughed and leaned back in her seat to make room for the sizzling fajitas that got placed down in front of you both. She eagerly picked one up and began to pour salsa and sour cream on top before she spoke again.

"I don't think I would have slapped you, but I definitely would have made you to dump Sam and get with Joel."

"Yeah, that's not something I would have wanted to hear," you told her with a laugh.

"So," she said, wiping some sour cream from the corner of her mouth, "you didn't wanna date him because of his job, but fucking him was okay?"

You paused your chewing and gave her a blank stare. "What happened didn't make a ton of sense, but I can tell you this much: I was in deep denial over what was happening with Joel. I told myself it was just a friends with benefits thing and it didn't mean anything, but there's just something about him that I can't describe. Like we have some connection that's impossible to ignore, or something? Even the annoying things about him make me smile. I know I sound crazy, I'll shut up," you said when you noticed the incredulous look on Maria's face.

"Girl, you love him."

You balked and nearly choked on your taco. "No."

"Yes."

You shook your head and took a big sip from your margarita. "I care about him deeply but I'm not in love with him."

Maria widened her eyes in disbelief and looked back down at her food. "Okay... just sounds to me like something more."

You quickly changed the subject to her wedding dress, which easily distracted her while you let what she said about Joel marinate. Were you in love with Joel? Is that why you couldn't let Sam in? Were you that blind?

In the end, you decided to let it go. It didn't matter, anyway. What you had with Joel was over, and after the way things ended, you couldn't imagine a situation where he would ever want to give you another chance, assuming you could get past all your insecurities surrounding his profession. Therapy was helping, but you had a long way to go, and ultimately you were seeking help to better yourself overall, not to make things work with Joel.

Maria had told you Joel bought a house but for some reason, you imagined it was a small ranch house somewhere, not a gorgeous two-story relatively new build. Or so, it looked new as you walked up the driveway and stared at the new black roof and white siding. You could feel your heart beginning to beat faster the closer you got to his front porch, gripping the brown paper bag at your side with sweaty fingers.

Stop it, you're just leaving the shirts at his door, there's no need to be nervous.

You climbed the creaky wooden steps and looked at the two Adirondack chairs with a table in between and suddenly you felt a pit form in your stomach. Two?

Why hadn't it occurred to you before now that he could be seeing someone? What if he was bringing her as a date to the wedding?

Stop. It. Drop the bag and fucking go.

You nestled the paper bag behind one of the chairs and turned to leave when you heard the front door squeak open.

"What're you doin'?"

You closed your eyes and silently cursed to yourself before spinning around with a forced smile on your face, only to have it immediately slip with you saw Joel had greeted you completely shirtless with his hair a disheveled mess.

Shit.

"Hey, I'm, uh, just dropping off the shirts for the guys," you pointed to the paper bag, his eyes following your finger.

He opened the screen door, stepping out to pick it up and you had to look away. He was wearing basketball shorts and the material clung around his bulge just a little too well.

"Why didn't you just knock?"

"Um," you took a breath and met his gaze, refusing to let your eyes drop lower than his neck. "Didn't wanna bother you."

"It's no bother. You wanna come in?" he asked. You finally picked up on the gravelly sound to his voice once you were able to ignore his smooth, broad chest.

"Did you just wake up?"

He shrugged and gave you half a smirk while he held the door open.

"Worked late."

"Ah," you replied, gaze dropping to the porch while you rocked back and forth on your heels. Work.

"You comin' in or not? I'm lettin' flies in."

"Uh, sure," you finally decided, sneaking past him, purposely holding your breath so you wouldn't breathe in his intoxicating scent.

His front door opened into his living room, which was about how you expected it to look: a dark couch with a matching chair surrounding a glass coffee table in front of a big screen TV with green and blue plastic clamshell video game cases scattered on the floor.

"Want somethin' to drink?" he asked, brushing past you as he ambled into his kitchen. You followed, noting his house seemed to lack... something.

"Water's fine."

It was bare. That's what it was. It hit you when you were in the kitchen. He had all the essentials but there was no warmth, no decorations, no pictures.

"Did you just move in?" you asked, then thanked him when he handed you a bottle of water.

"'Bout three months ago."

"Oh," you replied before taking a slow sip of water, your eyes darting around the sparse kitchen. "It's nice," you finally said when you pulled the bottle from your lips.

At least you could be sure he wasn't living with a girl. His home practically screamed bachelor pad.

"Thanks. How's your ma?" he asked before picking up a half drank mug of coffee.

You leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed your arms. "She's good. She's already found a new boyfriend. And here I thought I was doing her a favor by moving in and keeping her company," you said with a soft laugh. "Now I feel like I'm in the way of her exciting social life."

Joel nodded and sat down at the kitchen table with a grunt, his legs spread wide as he leaned back into the chair.

"Been meanin' to apologize to you," he said, staring down at his coffee sitting on the table. "Shoulda been there to help you move out, or at least say bye. I'm real sorry 'bout that."

That took you by surprise.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," you said immediately with a shake of your head. "It would have been too painful, anyway."

Joel took a deep breath through his nose. "Yeah, reckon that's why I bailed that day."

Neither of you said anything for a moment, both of you thinking back to that week when everything fell apart.

"I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Joel," you said quietly. He frowned and looked up.

"What you did to me?"

"Yeah. For pulling you into my mess and hurting you. It was never my intention, but I recognize it was my fault. I started it. I kissed you. I came to your room that day. It's all on me, okay?" You looked at him with raw pain in your eyes and he sighed.

"Darlin', if you didn't start it, I would've. It ain't all on you," he told you softly.

You nodded and you felt tears welling up in your eyes, so you dropped your gaze to the floor and pressed your lips into a thin line, trying to stifle your emotion, but Joel could see it.

"It was fun while it lasted though, huh?" he joked, then grinned when you laughed and swiped away a stray tear.

"Yeah," you sniffled with a smile.

Joel pursed his lips and looked back down at his mug, his middle finger gently tracing the lip of the ceramic when he asked, "you seein' anyone?"

You shook your head. "No. I think it's probably best I take some time to work on myself first."

The same question for him was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't bring yourself to ask because if the answer was yes, you weren't sure you were ready to hear it.

"Well, anyway," he said with a slap to his thighs, "everythin' ready for tomorrow? Need me to do anythin'?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Just handle the guys and I'll handle the girls. I have all the money to pay the limo bus driver. Did you have enough for the booze?"

"Mhm, no problem there," Joel said after taking a sip from his now lukewarm coffee.

The goal was to bar crawl some local spots in downtown Austin and in between, party on the limo bus.

"Just make sure to have a good playlist ready so we can connect to the speakers on the bus," you told him as you headed for the front door.

"Y'leavin'?" he asked, getting up to follow you. You shrugged and slid your shoes back on.

"Yeah, unless there was something else?"

He scratched his beard while he struggled to come up with anything that might make you stay. It just felt too nice to have you around again and he didn't want it to end.

"No, nothin' else," he finally said. "See you tomorrow."

Back to the scene of the crime, you almost let slip, but fortunately common sense kicked in and said, "Tommy and Maria's, 8pm so you can help me pack up the bus before everyone arrives."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you jog down his porch steps, tossing one more wave over your shoulder before getting into your car. As he watched you drive away, he tried to stifle that familiar, desperate feeling he always felt whenever you left and forced himself to go back inside.

The party bus was already wild before it reached the end of the street. You just sat down after passing around Jell-O shots and making sure the snacks and waters you brought were readily available to the entire bus when Maria shoved a solo cup in your hand.

"What's this?" you asked over the roar coming from the speakers blaring AC/DC and the guys screaming along to the lyrics after they all did a toast to Tommy, throwing back shots of tequila.

"Jungle juice!" she replied with a grin. You took a sip and raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"Not bad!"

The lights on the bus dimmed and you looked up to find Joel playing around with the knobs at the front of the bus. Suddenly, brightly colored lights that lined the floor and roof of the bus turned on, painting everyone in a red glow that faded to orange then to all the colors of the rainbow.

"Come on, Tommy! Show us what you got!" one of Maria's bridesmaids yelled when Tommy stood up and leaned on the stripper pole in the middle of the floor for support when the bus took a turn.

"I ain't drunk enough yet, ladies!" he replied with a lopsided grin. Joel chuckled as he made his way back to his seat.

"What about you, Joel?" she asked, then all the groomsmen began whooping and pumping their fists, encouraging him, but he shook his head and sat down.

"Gotta pay me extra for that," he smirked. He brought his beer to his lips and glanced briefly in your direction before looking away.

The whole bus was wearing matching white shirts with Tommy and Maria's names printed on the back with the date of their wedding and a note at the bottom that, depending if you were a girl or a guy, said if found, please return me to the bride/groom.

On the front of the shirts was a big box where everyone could tally all the drinks and shots they had that evening with the sharpie necklaces you handed out as everyone boarded the bus. So far, most people had at least one drink or shot under their belts.

"Alright, who wants to play Tipsy Hoe?" you called out while holding up a stack of index cards. The bus cheered so you began to explain the rules. "We pick one card with a specific word on it that nobody's allowed to say. The person who says it first has to take a shot and then we pick another one."

Another of Maria's bridesmaids eagerly volunteered to pick the first card. You fanned them out as she carefully chose one from the middle and read it. "The word is Bride!" she announced, and half the bus collapsed into laughter.

"Take a shot, you can't say it! Just hold it up!" you giggled when she laughed and buried her face in her hands. "Okay, go again."

After taking a shot and drawing another tally mark on her shirt, she picked another card and this time, held it up for everyone to see: dress.

"What's that say? I can't read it?" Joel teased from the back, and she stuck out her tongue.

"Ha ha, not falling for it."

You sat back down and took a sip from your cup before leaning into Maria's side to take a few selfies only for them to come out completely blurry from the dim lighting, but you saved them anyway.

Joel brushed past the two of you to go to the front of the bus and direct the driver on where to drop the group off for the first bar, and as the bus slowed down, most people chugged the rest of their drinks and added a mark to their shirts before standing up and filing out the door.

"Jesus, Tommy, when'd you have four drinks?" Maria asked when she saw his shirt. He grinned and draped an arm around her shoulders.

"What can I say? The guys can be persuasive."

"Hey, don't you know that girl over there?" Joel asked when he suddenly appeared at your side with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He pointed over to a group of three girls standing right outside the bar with sparkly outfits on and heavy eyeshadow.

"Which one?"

"The one in the blue."

"The blue top or the blue dress?"

He smirked and shot you a wink before taking a deep drag of his cigarette. You groaned and slapped your palm to your face.

"I can't believe I fell for that."

He laughed, a plume of smoke rolling from his lips, then tossed the cigarette on the ground. "C'mon, I'll buy you the shot."

"It's the least you could do," you teased, following him inside past the bouncer. The bar was dark and really fucking loud as you weaved your way through the throngs of sweaty people until Joel managed to squeeze his way to the bar and flag down a bartender. While you waited for your drinks, you tried to locate the rest of the group, but the only people you saw were Maria and Tommy down at the other end of the bar with one other groomsman you didn't know very well.

"Bottoms up," Joel told you after handing you the shot and a mixed drink. You winced when you tossed it back, then handed him the empty glass. He pushed it back across the sticky bar along with his own empty shot glass then pointed to your shirt.

"Ah, right," you mumbled before uncapping the sharpie around your neck and scribbling a tick mark on the fabric. Joel stretched his own shirt out and you hesitated for just a second before drawing a quick mark on his shirt and tried not to focus too much on the sweat that had soaked through the collar already.

"You stayin' at Tommy and Maria's tonight?" he asked. He brought a bottle of beer to his lips and took a long sip but didn't take his eyes away from you.

"Yeah, I can't imagine driving home at this rate," you replied while motioning to your shirt with your free hand. He nodded and let his eyes drift around the room behind you, head nodding slightly to the beat of the music before he said, "Maybe we can watch a movie. Like old times."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You're staying over, too?"

He nodded again and took another drink as your heart fluttered nervously in your chest. Maria conveniently failed to mention he was planning on staying the night, as well. Where the hell did she expect you both to sleep when there was only one couch?

You scanned the bar and found her laughing at something Tommy was saying, waving his hands around dramatically as he told some story. Narrowing your eyes, you hoped she could feel the heat from your stare, but of course she was oblivious.

Just as you were about to reply to him about the movie, you felt someone's arm snake around your waist right before their overpowering cologne made you gag.

"You wanna dance?" a voice slurred in your ear, and you immediately twisted away from his sour breath and turned to face him. He wasn't with your group, just some other patron, and he looked completely wasted. A thin sheen of sweat covered his neck and face and his eyes looked glassy as he stared down at you, waiting for an answer.

"Uh, no thank you! I was just leaving."

"Aw, come on, just one dance?" the stranger pushed with a lopsided grin but it just made him look even more sloppy.

"She's with me," Joel said defensively before tugging you closer and tucking you under his arm. You could smell his deodorant and soap and it instantly transported you back in time to the point where you had to fight the urge to bury your face against his chest and breathe deep.

"My bad," the guy said, raising his hands defensively before walking away.

"Thanks," you said so softly you weren't sure he could hear you over the music, but he did. He dropped his arm and cleared his throat as you tried to create a bit of space between you again without being awkward, but it was hard to do.

"I hope you don't feel like you can't dance with other guys 'cause I'm here," he said.

"No, I know, I'm just not looking for... that right now," you assured him before taking a long sip from your drink and glancing around the bar.

"Right, you mentioned that," he replied. The topic of your love life caused a heavy silence to settle between you even though you were surrounded by noise. Right when you were about to make an excuse and leave, he spoke again.

"How's all that goin', by the way? Therapy?"

"It's... going okay," you said. What was he getting at?

He tossed back the rest of his beer and slid the empty across the bar.

"Okay enough to start datin' again soon?"

You swallowed nervously. Was he asking for a specific reason?

The look on your face made him switch gears because he grinned and shrugged. "Friends ask 'bout each other, right?"

Oh.

"They do."

He nodded, his smile faltering a moment when his gaze slid to your lips before he forced himself to look away. "C'mon, let's find the rest of the party." Then he took your hand and led you through the crowd.

Stop it, get it together, he's just being nice, like you asked, you told yourself. But you really, really hoped you were wrong.

"Here's some extra pillows and blankets," Maria sang gleefully with a shit eating grin.

"I can't believe you," you seethed quietly so Joel wouldn't hear you from downstairs.

"What? I forgot Tommy told Joel he could stay over," she said with a tipsy shrug.

"I'm half tempted to call an Uber."

"Don't you fucking dare. Now be an adult and go sleep with your ex," she giggled, giving your shoulder a shove to make you move towards the direction of the stairs.

"Hilarious," you replied dryly, but before you took another step she pulled you into a hug.

"Thank you so much for tonight, we had such a," she hiccuped before pulling away, "great time."

You blew her a kiss before giving her the finger. "Love you."

"Love you, too!" she practically shouted, and you turned around halfway down the stairs to shush her. She slapped her hands over her mouth and giggled before stumbling into her bedroom and shutting the door.

"Wha' the hell was she shoutin' for?" Joel asked groggily from his spot splayed out on the couch, remote control hanging limply from his fingers as he blinked at the TV, trying to clear his vision.

"Nothing. Here," you said, tossing him a pillow and blanket. He reached out to catch them but missed, then started to giggle when he accidentally slid from the couch onto the floor to pick them up. You grinned and threw yours on the other end of the couch and wandered into the kitchen, returning with two bottles of ice cold water. "Drink this," you said with a yawn. He took it and you plopped down on the other end of the couch while Joel flicked through title after title on one of the many streaming services Tommy and Maria had.

While Joel continued to browse, you shifted uncomfortably before setting down your water and reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. With practiced ease, you pulled it out from under your shirt without having to remove any clothes and tossed it on the floor. Joel's eyes widened when he saw it and looked at you.

"Don't get any ideas, I just can't sleep in a bra."

He smirked before picking a romcom and settling in under his blanket. "Next you gonna tell me you can't sleep with panties on?"

You snorted and felt your cheeks flush but thankfully the lights in the living room were off, leaving only the glow from the television to light the room.

"You wish."

The alcohol was making both of you way flirtier than you intended to be, so you shut up. You watched the movie hazily for a while, laughing softly at Hugh Grant's charismatic humor. It was quiet for so long that you had assumed Joel fell asleep until he suddenly spoke again.

"This's nice."

You rolled your head to the side and smiled at him. "Yeah, it is."

He smiled back, his eyes bright from the glow from the television, cheeks still a little pink from the booze as he looked you up and down. "C'mere."

You pinched your eyebrows together. "Why?" you asked slowly. He rolled his eyes and waved you over.

"Jus' get your ass over here."

With a sigh, you scooted over to his end of the couch and once you got close enough, he threw his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. You let out a quiet oof when the side of your face came in contact with his chest, but god the way he smelled had you reeling for the second time that night. Even with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and spilled liquor, he still smelled amazing. He smelled like him. A comforting smell you missed so much in the past five months that it almost hurt to have it back again.

His hand gently stroked your back as you watched the movie. The steady thrum of his heart beating against your ear combined with the alcohol and his warmth made your eyelids droop and before you knew it, you were out like a light. When Joel realized you were asleep, he looked down at you and smiled before turning off the television and slowly rotating you both so you were laying (albeit, scrunched) together along the couch. His arm remained wrapped around you and your face was buried against his chest with one of your legs draped over one of his and everything finally felt right again.

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[adams-angels]

reader and sick adam idk yay

This is perfect because both me and my partner are sick atm and unfortunately for him I'm a total baby when I'm sick. I wrote this one slightly differently?

Also it's a bit short, sorry.. 🧡

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Poor baby

Big baby

Like the biggest baby when he's sick. I'm not kidding.

The slight tickle of a cough and he's at home in bed snuggled up.

Will text lute he's dying again

Won't do anything for himself. Not like he ever did anyway. But now he's extra bad.

"sex will is the best medicine" queue coughing fit.

Extra needy

EXTRA NEEEY

Extra need means extra cuddly too

Also grosser than usual

Will show you his snotty tissue telling you how gross it is while you try not to throw up

Will want to be touching you constantly

If he's not in a position to be cuddling into your chest he will want to hold your hand

Even though he's ill he'll still talk nonstop

Will talk himself to sleep

Loves being babied but will never admit it

"Poor, baby. Poooooor, baby Adam." You coo'ed with a smile, bringing the man some soup. "Shut up..." Adam groans pulling the duvet over his head. You were both sick. In fact, you were sick before him but no, his is much worse. 'Man flu' and all that.

"Oh, don't be like that my love." You pulled the duvet off his face. It was really the only times you'd see him without a mask on. You brushed his hair off his sweaty forehead, he whimpered at your touch. "Poor boy." He scowled, "man. Poor man." Correcting you. "First man." Muttering to himself. You can't help but chuckle.

"Come on. I brought you soup." You place the bowl on his night table. He looks over to the bowl and whines. "Feed meeee." "Seriously, Adam?" "I'm not weeellll..." "I'm not well either you know? You know what you did when I was ill? Got me to suck you off." "But it's meant to heeelllpppp." You stare at him unamused. "Please, y/n?" He knew you'd say yes if he said your name. He'd always call you "babe", "sweet tits", "Adam's Apple" so he'd say your name when he really wanted something. You roll you're eyes. Not really at him. More at yourself for giving in so easily.

You pick the bowl back up and sigh, "fine. Sit up." He did as he told, but if course with small whimpers and whines because in his words "his body is extra sensitive right now." You stirr the soup before bringing the spoon to his mouth. "You're such a baby." You smile softly at him.

Once he's fed his sighs in satisfaction. You blow your nose because, again, you also have this cold. "baaaabe.." you looks over at him in the bed, tucked in, looking all cozy. "Where are you going? Come to bed." You can help but smile and crawl into bed next to him. It takes seconds before Adams arms are wrapped around you, pulling himself into your chest. His wing covering your body as he purred in comfort. "You know, Lute says that you need to take better care of me." "Oh? Really? Because Lute told me that I baby you." He removed his face from your chest, "what?!" His voice cracking. "You- I - she did not!" He burrows himself back into your chest, wrapping his arms around you, tightly holding you in place. You could hear a very muffled "shut up."

You run your fingers through his hair with a smile.

"Poor, baby."

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

[captain-bubble-wrap]

loved your sick gf/helpful quinn post

can we get a sick quinn this time? I feel like he'd be a big baby when he's sick

THE BIGGEST BABY

Quinn had coughed all night.

It had started off small but had quickly developed into something more consistent and with a persistent wheeze alongside it. He seemed so uncomfortable: tossing and turning, trembling with the chills and cold sweats. It seemed like with each passing hour a new symptom appeared: from the cough to finally the body aches. You wanted to soothe his pain and make him comfortable but he just pushed you away, It had kind of hurt your feelings having him reject you time and again, but you were just trying to help. Best you could do was tell yourself it was just because he felt bad and that he didn't mean to be that way.

By this point, you couldn't sleep. Quinn's constant shifting and coughing had given you no peace or himself for that matter. Sometime in the night, you grabbed your pillow and went to the sofa instead, You didn't want to leave him, but if he was sick, he would need someone to care for him come the morning. If you were running on a couple hours sleep, it wasn't going to be you; you might as well be sick right alongside of him.

Even from the living room, you could hear him cough, hear the wheeze cause him so much pain with its ability to take his breath away. You probably didn't sleep any more on the sofa than you would have beside him. Every so often you'd force yourself to get up and check on him. He had a fever and was burning up yet he appeared to be asleep. Quinn needed medicine and as soon as possible but you weren't about to wake him up to take any. Instead, you'd dig through the bathroom cabinets and find some multi-symptom cough syrup. The label said it would help counteract each of the things Quinn was dealing with but would it be enough? You'd leave it on his bedside table for the next time a coughing fit woke him.

When morning came around he seemed worse. Congestion had set in and it had changed the sound of his voice to something nasally instead of its usually velvety tone. Getting him to take anything was like pulling teeth because he just wanted to lay with the pillow over his head, hidden from everything especially the morning light. Though Quinn wasn't normally the dramatic type, when he was sick, it was like the end of the world.

"Baby, please, just take this and I'll leave you alone. That's all I asking you to do."

"I'm fine. I just-- I'm fine," he said from under the covers.

"You're not and you know it. Please, just take it?"

"I just need to sleep it off."

You tried to contain your sigh but it was hard. He was being completely unreasonable and it was starting to wear on your nerves. If he just took the medicine it would help but getting him to see that point wasn't going your way. This wasn't the first time he had probably felt like this, so why was he being such a baby?

"Why won't you take it, Quinn?"

There was a long pause. You knew he wasn't asleep. Was he ignoring you in the hopes that you'd give up and just walk away? If that were the case, you were close to it.

"Okay, fine. Suit yourself." Leaving the medicine on the table, you'd leave the room defeated. What else were you supposed to do? He didn't want to be touched, loved on, or anything but left alone. At least that's how it seemed. Even simple conversations were proving to be a battle.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and went to the kitchen. Food didn't seem like the magical end-all-be-all cure to his cold but if he didn't want it then you'd just take it for yourself. Soup seemed like the best choice even if it was the cliche option. "Comforting to the soul and stomach," your mom always said when you were sick. However, a quick assessment of the pantry revealed you didn't have what you needed for soup.

Instead of sticking your head back into the bedroom to let him know you were headed out, you texted his phone saying something similar.

"I'm going to the store. I'll be back in a bit."

Short and painfully to the point. It wouldn't be until you were in Quinn's car that you felt guilty for how you had come off. You'd text him once more before finally leaving; trying to rewrite your sour attitude towards him.

"I love you."

- - -

When you returned to the apartment, you could see signs of life that hadn't been there before. The cough medicine was now on the island; the used dosing cup had remnants of the syrup still in the bottom, A loaf of bread was poorly wrapped up alongside it, and what looked like a simple cheese sandwich sat on a napkin with one bite taken out of it. And finally, on the sofa, was a bundled up Quinn, his tangled curls spilling out over one of the pillows he rested his head on.

"Hi," he said, when you walked past him. His tone was defeated, moping even. Had you hurt his feelings? It wasn't your intention to, but it was just frustrating trying to help someone who just came off like they would rather stay miserable.

"Hi, baby."

"Where did you go? I came out and you were gone." Quinn didn't lift his head off the pillow or even his eyes. When you looked over at him he was looking at your feet.

"I texted you. I went to the store to get stuff to make you soup."

"I haven't looked at my phone. You didn't have to do that." His monotone was worse now, tinged slightly with his own flavour of annoyance.

Had you been in a worse mood, you would have said something about checking his phone, but instead you were able to bite your tongue. He didn't feel good, you had to remind yourself of this fact. This wasn't your Quinn - your sweet Huggy Bear - this was someone struggling with their body fighting against them to get better. You knew Quinn would never purposefully give you an attitude or be short with you, and the same should have been said about you.

"I'm sorry I was short with you, Quinn," you finally get out. You had hoped that would have removed some weight from your chest but instead it only made it heavier. He still wouldn't look at you. In fact, he closed his eyes after you had spoken your apology. Seeing him ignore you that way felt terrible, but you felt you had earned his cold shoulder. You had been sick a few times since you had been together and Quinn had been so kind and selfless. What had given you the right to be so unsympathetic?

"It's fine," he said, snuggling deeper into his self-made cocoon.

"It's not fine." Your heart hurts as you cross the room to kneel before where he lay. "Honey, I'm sorry." You brush the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. He was burning up with fever but this time he managed to look at you. He looked like he could melt into tears at any moment.

"I'm sorry I ignored you earlier," he replied, meeting you halfway with his own apology.

"You don't feel good, Quinn, it's okay. I'm sorry I got mad. I had no right to."

Quinn sniffled, either from the congestion or just because he was getting that emotional. Either way, you leaned forward and gave him a tender kiss to his forehead. This made the faintest smile appear on his half-concealed lips.

"You probably shouldn't kiss me," he mumbles, silently thankful for the gentle affection. Deep down, he wanted it; wanted to be babied and taken care of but instead of asking for it, he just found himself coming off as hard-headed.

"It's alright," you reassure him, a second kiss finding its mark along with the first. "I'll just get sick right with you."

"I don't want you to get sick, though."

"I know you don't but sometimes it happens. At least we'll have soup." You give him a smile, the first one that day. He returns the sentiment.

"What kind?"

"Broccoli cheddar and the classic chicken noodle. Which do you want first?"

"You got stuff for both?" His little voice sounded shocked, amazed that you'd treat him to two different types of soup varieties. Sometimes it was the little things that made the biggest impact.

"Of course I did."

Quinn tried to sit but got winded halfway through, a coughing fit taking what strength he had built up.

"Oh, baby, you need to rest. How about you get a nap and I'll wake you up when I get something done?"

"Okay."

"It's okay, sweetheart, I'll manage." You wink, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay, and that you could handle some soup-making alone. When you stood up, you caught the subtle trembling from under his blanket. "I'm going to get you another blanket, okay?"

"Okay."

Those short responses you recognized were the best he could do at the time and didn't strike a nerve like they had earlier. But walking away from him still hurt like it had the first time, and you could feel his eyes on you still. From a tote under your bed, you found a heated blanket your parents had sent you after you made the decision to move to Vancouver. Hopefully this would bring Quinn some more consistent heat despite his body running his internal thermostat like a child left unsupervised.

"Here, baby, this should help you. Do you want this overtop or...?"

"I want that one," he said, pulling the original one from his body as best he could.

"It's okay, it's okay. Here, let me get it," you say, helping Quinn untuck himself before draping him with the ultra-plush heated one. "Should be nice and hot in just a few minutes."

"Thank you," he said, gripping it tightly. "Thanks for helping me."

"Thank you for letting me. I'm going to go make you some soup, okay? I'll try to be quiet so I don't wake you."

"I'll just...I'll be right here," he said through a yawn, the medicine finally kicking in and lulling him to sleep.

[tarnishedtwill]

Nevarran Culture

Nevarran Surnames – It is remarked briefly in a codex that most Nevarran surnames are three syllables. This seems to be true with the majority we are exposed to in game: Pentaghast, Van Markham, Hezenkoss, Volkarin, Anaxas & Tanhausen to name a few examples. However we do see an exception with the Blackthorne’s and Forsythia families. Blackthorne’s notably adopted their surname from the land that was gifted to them, and Forsythia which [has four syllables] doesn’t seem to have any information alluding to them not being originally from Nevarra. 

Nevarran Features – From looking at a handful of known Nevarran characters [Emmrich, Cassandra, Myrna, & Tessa] It seems that generally speaking, most Nevarrans tend to have dark hair, often black, as well as brown to green eyes. [Hazel seems quite recurring.]  This of course is not always the case, but it seems to be quite prevalent. Likewise it seems that olive complexions seem to be quite common in the region.

[Death Watch] Beetles –The imagery of beetles can be found amidst Nevarran motifs. Fitting in amongst the geometric shapes well. Perhaps thats where the fascination first rose. Hard in Hightown mentions the use of encrusted wings being used decoratively by the Nevarrans. Boxes of Beetles can be found in the Black Emporium [DAII] with the following Codex [Crate of Live Death Watch Beetles] The Death Watch Beetle is thought to fortell death, and thusly has become prized. Sometimes families go as far as keeping one caged in their homes as good luck. Insect symbols are also used throughout the Grand Necropolis, necromancers state they, “Honor the work of the humblest creatures in our funerary rites.”  While this may be true looking at longstanding traditions in Nevarra including oftentimes vegetarianism, the codex goes on to provide a more clear idea on beetles. It states that Nevarran found a kind of beetle that consumes flesh of the dead [i.e. a carrion beetle] This leaves behind only the skeleton, insects like this are probably valuable in the grand necropolis to expedite decay processes and keep things ‘cleanly’. Emmrich notes [codex: ‘on beetles’] that the Watchers have bred ‘fascinating variations’ of the beetles, I find it so interesting that they rely on nature for this process instead of using magic as part of ritual. It’s unclear if these are specifically the death watch beetles mentioned in Hard in Hightown, but it is interesting to see the beetle motif surface in so many ways within Nevarran culture. [I also personally find several of the Mourn Watch insignias to look like stylized beetles.]

Hexagons– Alright, so I would adore anyone who may have additional insight, but now with the nearly completely decoded Nevarran script I feel comfortable to make this assertion, but the Hexagon has some type of cultural significance to Nevarran culture, it features not only in things like architecture and clothing [even the chains on Emmrich's outfit are hexagonal links] but also things like, every mourn watch symbol I have run across fits into a hexagonal outer silhouette not to mention the script of the Nevarran language’s alphabet fits neatly into a hex-base as well. I am trying to dig for design notes on this, but I don’t have access to the artbook. If anyone knows more I’d love the insight.

Cuisine – With the evidence provided by a menu in Rivain, referring to ordering a dish meatless as Nevarran, and several dialogue and text mentions of Emmrich not eating meat [though cheese seems fine]. It can be assumed its pretty common practice in Nevarra to be vegetarian. This makes sense if you look at their cultural reverence for dead and the importance of the body in their burial rites, probably paints eating the bodies of creatures in a different light. To us what is simply meat, is probably seen as mild desicration. Emmrich even goes as far to state: each Watcher must decide what they wll and won't take a life for. Though it is probably common for Nevarrans to think this way and partake in vegitarian based diets, I also would argue this could be in part class based as well. We know that Emmrich grew up in a poor family, and his father was a butcher. A butcher in Nevarra. This implies that despite the pervasiveness of things like no meat options being referred to as 'Nevarran', and there being cultural significance to how they percieve meat and death, people in Nevarra are still in fact eating meat with enough demand that a butcher was a feasable occupation. This also could imply perhaps meat is seen as a lower-class consumable, and being able to sustain a vegitarian diet with more diverse ingredients a privilege. Known dishes include: Blood Orange Salad, Flatbread [similar to a pita], and Hazlenut Torte. Nevarrans also take great pride in aesthetic presentation and plating of food, often displaying it quite beautifully and with care.

Grave Mist– With the appearance of a churning cloud within a bottle, Grave Mist is magically infused vapors. It is captured near tombs where spirits dwell, and has some type of intoxicating nature to it. We don’t know if its more along the lines of inebriation or hallucination, but Emmrich notes that while he personally doesn’t partake, he hears it’s effects are quite invigorating.

Duchess's Games- Held at the Anaxas estate in the Summertime, in which scholars from Cumberland test their wit against those of the Free Marches in debates. [often times over philosophy and rhetoric], usually taking place over tea with the Duchess Ravria Anaxas. 

Hunt Balls- Nevarran high society awakens each Winter, while other areas of Thedas brace for the cold. Winter is historically speaking one of the best times to conduct dragon hunts, as the cold weather causes them to be sluggish and stick closer to their hordes. As a society that celebrates the hunt of these magnificent beasts ‘Hunt Balls’ gained prominence quite early in their history. A chance for these nobles and ‘heroes’ to show off their mighty kills. Traditionally the great halls would be decorated with rather gruesome displays of the slain dragon, perhaps is heart or head the focal point. Now, with the scarcity of dragons to hunt, the balls have become more of a cultural metaphor. A display of passion amidst the cold winter, symbolizing the thrill of the chase, couples dress in armor and flowing red cloth and dance with fervor and passion to symbolize the hunt.

Additional note on Winter in Nevarra, the Minanter river is known to completely freeze over. It is a common site to see people skating along its surface, with vendors set up along the banks selling hot spiced teas, and roasted nuts.

Wintersend – A wide spread Andrastian holiday, originally called “Urthalis” [named after the draconic Old God of beauty Urthemiel], and since has been transformed in to a celebration of the Maker. It signifies for most throughout Thedas, the end of Winter and beginning of Spring. In Nevarra it begins a series of contexts and tournaments primarily focused on archery and tests of arms. Also note, Emmrich’s mom apparently made a Hazlenut Torte every Windersend.

Nevarran Statues/ Ancestral Pageants – While the finest statues and displays of pageantry happen in the Castrum Draconis, it is said that Nevarran statues honoring it’s heroes and ancestors extend out from the city, to the streets of even the meanest villages and even in to the gilded streets of Cumberland. Each autumn, residents of Nevarra city hold lavish pageants to honor these ancestors. Families are known to drape statues in colorful cloths often in their house colors, and lanterns are lit along the streets to illuminate them. Actors [paid in copper coins, which is specifically noted and an odd detail] are hired to recreate and perform stories and exploits of the heroes. The nobility are often known to compete over the best displays, notably the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams. It is to be noted that the Mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis are also known to perform autumn rites at this time, ‘according to rumor’, it’s unknown if theirs are open to the public. I unfortunately have not run across a name for this festival/pageant.

Nevarran Spirit Philosophy- This is one of the main reasons that the Nevarran people choose to entomb and mummify their dead versus cremation, which is the more common form of ritual throughout Thedas. The idea is that once dead, a persons soul passes into the fade. This causes a spirit to then be displaced into the world, if mummified remains are nearby this gives the spirit a safe place to reside without risk of corrupting/turning. It’s a concept of balance, some scholars argue wether or not death is a 1:1 transaction across the fade. Emmrich states [codex: The Great Passage] that spirits have difficulty grasping the concept of quantities let alone numbers. Also that, no one knows a way to effectively tally both spirits in the fade, and people in the world, to ever entirel prove or disprove this theory. Nevertheless this is the concept at the heart of most Mortalitasi ideology, it is woven into the very folklore of Nevarra. The higher dead may be a melding of a spirit with the memories of the soul who came before– or even able to retain their souls.

Grave Dowry- It’s mentioned when asked why Emmrich wears so much gold that it is considered a custom called grave dowry. This is reinforced by the fact that if Mourn Watch Rook selects gold as their favourite color (conditional), the dialogue continues as Emmrich asks them if they have started their collection of grave gold yet. To which Rook responds they ‘have to decide which pieces are good enough for eternity’. If Rook is not a watcher and chooses gold, Emmrich replies by saying, ‘The Watchers wear grave gold in acknowledgement of our own deaths.’ [This implies that gold and opulence worn by members of the Mortalitasi is ritual. Its seen as something with foresight to have in death. This is very much so akin to grave good practices seen throughout the ancient world: think Mycenae, Egypt, or even Bulgaria <see Varna Necropolis>] Another codex [Aurum Profundis] mentions a passage from Prelate Vestalus Pentaghast remarking, “Gold is the eternal metal, and the sun beneath our vaults. It was first worked by our ancestors in tribute to the dead, and only Nevarra appriciates it’s sacred nner nature. Silver will tarnish, copper corrode and iron rust. Gold endures as our dead endure, and will ever adorn the inhabitants of the Necropolis.” I find that this quote perfectly captures the ideology and watcher sensibilities towards gold and the concept of dowry. It however is unclear if this is an ideology throughout Nevarra or just a tithe within the Mortalitasi.

This is my first post of several. I have been taking close notes deep diving Nevarra, the Mortalitasi, and the Grand Necropolis. I will be organizing them on my page under the tag Nevarran lore, If missed any key details or got anything wrong please by all means let me know, I want to make this as good as possible and would be happy to correct. Both for a resource for fic writers but also knowledge for my fellow lore nerds. More will be posted soon as feel sections become complete or mostly complete.

Update Edits:

Added information about Hexagons & the Nevarran Language.

Removed a section of lore on Recruitment as I found the citation to be unbacked and probably fanon.

Insight on why Butchers would be in Nevarra.

[sweetiesicheng]

yeosang - sick

word count : 652

-

"woah, easy there," yeosang says to you as you have another coughing fit. he pats your back as you go through your fit. "think you can eat?" he asks.

you nod, "yea," you reply. "i'll make it myself, babe," you say to him.

he shakes his head. "just take a break. i'll make you something," he says to you. he gets off of the bed and leaves the room with a sense of hurry in his movement.

you grab your water bottle and take a sip. as you sit in bed, you hear yeosang doing stuff in the kitchen since the door is open.

you grab the bottle of cough syrup on the nightstand and realize that you're going to run out, so you get up and throw on your coat. you leave the room and pop your head into the kitchen.

"hey, i'm gonna go buy more cough syrup," you say to yeosang. he turns his head.

"huh? i can go buy it," yeosang says to you, putting down a container with some leftovers in. it. "i'll go buy more after i'm done making dinner."

"no, babe, it's fine," you say to him.

"no, no, no," yeosang says and walks over to you. "go rest."

"i've been stuck in here all day," you remind him, "i won't take that long."

he sighs in response. "okay. go," he says, quickly giving in, “but get back here quickly.”

you smile, "i'll be back," you say to him.

you leave your house and walk a few blocks to reach a small market. when you go inside, you grab a basket and go into the medicine aisle first, where you grab a bottle of cough syrup.

you look around the store for a second and grab a few more items. after you pay, you walk back home. it's freezing cold, but the walk isn't bad and your trip to the market was fairly quick.

however, once you get home, you see yeosang waiting by the front door. he opens the door when he sees you.

"why were you up here?" you ask him.

"i was worried. i texted you to buy snacks, but your phone was in the room," he replies and holds his hand out as you approach him. he grabs the bag and both of you go inside. "food's ready," he mentions.

you take your coat off, throwing it onto the couch in the living room. both of you go into the kitchen, and you sit down at the table while yeosang goes to the stove. he brings you some food.

"thanks, babe," you say to him as he walks back to the stove to make another plate of food.

"mhm," he hums. "there's extra if you want to eat more." suddenly, he realizes something, "oh!" he takes a few steps to the side. you watch him pour water from a kettle into a mug and add a tea packet. "here," he says and brings the mug to you, "this is a good tea to drink when you're sick."

you smile, "thanks. i wanted something warm to drink," you mention.

all of a sudden, you feel yourself about to have a coughing fit and turn away. you cough a few times before stopping.

"you okay?" yeosang asks you.

you nod, "yea, i'm good."

"hmm...hopefully you get better soon. i hate seeing you sick," yeosang comments with a frown.

"well, i'm miserable if you're wondering," you say to him as you move the mug closer to you. you lift the tea packet a few times but leave it in the mug.

"well, hopefully you get better soon. i don't like seeing my cutie pie miserable," he replies, “so tell your sickness to go away.”

you laugh and nod. "okay, i'll tell my sickness to go away."

"good."

"yeosang," you call his name, "thank you."

he smiles, "no need, baby. just get better soon."

[lets-try-some-writing]

A reminder for myself and other writers in the form of a Q&A style response:

My writing sucks

No it doesn't. Perhaps it is untrained, but it is never worthy of being degraded. The words you weave are a gift that you can cultivate. Never forget that.

What if people don't like my work?

Some people won't like it, and that is the way of things. But that is no reason to be afraid to make the lovely things you have in that marvelous brain of yours. No one else thinks like you do, and no one will ever make the thing you want the same way you could. There is no harm in making something, even if it is not received well. Perhaps someday someone will find themselves changed because of what you have brought into being.

Is it even worth it?

You decide if it has worth or not. Does it bring you joy? Does it increase your skill? Does it challenge you? Does it make you see the world in different ways? Are there people who are touched by it? You decide what makes your work worthwhile. Your life is your own, and no one can choose what should matter most to you. But with that said, every word you write is one step closer to mastery. Never give up because of a lack of engagement.

Are my ideas too crazy/niche?

You'll find your audience, regardless of what you create. There is a place for everyone, and while it is quite likely that farther thrown concepts won't find much ground in bigger fandoms or audiences, there will always be a few who appreciate it. Cherish those people.

I'm worried about my writing style/formatting.

Everyone has their own unique way of going about things. No two writers will ever be the same and that's fine. So long as your work fits into the grammar rules of whatever language you are writing in and doesn't look like a huge text block or otherwise makes no sense paragraph wise, it's probably fine. Most of the smaller issues can be hashed out through a quick chat with a beta reader or even a google search or two. Your style though? That's something you shouldn't stress. It will change as you do and readers will love or hate you for it. Tolkien and C.S Lewis had totally different ways of going about their work and both are beloved. Remember that you can be different too.

I should be writing an original work, not fanfic.

Writing an original work is a draining and monumental effort. Folks make it sound easy, but it isn't. Not usually. And you know what? That's perfectly fine. You don't have to get into writing and instantly whip up the next Harry Potter. In fact, most young writers who do get into things and try to go nuts end up burning out because they lose interest or are not quite skilled enough to bring their vision to life. Fanfiction is a brilliant training ground, a place to test new things, explore your interests through the use of premade templates and worlds, and otherwise begin to develop your style. There is no shame in learning through templates and prompt lists. Besides, if you get good enough at what you do, all your fanfic writing may bear fruit later down the line.

Have some faith in yourself writers. And do be sure to hydrate and take care of yourselves.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 - 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐧𝐝

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Spoilers ahead.

Nobunaga: "Mai, Tell me everything."

Mai: "That's..."

The words caught in my throat before I could say them.

(No, I can't. I just can't say it.)

(If Mitsuhide were to disappear from history, I would be saved, but…)

(If I explain everything, it will only bring suffering to everyone in the Oda army.)

(To save him would mean abandoning me.)

I couldn't put such a cruel choice on the people who feel like family to me.

Nobunaga: "Mai, answer me."

Hideyoshi: "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Mai: "............"

I'd been praying that my voice would reach them every time I opened my mouth, but that wasn't the case now.

(Since I came to live here, I've grown to love everyone in the Oda army.)

(I treasure them deeply, without question, and I know they treasure me too.)

(Which is exactly why I can't bring myself to ask for help, no matter what.)

(I'm the only one who needs to suffer.)

I finally understood the loneliness Mitsuhide must have felt.

Ranmaru: "Lady Mai? You're still here, right? You can still hear us?"

(My voice still reaches them for now, but…)

I clutched the bell in my palm to keep it from making any sound and quietly stood up.

Masamune: "It's fine if you can't reply right away. You can write it down and send it to us later."

Ieyasu: "You should do that. It's more of a hassle if you try to carry it all by yourself."

Mitsunari: "Lady Mai, we're here for you. And of course, Lord Mitsuhide, too."

Hideyoshi: "That's right, Mai. So don't worry about it."

Keiji: "You're cherished, Mai."

(Yeah, I really am.)

I gazed at each of their faces, engraving them into my memory.

I knew that after this, I'd never be able to meet their eyes again.

(Thank you.)

(And...)

(I'm sorry.)

Swallowing the words I couldn't say, I left the hall.

When I got back to my room, I tried a few times before I finally picked up the brush.

(Sending a letter would interfere with people from this time, so this is probably my last chance.)

(While I can still connect with them, I need to make sure they know this.)

Even though I was freaking out, I took my time with each word, trying to keep my handwriting neat as possible.

(If I disappear, Mitsuhide will have no reason to fight against everyone.)

One of the reasons he raised his army was to have himself defeated to save me.

(I need to tell them that I'm gone and that they should stop him.)

I would beg them to welcome him back into the Oda army and not punish him.

And then I wrote my apology and gratitude to everyone in the Oda army.

Hideyoshi, thank you for always being so kind and considerate. I can't even begin to explain how much your kindness has saved me.

Masamune, the way you carry yourself has always inspired me. I'll always pray that your path will be a glorious one.

Ieyasu, thank you for always encouraging me with your stern words. I'll really miss hearing your blunt but caring voice.

Mitsunari, your smile is really like that of an angel. Please continue to light up everyone in Azuchi with that smile.

Ranmaru, being with you was so much fun. You're an important part of my life, and that won't change even if we're apart. We'll always be friends.

Keiji, although we've only known each other for a short time, your cheerfulness gave me so much strength. If I could have stayed in Azuchi longer, I'm sure we would have gotten even closer.

Lord Nobunaga, thank you for welcoming me into the Oda army. Thank you for everything. Please, please, take care of yourself.

Mai: "Phew."

I finished writing and immediately started on the last letter.

(What should I do? I don't have much time.)

(I have so much I want to say, but I can't fit it all in.)

As I thought of that person, tears began to fall, soaking the paper, and my hand, holding the brush, remained still.

The emotions were so overwhelming that I felt like my chest would burst.

(I won't blame you for your choice. Just let me make the same one.)

(I'll take all the divine punishment upon myself.)

I will not drag you into hell with me.

(I'll go alone, so you must survive in this world.)

(That's my final and only remaining hope.)

I managed to move my hand just enough to write a brief letter.

Eventually, night arrived.

Ranmaru: "Lady Mai, are you here!? You haven't responded since earlier. Where are you?"

Ranmaru: "What the hell is this letter!?"

Ranmaru: "..........."

Reading the letter left in the now empty room, Ranmaru froze for a moment before bolting out of the castle.

And just like that, Mai vanished from Azuchi Castle without a trace.

The following morning, the Oda army clashed head-on with the rebel forces.

Mitsuhide: "Do not falter. Forge your path forward! We will take Nobunaga's head!"

Rebel soldiers: "Yeah!"

Samurai, ronin, bandits, townsfolk, and villagers—all soldiers of different backgrounds, with their flags raised, charged forward under Mitsuhide's command.

Meanwhile, Nobunaga, glaring at the approaching large battalion, surveyed the battlefield from the rear of his army and coldly issued his command.

Nobunaga: "Scatter them."

Masamune: "Understood."

Masamune drew his sword and spurred his horse into the fray.

Keiji and Ieyasu quickly followed behind him.

Masamune: "Too soft! Bring them all at once!"

Keiji: "If you're gonna run, now's your chance!"

Ieyasu: "Move! Get out of my way."

The thick wall of enemy soldiers was quickly shattered.

Rebel General 1: "L-Lord Mitsuhide, what should we do?!"

Rebel General 2: "At this rate, it's only a matter of time before the enemy reaches our rear command!"

Rebel General 3: "What's with their strength?! These guys are monsters!"

Mitsuhide: "I don't remember giving you permission to retreat."

Rebel Generals: "!"

Mitsuhide: "Advance. Only forward."

As the sun began to set, the peaceful fields transformed into a hellish scene.

Swords and the bodies of the fallen lay scattered across the field.

Rebel General 1: "Move! We can't hold on any longer! I'm escaping!"

Rebel General 2: "Wait, you're not getting away ahead of me! I'm going too!"

The rebel forces, now scattered, began to flee in confusion.

However, the Oda army's rear guard wasn't about to let them escape.

Mitsunari: "I wouldn't advise turning your back. Don't waste your life."

Hideyoshi: "Don't think any of you are getting away. If you want to keep your head, drop your swords now."

Rebel soldiers: "H-Huh?!"

One by one, the enemy soldiers were overwhelmed by Hideyoshi and Mitsunari's forces.

The main force of the rebel army, which had been holding its ground in the center of the battlefield, was steadily worn down by Masamune, Keiji, and Ieyasu.

Eventually, the unit directly under the command of the generals was left exposed before the Oda army.

Rebel General 3: "I-It's over. I'm retreating!"

Rebel General 2: "You think you can escape alone?!"

Rebel General 1: "P-Please forgive me! I was just manipulated by Mitsuhide Akechi!"

Ieyasu: "I'll listen to your excuses in prison."

Masamune: "You guys are not even worth cutting down."

Keiji: "What a pathetic bunch. How the hell did they even become generals?"

The defeated soldiers bowed in surrender, and after the rebel generals were captured, the battlefield, heavy with the scent of blood, fell into an eerie silence.

Then, the two commanders faced each other.

Mitsuhide & Nobunaga: "..........."

Mitsuhide didn't lower his head. Instead, he raised it and smiled.

Nobunaga: "This reunion came sooner than I expected, Mitsuhide. Though, it seems you didn't anticipate this outcome."

Mitsuhide: "What are you saying? I misjudged the strength of the Oda army. I underestimated your true power."

Nobunaga: "Oh? So even a man like you can get his calculations wrong?"

Mitsuhide: "Yes, I've been overestimating myself for quite some time."

Mitsuhide: "It's a real shame, but it seems my fate has finally come to an end."

Nobunaga: "I see."

Mitsuhide lightly lifted his chin, exposing his throat to the setting sun.

Mitsuhide: "I've long accepted my fate."

Nobunaga: "Is that so?"

With a sharp sound, Nobunaga unsheathed his sword.

The gleaming white blade glinted as its tip pointed directly at Mitsuhide's throat.

Then—

Nobunaga: "Ranmaru, bring it here."

Ranmaru: "Yes."

Mitsuhide: "............"

Without showing even a hint of confusion, Mitsuhide silently observed the events unfolding before him.

Ranmaru approached him, anger blazing in his eyes, and shoved a letter addressed to the Oda army into Mitsuhide's hands.

Ranmaru: "Read it, Lord Mitsuhide. I don't need to tell you whose handwriting it is, yeah?"

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide: "Mai. Why?"

As if his soul had left him, Mitsuhide collapsed to his knees.

Standing beside him, Ranmaru trembled and clenched his fist tightly.

Ranmaru: "You're such an idiot! Both you and Lady Mai."

Ranmaru: "How could you shoulder everything alone and plan to disappear like that!?"

Unable to continue speaking, Ranmaru just stood there.

Beside him, Nobunaga quietly sheathed his sword, and the Oda warlords approached.

Masamune: "Throwing away your lives for each other… you two really are alike."

Mitsuhide: "............"

Hideyoshi: "I'll never forgive you. Not for raising your army, but for making Mai cry!"

Ieyasu: "Don't think you can get away with an easy punishment like being cut down."

Mitsunari: "There's work we expect you to carry out, even if it takes a lifetime."

Keiji: "Well, even if we didn't tell you, you'd probably do it on your own."

Nobunaga: "Leave, Mitsuhide. You're expelled from the Oda army permanently."

Mitsuhide: "Lord Nobunaga…"

Nobunaga: "Leave, and do what you must."

Nobunaga: "Even if it takes the rest of your life, find Mai."

Mitsuhide: "............"

Life slowly returned to Mitsuhide's eyes.

Ranmaru: "There's one more letter. It's from Lady Mai."

The letter contained only a single sentence.

Mitsuhide: "............"

Clutching the letter to his chest, Mitsuhide sank further to his knees, his face hidden from everyone.

Masamune: "That girl isn't the kind to throw away her life so easily."

Masamune: "Even if she becomes invisible to everyone, she'll keep on living, as long as her sanity holds."

Keiji: "That sounds like a living hell to me."

Mitsuhide: "No, I won't let it come to that."

Masamune and Keiji: "!?"

Mitsuhide lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes reflecting both endless despair and a glimmer of hope.

Mitsuhide: "If she's going to hell, then I'm going with her."

That night, news quickly spread throughout Japan that Mitsuhide had been killed and his rebel army had fallen apart.

Motonari: "Tch. Your prediction came true. How boring."

Kicho: "Don't complain. If that's how it is, we'll simply move on to the next step."

Motonari: "Hurry it up, then. I'd really prefer not to be bored to death the second time."

Motonari: "So? What happened to the mastermind who hijacked our plans?"

Kicho: "They haven't found Mitsuhide's head."

Motonari: "Being ripped apart in battle and disappearing without a trace? That's such a boring way to end, don't you think?"

Kicho: "There's no need to worry."

Kicho: "He's a man who treats others and even himself as mere pawns, but he wouldn't throw his life away for nothing."

Kicho: "Where he's gone, though, is anyone's guess."

And so, the seasons passed.

Mitsuhide: "The sun's coming out."

Watching the drifting clouds fade into the distance, Mitsuhide, dressed as a traveling performer, reached into his belongings and pulled out a bamboo flask, taking a small sip of water.

He closed his eyes and listened, just as he once did when he traveled with Mai.

Now, he was alone, searching for the sound of the bell that must still be ringing somewhere in this world.

Mitsuhide: "............"

He opened his eyes and smiled bitterly without meaning to.

No matter how many times he looked back or how many years had passed, the memories of the days they spent together never faded.

If anything, they had grown more vivid, deepening the emotions that continued to well up within him.

Mitsuhide: "Mai."

The name he'd said so many times on his journey slipped from his lips again today.

His only clue, the faint sound of a bell, led him on a search with no clear end in sight.

Mitsuhide reached into his robe, pulled out a letter, and carefully unfolded it in the sunlight.

He traced the familiar handwriting, achingly nostalgic, as he reread the letter for the umpteenth time.

The letter contained only a single line:

Mitsuhide, you're my light.

Mitsuhide: "You truly were an incredible teacher."

Mitsuhide: "You dragged out every emotion I had locked away just like this."

Mitsuhide: "Thanks to you, even traveling alone has been anything but dull."

The wound of their parting still bled, still brought him searing pain, yet, even that pain had become precious to him.

Mitsuhide: "What am I supposed to do, Mai?"

Mitsuhide: "The joy, the sorrow, the fear—I don't think I can let go of any of it now."

Even now, Mitsuhide clung to the memory of that happiness.

Ring

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide looked around and a cool breeze rustled the grass and flowers.

Mitsuhide: "Are you there?"

Ring

The bell chimed softly.

Mitsuhide: "............"

He reached out his arm, grasping at the air.

It was as though he was trying to embrace the entire world—a world where Mai still existed.

Mitsuhide: "Mai."

He'd decided to chase her endlessly.

He'd decided to believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mai was alive somewhere in this world—even if he could no longer see her, hear her voice, or touch her.

He chose not to despair. He chose the hope that burned like hellfire.

Mitsuhide: "............"

The sound of the bell quickly faded away along with the wind.

Mitsuhide: "A game of tag, huh? Fine by me."

Mitsuhide: "I'll catch you without fail."

Mitsuhide: "I'll spend my life saving you."

Mitsuhide: "Mai. You are, without a doubt, my light."

And so, Mitsuhide began walking again under the gentle sunlight with a genuine smile on his face.

🦊 Previous Part

[eternity-111]

A special little break time!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Barbatos just can't seem to relax and take a break, fine. You'll have to do it in your own way. (fem reader x dom barbatos)

NSFW! minors scroll down ⊹

nsfw, blow job, tears, creampie 𖹭

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reblogs, likes are appreciated! If you see any grammar mistakes, feel free to tell me <3

You receive a message from the young Lord asking you a favor to help him convince Barbatos to get a break. He can't think of anyone else but you.

"I'm not exactly sure why Barbatos always follows your command, it is like your superpower! you can tell him to touch a rat and he will gladly do it" said Diavalo while giggling.

No really, it's so hard to convince him to take a break. Even when the young Lord himself told him to. His excuses are always "This is my duty" or "I'm your Butler". And technically you agreed to help Diavalo.

firstly, you open your phone and text Barbatos to meet you at the cafe.

"Is this something important? If not, I will not come." Barbatos replied to your text. But no, you won't give up that easily. You are determined that you can do it! so this time, you call him.

"Let's do something fun Barbatos! aren't you tired of working?"

"I'm honored that you asked me, but no. I am not tired since this is my duty to keep an eye on the young master."

ugh. why isn't he agreeing to go out with you? how dare he say no to you. He rarely says that!

"Fine! I'll come over there then. wait for me Barbatos!" although he declines any offer, you are still determined to get him to take a break.

you are now inside of the castle, trying to find Barbatos but since it's so big, you almost got lost! even though you have been visiting the castle almost every week, you still managed to get confused about the layout of the castle. It's pretty huge after all. Searching for him makes you exhausted and really thirsty. walking around that castle is like an exercise for you. So you head over to the kitchen to get something to drink, and that's when you find Barbatos. Washing the dishes.

"Barbatos! I'm so glad I found you" smiling when you finally found him.

"Why hello there Mc, you seem to be panting a lot. Are you okay?" Looking back at you while finishing up his duty.

"yeah I'm fine dont worry." you replied while grabbing yourself a drink. Not long after that, you head over to the counter where Barbatos is drying his hands off, Again.. Trying to get him off work but he simply declined. No matter what you do or what you say he just won't.

"pleaseeee..?? pretty please? I'll do anything for you to get off from work!" You said to him while holding his hands with a pout.

God, You look so fucking adorable and he can't resist you. He tried to not look down at you because you were wearing a tight-fit dress and he didn't want to get a boner while working. But he can't. Looking down at you with that face makes him want to just fuck you. I mean.. it's your plan after all. You know he can't resist you with that dress and that is why you wear it.

You took advantage of it, tip-toeing over for a light kiss, teasing him. Your lips were as soft as a cloud and he needed more. He holds your waist to let you know that he doesn't want your pretty, soft lips to leave. A soft moan slipped out of your mouth as a response. His kisses slowly go down, from your lips, chin, and then your neck. He was so gentle and soft.. Gosh, you started to feel hot, and.. he was hard too. You felt his pants hardened, it's like he's asking you to unzip his pants and just.. suck it all.

"Well, I maybe perhaps need a little break don't I? Could you take care of me darling?" looking seductively at you, he asked you to help him and you knew exactly what to do, you are a good girl after all.

"Don't worry, I'll help you." you look at him innocently but you know deep down, your intention is not as innocent as your eyes.

On your knees, you started to unzip his pants. His dick was so excited that it just bounce right out, twitching as if he was so impatient, waiting for your next move. He was in fact, impatient. He needs your pretty little mouth to suck him deep. but.. why are you not doing it? Being impatient, He grabbed your head and pushed you so deep into him. Eyes widened, you didn't expect him to make the first move. You were gasping for air.

"b-barbatos.. calm down!" you choked on his dick, taking his dick out of your mouth.

"take it back, I didn't allow you to take it out."

after calming yourself down, you started to suck his dick again. It's so big that you can feel it hitting the back of your throat. Moaning when it did. Looking at him with pathetic eyes while sucking his dick off, it's like you're asking for his approval. Are you good enough? or are you not? He didn't say anything so you thought he was not satisfied. So you position your hands on his hips, sucking him way more quicker this time and you heard him grunt. Is he finally satisfied?

"i-is this good enough?" you asked him. Moaning as you say so.

"Yes. You're so good at this. keep sucking me." head tilting back while breathing heavily. Finally! he's satisfied.

He felt that he is about to cum. he didn't want to choke you with his precious cum so he take his dick out and release it all over your face. breathing heavily and moaning as he did that. Your face was all ruined now aww :(. Some of it was in your cheeks, hair, eyes, and lips. You licked some of it off while he stroke his dick. You smiled at him, what a good little girl. He needs more of you. and I mean. more.

He helps you stand up and then he lifts one of your legs to the counter and the other is at his shoe. Kissing all over you while he did. He kisses you as his hands guide his dick to your entrance. You were so wet by now. He is teasing you with his dick and he knows you want it.

"Barbatos please..? please put it inside. I can't wait anymore." whining and wiggling your ass as you told him, Gosh you were so needy for him. And he gladly does it.

He covers your mouth with his hands and slowly puts it inside. Eyes rolling and moaning when he did, your cunt was so tight and wet.. making him moan. He begins to fuck you slowly at first but as time went on, he got faster and faster. nghh his dick feels so good inside you and as for your legs? it was shaking. You were whimpering and moaning so much that he had to put his fingers inside of your mouth to calm you.

He was breathing heavily too, sometimes squishing your ass or your boobs when you were too loud. His hips begin to go quicker and tears are rolling down your face as you tell him to slow down. he didn't listen of course. Feeling that both of you are at the edge. He circle your clit to make you feel more pleasure.. kissing your neck while he did so.

"h-ha! barbatos~!" Hearing that makes him go more faster and sooner, and you both release at the same time. Your body trembling when you release, but still trying to suck his dick even deeper so that no cum of his is wasted. I mean, who wouldn't? his dick always hits your G-spot after all.

Your body was so weak that you couldn't stand up anymore. trembling so bad that you have to sit on the floor. It's not your fault, after all, It's his!

"Barbatos...I-i can't stand up anymore." while breathing heavily and letting his cum go out of your pussy to the floor. such a waste :( but you really try not to let anything spill out but you just can't.

"Don't worry darling. Since you helped me relax, I'll take care of you next. Maybe I should ask Diavalo for more breaks so I can just fuck you again hm?"

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 12

Synopsis: You send Jason home, but he’s still worried about you.

Note: Last filler chapter for a minute. Reader and Jason have lost all sense of what normal platonic touching is but it’s fine.

Masterlist

Jason did stay another night. He had offered to sleep on the couch this time, claiming your bed was too small for the both of you. You had just rolled your eyes and said he would be sleeping in your bed with you, claiming that it would be like a sleepover (it gave you more sense of security if he was close). Secretly, he was grateful for your insistence. He hadn’t slept the night before, like at all. He spent the night next to you worried something else would happen, despite knowing nothing would. You seemed worried about the same thing, mumbling in your sleep, face scrunching and relaxing randomly. You woke a few times, a terrible look of terror on your features. But Jason was there. He’d pull you close, petting your hair and murmuring to you about how you were safe, and you would drift back off into a fitful sleep. He’s not sure you even remember it.

He had checked in with the family first thing in the morning after he found his phone full of spammed text messages and phone calls. Mostly from Steph, shockingly. She seemed extremely concerned about you like you were friends. That’s when she told him that she had also been visiting you at work, a kinship forming from there. She’s not just yours Jason, you have to share, she had messaged in complaint. He scoffed at the statement but conceded with keeping everyone posted after that. He had one text from Bruce. We need to talk. No doubt about how the news was broadcasting that Red Hood was back in his murder phase.

After you had woken up, you looked worse for wear but less terrified. He enjoyed having you close, it seemed you need it just like him. You would relax against him, and he would stare at you, like a creep. You seemed less fitful in your sleep on the couch. He kept his touch on you, your legs, for your peace of mind, not his. At least that’s what he told himself. Jason liked taking care of people, it's why he protected Crime Alley and the surrounding areas the way he did. It’s what he’s known since he was young, with his mom. She was so out of it most of the time, what else could he do but take care of her? He likes to think that his mom (the one he rarely met when she wasn’t hyped up on drugs) would have liked you.

At the close of the evening, only 7 o’clock, you dragged him to your room and shuffled into your bed, apologizing that you didn’t have any clothes that would fit him more comfortably to sleep. He shook off the notion and settled on top of the covers like the night before. You were on your side watching.

“You know you can sleep under the covers. I won't mind,” especially because you won't do anything. You add mentally because if Jason wanted something sexual from you, he would’ve taken it last night when you were barely conscious of what was happening around you. You want him to be comfortable while you keep him trapped in your home.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Sweetheart.” He crosses his arms as he settles on his back against his pillow. You think he almost looks like a mummy.

“Jason,” your voice is stern in a way he isn’t used to, “get under the covers.” Not a question, not an offer, but a demand. He glances over at you and finds a serious look on your face, no room for argument. It makes him smile. You had seemed out of it still throughout the day, but he was happy to see some notion of your old self showing. Your eyebrows lift like this is some challenge and who is Jason to say no to that? He shuffles under your covers, worrying briefly if he’s a blanket hog, or a bed hog simply because of his size. You don’t seem worried about it all as you curl against him like you had the night before, holding his arm and pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

Then you start talking. You complained momentarily that you should have brushed your teeth before you had gotten into bed and apologized if it smelled like the Chinese you had ordered for dinner. Then you complained that you hadn’t washed your face and done your skincare. Jason was about to offer to do it for you, but you kept going. You rambled on about the Gotham weather and how it sometimes felt bone-chillingly cold even in summer, and you thought maybe Gotham was cursed or haunted. You started talking about Jason, about how pleased you were that he liked romance movies and musicals. You would have to show him La La Land, even though that movie made you cry every time. You didn’t say why it had made you cry but you cried when you had finished The Notebook earlier in the evening, so he didn’t question it. Instead, you followed a tangent about how La La Land was a tragedy but not like Romeo and Juliet. Then you followed a tangent about Shakespeare.

The rest of the evening was like that. You would follow a random line of thought that would form into another and another. Your voice stayed soft, only speeding up and getting just a little louder if there was something that excited you before toning back down again. You would pause for a moment before going back to a thought you had left unfinished. He wondered if you were blocking, trying not to sleep out of fear of what you might find. He knew that feeling, woken up by nightmares of that stupid clown and dirt engulfing his lungs. If this gave you peace of mind, then it gave him some peace of mind. He liked your voice. The cadence of it, the way you lilted some words, and how some of them slurred as you got drowsier and drowsier. Soon enough, your pauses became longer until you stopped mid-sentence. He waited, thinking you would start back up again but after a while, you didn’t.

He glanced down at where your face was pressed to his shoulder. At some point, your hand had moved from curled around his forearm to lacing it with his hand, he can feel your fingers twitch as you sleep. Your features were relaxed, lips parted slightly, soft even breaths escaping you. He leans over and presses a too long kiss to the crown of your head; your hand tightens subconsciously in his own. Jason decides to be selfish, just for tonight. He turns on his side to face you, carefully slipping your head from his shoulder to your pillow. He pulls the covers up and over both of your shoulders. His hand slides to your back and pulls you close. His other hand lightly pressing your face to his neck and he just holds you. A sigh escapes you and your arm slithers over his own waist, hugging in your sleep. Your warmth bleeds into Jason in a way he’s not used to.

You were right about Gotham’s perpetual cold, like a ghost breathing down your neck. But here, holding you like this, the cold didn’t exist. Only warmth and deep breaths do. For the first time in years, Jason’s body genuinely relaxes. Every alarm, trained into him by Bruce, the league, and his own self-preservation, shuts off. He just focuses on your breathing. In and out, in and out, steady. He presses another kiss on your head and makes an internal promise. He would tell you the truth, sooner rather than later. He’d tell you everything, about Red Hood, about his feelings for you, even if it meant you would hate him. He was going to tell you but first, he’d wait for you to get back on your feet, back into a normal rhythm of life. With that thought and your body closed, Jason closes his eyes and falls asleep. Nightmares don’t haunt him, only you.

Jason slept the hardest he had ever slept before. You woke up before him and he didn’t even know it. You’d like to say that you got up and piddled around your apartment, but that would be a lie. When you woke up, you were still pressed against Jason. You had somehow wrapped yourself around him like a deranged koala, or a squid. One arm haphazardly tucked under his head and wrapped around his neck, shoulder aching from the placement. Your other arm was wrapped around his waist, a leg thrown over his hips. You were quick to pull your leg back, feeling it was a little promiscuous should he wake. You take the opportunity to stare at him, closer than you usually would.

For the first time since you’d known Jason his skin was smoothed over, no worried wrinkles. He was relaxed and you hadn’t realized how wound up he usually looked until this moment. Usually, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world, and you don’t know why or what caused it. You just know that it lightens when you can get him to laugh or talk about something he enjoys. Once you had asked Steph about it, sitting at her table one slow afternoon. She said it wasn’t her story to share but that there was some serious trauma along with a mountain of familial issues that didn’t help. You understood that having been there yourself. It's why you moved to Gotham in the first place. You never asked Jason about it because he never asked you what you were doing in Gotham. Your mind comes back to keep staring at him.

You get distracted staring at his lips longer than you’d like to admit, following the soft curve and pout there. Your thumb gently swipes over the small scar there absentmindedly, your hand already on his face without you realizing it. You feel a puff of air against your thumb, and you freeze as Jason’s forehead crinkles for a moment before relaxing again. God, you were such a loser. Staring at him while he slept, touching his lips. You needed to get a grip, and it was not going to happen in this bed. You take your time to peel out of his hold, his grip on you stronger than you anticipated. You pause once your feet are on the ground, letting him reorient himself until he stops moving. Bodily functions are taken care of in the bathroom, and you move to the kitchen starting the kettle on the stove for some tea. You stand there staring at the kettle while you wait, ignoring the headache forming behind your eyes.

A surge of upset overtakes you as you set two mugs on the counter with your usual tea. With a moment alone, with your tea, you think about Red Hood. You know it's dumb, but you still feel right to be mad at him. Between the kidnapping, which was his fault, and his abandonment, you understand now that he couldn’t have stayed, you think that anger is valid. But now, two days later, he hadn’t checked on you at least. You know Jason had been here but there was no note or any sign that he had been on your fire escape. You’ll admit to waking up, sneaking out of bed, and standing by the window waiting. It wasn’t for long, ten minutes, because you could cold without the space heater sleeping in your bed. He never showed himself.  You thought he cared but now you were questioning everything about your strange friendship with the vigilante.

“Tea?” a deep voice says. Your entire body flinches and for a brief moment you wonder if you’d summoned Red Hood by thinking about him but when you turn, you find Jason with a guilty look on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You press your hand to your chest, trying to make your heart slow down.

“You're so quiet.” You say with a deep breath. You know you were kind of lost in thought but you heard the usual sounds of your apartment easily. The creaking of the fire escape, the whistle of air from the window that’s not sealed right, and the whine of the ceiling fan. You hadn’t heard Jason moving at all.

“Part of the job.” He says with a shrug. You nod even though that doesn’t really make sense. What do security systems have to do with being quiet? The kettle starts to whistle. You turn off the heat and decide to ignore your usual tea habit for some hot chocolate. You put the box back into the cabinet and swap it for the box of hot chocolate. Once the hot chocolate is made you bring the mugs to the island. Jason is giving you a curious look.

“Oh, I’m sorry I should’ve asked if you want tea instead.” You say guiltily. He shakes his head.

“It’s okay, I like hot chocolate.” He takes the mug. He doesn’t drink it just yet only looks at you in that analyzing way.

“Why do you do that?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Do what?” he responds confused.

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Jason,” you say sternly. You think he knows exactly what you're talking about it. He innocently shrugs and picks up the mug. You see the start of a smirk as he brings the mug to his lips. You roll your eyes.

“Whatever.” You round the island to look at the papers left on your dining table, and you hear Jason shift in his seat.

“Why do you have a cup of water on your window seal?” He questions. Your brows for furrow and you look up to see the cup he’s talking about. The real reason you had crawled out of bed in the middle of the night was because you were thirsty. You’d stood by the window while you sipped on it.

“I was thirsty in the middle of the night.” You leave it at that. You hear him move and then see him out of the corner of your eye moving towards the window. He pauses and looks at your window locks for a minute before picking up the glass.

“You should’ve woken me up I would have gotten it for you.” He walks past you taking it to the kitchen.

“I’m not helpless you know.” Honestly, in your half-asleep state, you had forgotten Jason was there until you were climbing back into bed, snuggling up against him.  He’s standing next to you again when he speaks next, voice soft.

“I know you’re not, but it doesn't hurt to let someone take care of you.”

You don’t look up from you skimming of the papers, but you feel a warmth in your chest.

“Next time I need a glass of water and you’re in my bed; I’ll be sure to wake you.” You say with a hint of a smile.

Jason's heart does a little jump at your statement. He knows you're being facetious about it but the idea that you would let him stay in your bed again… It’s a nice thought, especially if it is under different circumstances. You look up from your skimming and meet his eye with a small smile.  You look over his face.

“You should go home.” You say softly. Jason's internal jumping falls to the ground. So, you don’t want him here?  You must see the confusion on his face because you put down papers you were reading to hold his face. You tip his head this way and that as your thumb swipes just above his jawline.

“You're growing a beard,” you finally say, “Not that I think it would be a bad look for you, I just assume you don’t like it.”  Jason's own hand comes to feel at his skin. You were right, a coarse stubble where his hand is. Jason wants to laugh at your statement. The few times he hadn’t shaved consistently, usually on a long mission with the outlaws, his alleged beard would grow out patchy and uneven. Not a good look like you apparently think. He had complained about it one time to Bruce (it was a weird family bonding activity that was unrelated to the conversation) and Bruce had said it was because Jason was still young, that in a few years it would even out. Jason feels your hands leave his face and he tamps down the urge to pull them back. Your smile sweetly at him making it easier to reign himself in.

“I can’t keep you hostage forever.” You add. Jason does laugh at that; two days is hardly forever. You could keep him for a month and he wouldn’t complain.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you roll your eyes at him. He hadn’t asked how you were feeling today but he got the feeling you might kick him if he did. You seem to be in higher spirits but your apparent venture in the middle of the night worried him. The window was unlocked, and it had to be because of you. He had checked every lock in your apartment before he let you drag him to your room the night before. The window had been locked. Nothing was out of place in the apartment, so not a break-in. Red Hood was him and he was already there, so that wasn’t it either. You were the only option left. He didn’t tell you that though.

“You know, I have lived my entire life without you. I think I’ll be fine for a couple of days. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days.” He glances at his current apparel. You had good reason to be concerned about that. They were part of his Red Hood suit and he’s thankful you hadn’t made a connection yet. Black cargo pants and a black T-shirt. His armor and guns dropped at the garage he got the car from. His clothes weren’t exactly clean when he picked you up at the warehouse, already sweaty from a few hours of patrol. And now two days later, yea, he should go home.

“Fine, if you're kicking me out, I’ll leave.” You blink at him in disbelief, and a smirk works its way onto his lips.

“I am not kicking you out.” You say defiantly. Jason rolls his tongue between his teeth to keep from laughing. He puts his hands up in defense.

“Okay, okay, you’re not kicking me out, but I leave you alone. You let me know if you need anything, anything at all, okay?” he says. Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“No, not yet.”

“What?”

“Stay til lunch” you pause, eye imploring, “Please.” Jason understands now.

“You don’t have to say please, sweetheart. I’ll stay for lunch.” You seem pleased with his response, nodding with a contented smile. The morning proceeds with you cajoling him into another movie and by noon you were both quietly eating leftover Chinese from the night before.

“You’ll call me if you need something, right?” Jason asks around some sweet and sour chicken. You’re sitting at the island together, your ankle hooked around his.

“You know, I think you’d make a great dad.” You say, while picking through your food for the perfect broccoli. Your statement throws Jason off-kilter and must show on his face because when you look up you laugh at him.

“I will let you know if I need anything, please don’t worry about me. I get the feeling it might drive you crazy.” Jason’s mind is still running through what you meant by your previous statement. A great dad? Was there a purpose in that statement? Were you thinking about him like that? He checks back in registering what you just said.

“You're right about that.” Which is why he already had a plan ready for when he left your apartment. He’s positive that the only reason you’re asking him to leave is because you feel guilty and that you're still not ready to be alone. So, he was going to make sure you weren’t alone. The rest of lunch is spent quietly, feet randomly kicking at each other under the island. He attempts to wash the silverware you’d used but you stopped him, threatening to stab him with your fork. You drop the fork before he can concede in the battle of the dishes. A haunted look crosses your face for just a second before you hide it with a smile and start to shuffle him out your door.

Jason knew that look in an instant, he did not want to leave you alone for any amount of time. But he didn’t want you to feel bad about keeping him here. You help him collect his things which amounted to just his phone. You do a quick scan of the hooks by your door, clearly searching for a coat he hadn’t worn when he picked you up. A worried crease shows between your brows when your eyes settle on the Red Hood jacket next to the shock blanket. You glance between Jason and the jacket and just for a second he wonders if you know. You’re smart, he wouldn't be surprised if you did, but then you shake your head and pull him into a hug.

He’s a little startled but not as much as he would have been last week. The past two days of constantly touching each other in some manner made it easier for him to relax in your touch. His arms easily circle around your shoulders as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head without thinking. A pleased hum escapes you and you squeeze him a little tighter. You pull away just enough to see his face.

“Thank you for everything, Jason, really.” He nods and watches your eyes; you look like you’re struggling with something, and he waits to see if you’ll talk about it. After a few seconds of nothing, his hands moves. One squeezes at your shoulder and the other tucks some hair behind your ear, hand resting on your cheek. You lean into it just slightly.

“If you need anything-” he starts, and you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“I’ll call you. Stop worrying about me and go take care of yourself.” you pull out his hold and all he wants to do is drag you back. He stares at you, and you give him an insistent look back.

“I don’t want to kick you out, but I will if I have to.” You say with a dramatic huff. Jason laughs at the picture that conjures.

“Alright, I’m gone,” he unlocks your door and with one foot out he turns back and adds, “but if you need-”

“Get out of my apartment!” You demand with a giggled screech. He grins at you and finally shuts the door. He waits, listening for you to lock it. Once you had he heads down the hallway to the elevator, pulling out his phone. In the elevator, he hits Steph’s contact. It rings for a few seconds and then loud voice rings through the speaker.

“Is she bored of you yet? I wanna see her.” Jason pulls the phone away from his ear with a wince. He doesn’t answer her question.

“I need you to come stay with her.”

“So, she is bored of you.” She exclaims

“Stephanie”

“Jason”

He huffs, “Please”

The line is silent for a minute and Jason wonders if the call dropped in the elevator when the doors slide open, and he steps out.

“You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?” she asks, quieter than normal. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

“Stephanie, will you come stay with her? She doesn’t need to be alone.”

“Does she know you’re asking?” Jason sighs already tired of this back and forth as he pulls a ticket off of the parked borrowed car. (Bruce’s Problem)

“No, and she’s not going to find out I asked.” He tells her.

“I’m going to bring Cass with me.”

“Steph” Jason grumbles as he slides into the car.

“It would be weird if it was just me showing up at her apartment, trust me. It’ll be a girl's night.”

Jason sighs again, “Just promise to take care of her?”

“Promise. This going to be so much fun!” Steph must end the call cause the line goes dead. Jason wonders for a moment if this is a good idea, but he doesn’t have a lot of options and you didn’t need to be alone.

Additional note: Shout out to the lovely person that talked about Jason actually getting good sleep. I loved it and I think its going to become a reoccurring thing for both of them. The next chapter is all Steph and Cass and some conversations about the family our girl has not had with Jason. She is going to basically be adopted into the family, it’ll be great. Thank you for reading. Please comment!! The good, the bad, and the ugly are all welcomed.

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